“You mean wet?” She pushed up far enough to nip his stubbled jaw. “Yes. Seeing you half naked does things to me.”
Deacon moved his hands up the center of her torso, stopping to palm and squeeze her breasts before he tugged the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms.
When Molly tried to take it completely off, he said, “Leave it like that.”
“But I can’t move my arms.”
He smiled against her throat. “I know.” Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her forward. “Hard and fast, babe.”
Like she’d say no to that.
He guided his cock to her opening, his gaze engrossed on watching his length disappear into her.
Molly felt every inch of him since her tissues were still swollen. It didn’t hurt, but she knew she’d understand the phrase “well fucked” before the night was over.
As soon as Deacon anchored his hands to her hips, she braced herself.
Two smooth glides in and out and then he hammered into her.
The powerful thrusts shook her entire body, making her thighs and her breasts bounce. For a brief moment she was thankful Deacon’s eyes were on her bouncing boobs and not her jiggling thighs. But being on the receiving end of Deacon’s passion sent all thoughts like that into the background as she lost herself in the heart-pounding, sweat-dripping, body-clenching rush of his sexual magnetism.
There was something so primitive and male about the way he fucked her. His fascination with how her body moved as his body powered into hers. She’d never felt so . . . taken. She closed her eyes and let his need drive hers.
Then his mouth was on her throat. Teeth scraping, followed by tiny bites. Soft flicks of his tongue. Heated breath. “Arch into me,” he rasped in her ear. “I want this hot pussy milking me as we both come.”
Deacon changed the angle of his hips, pressing into the low rise of her mound on every upthrust.
“Oh. I like that.” She put her heels on the edge of the table and rocked into him. “Harder.”
A soft snarl burned across her skin as he bottomed out inside her faster and faster.
Molly didn’t chase her orgasm. She just let the sensations build, one grinding hard thrust at a time until she couldn’t stop herself from sliding side to side and then gasping, “Shallow thrusts. I’m right there.”
“I fucking love when you tell me what you need.”
When she started to come, Deacon latched on to her nipple and sucked with the pulsing rhythm of her blood. She felt the orgasm in every muscle and pulse point in her body. All she could do was let the storm crash over her again and again, spinning her around and around until she didn’t know which end was up and the waves of pleasure receded.
After she’d reached her peak, Deacon didn’t return to the skin-slapping thrusts, but he continued the slow, steady movements. When he buried his face in her neck, his harsh breathing and the stiffening of his body above her were the only indications that he’d found his own release.
They remained like that, their chests plastered together by sweat, trying to catch their collective breaths. With his hands still squeezing her hips, Deacon planted kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, dragging his mouth down to her left nipple. He teased that hardened tip until she started to squirm beneath him.
“Deacon.”
“What?” he said in an annoyed whisper, as if he didn’t want her to interrupt his worship of her breast.
“You wrecked me.”
He lifted his head. His lips were full and wet from suckling her. Something dark skittered through his eyes.
Molly nuzzled his cheek. “In a good way. In the best way ever.”
Deacon’s hands glided up to cup her face. He smoothed her hair away from her damp forehead. The tenderness in him delighted her, how effortlessly he soul kissed her. Intently, not just intensely.
He tugged her upright so she could wreathe her arms around his waist.
After the kiss shifted into soft smooches, he rested his forehead to hers. “You wrecked me too. I didn’t know . . .”
His body language—the way he clung to her—said everything his mouth didn’t.
They’d been intimate on a level before they’d had sex. They’d both felt the urgency about taking that next step to become lovers. But being this . . . Neither one of them had been prepared for it.
She twisted out of his hold and flattened her palms on his forearms, taking in every inch of muscle, every ripple of sinew. “As much as I’d love to continue to worship at the altar of Deacon the sex god, we could both use a break.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Deacon the sex god? Seriously, babe?”