The Darkest Corner (Gravediggers #1)(63)

         
       
        

She did as he asked and then waited. His face was dark, almost angry in its intensity, and his eyes blazed with desire as his gaze traveled down her body. He tugged at her boots, pulling each one off and letting it drop to the ground, and then he did the same with her socks.

"I've got a confession to make," he said.

Another rumble of thunder sounded, low and lazy, and his hands trailed up her legs to the button on her jeans.

"What?" she said, barely able to get the word past her lips. She couldn't think. Didn't want to think. There was too much to feel.

He tugged at her jeans and pulled them past her hips, down to her knees, and then past her ankles. She'd never felt so exposed, even though she was still wearing her tank top and white bikini panties. She'd also never felt so desired.

His fingers danced up her legs and teased at the edges of her underwear. His thumb traced just over the swollen bud of her clit. Her back arched off the motorcycle and her legs hooked around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

"Don't you want to know my confession?" he asked, his voice hoarse and low.

"It seems there could be a better time for it," she panted.

He choked out a laugh and then tightened his hold on her underwear, ripping it off with one tug. She squeaked in surprise and her eyes widened as he bent and kissed the inside of her knee.

"I heard you earlier. When you said you'd never had an orgasm with a man." He kissed his way up her thigh and maneuvered her legs so they were wrapped around his neck.

She knew that what he'd said was significant somehow, but her brain wasn't functioning well enough to figure out why it was significant. And then his mouth was between her legs, kissing and suckling the taut ball of nerves. His finger slipped inside of her, and then a second finger joined it, and he curved them up inside her, pressing against something she hadn't even known was there, but that felt so good she almost melted off the back of the motorcycle.

"Ohmigod," she called out.

"Mmhmm," he said against her, the vibration adding yet another sensation to the storm brewing inside her body.

Her heels pressed against his back and her thighs were like a vise around his head. Her hips moved rhythmically against his mouth, and tension built and twisted inside of her. Cool droplets of rain splashed against her heated skin, but it didn't bring relief. She was on fire, burning from the inside out, and the pressure built and built until the first surge of pleasure ripped through her with the force of a lightning bolt, going on and on until she saw stars and then her body went liquid and pliant.

"Wow," she said, letting the rain fall against her closed eyelids. 

After a few moments, she finally found the strength to open her eyes, and she looked up at the wet shirt molded to his chest. He stood rigidly, his face pointed toward the sky, his breath heaving in and out of his chest. His muscles trembled with restraint, and his erection seemed almost painfully constrained behind the zipper of his jeans.

"Deacon?" she asked, wanting to give him the same pleasure he'd given her.

"Just give me a second," he said, sucking in a deep breath.

"I want to . . ."

"Not this time, baby. This one was just for you."

And then she remembered his confession. She rolled awkwardly off the bike and searched for her panties. "You said you heard what I said. About never having had an orgasm with a man. How could you possibly have heard that? It was just me and Miller in the house."

She pulled on her underwear and then grabbed her jeans. She had a feeling she wanted to be dressed for whatever was coming. The rain was a slow and steady drizzle, so she grabbed her boots and moved under the shelter of the trees. Deacon grabbed something from the saddlebags and followed after her.

He unfolded a couple of blankets and laid one on the ground. "I told you I would tell you whatever I could. That's what I'm going to do. Maybe you should sit down."

"I think I need to stand for a little while," she said, pacing back and forth in front of the blanket. Her jeans were wet and there was no way she was getting the denim over her legs until they dried a little, so she pulled them right side out and lay them flat on the blanket. The canopy of the tree cover was dense enough that water wasn't seeping through the branches. If it rained a little harder, that might be a different story.

Deacon nodded and folded his long legs as he sat down on the blanket. "None of us are what we seem," he said slowly, looking up at her. "Four years ago I was a contract agent for the CIA."

She stopped in her tracks and stared at him as if he'd sprouted two horns. "You're kidding me."