Home > Caged (Mastered #4)(51)

Caged (Mastered #4)(51)
Author: Lorelei James

Molly clutched the back of his neck.

He plowed into her, hips pumping at full force. The all-encompassing need to imprint himself on her was stronger than he’d imagined.

Her mouth was on him, treating him to tender kisses. On his lips. On his neck. On his jaw. This reverence destroyed him.

Deacon pushed her knee out. Every time he drove in, he canted his pelvis, putting friction directly on her clit.

“Yes. God. Don’t stop.”

One. Two. Three thrusts and Molly unraveled.

Fuck. He fought the deep rhythmic pulling of her cunt muscles, milking his cock. Not yet. He had to see this. Her total abandonment to the moment. To him. He had to hear the sexy moans drifting from her kiss-ravaged lips.

That’s fucking mine too.

He murmured, “Beautiful,” against her throat.

She clamped her hands on his head. With her breath in his ear and her pussy tight around his cock . . . he felt the beginning of that spiral into the ultimate bliss. He clenched his ass cheeks, holding his breath through every hard spurt.

White spots danced behind his lids.

Molly whispered, “Babe. Gotta remember to breathe when you’re fucking me.”

The noise he made was half laugh/half gasp.

Deacon panted against her neck. Seemed to take forever to find his balance.

“You okay?”

“Fuck. I came so hard my balls hurt.”

“It’s only fair if I’m chafed you should be too.”

“I don’t care.”

“There’s a lover’s concern,” she said dryly.

He raised his head and gazed into her eyes. “I warned you it’d be like this.”

“I know.” She paused and whispered, “One day.”

“One day what?”

“One day we’ve been lovers and you’re already fucking me into acceptance of your caveman ways.”

“You’re not complaining,” he said, lightly sinking his teeth into her chin.

“No, I’m not. But can you let me go so I can clean myself up?” Almost on cue, her stomach growled. “We forgot to eat today.”

Deacon’s lips followed the arc of her throat up to her chin. “I forgot to work out today too.”

“You carted stuff and moved stuff around for hours!”

“Fetching and carrying doesn’t count as cardio.” He swept his lips across hers, unwilling to break their connection. “I can’t go without it. Not this close to a fight.”

Guilt darkened her eyes, and she looked away.

“Molly. Don’t. There are enough hours left in the day to get my workout in. I didn’t tell you that to make you feel guilty, dammit.”

“But I do feel guilty. You’d be sparring and doing all the training stuff if you weren’t here.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be. I’m in the best shape of my life. That will sustain my body when I have a light training day.”

Her fingertips drifted up and down his arms. “Speaking of . . . are there no-sex-before-a-fight rules too?”

“Not at Black Arts.”

“I’m serious.”

“If I was in a title fight? Maybe. But for a regional fight?” He kissed her again. “Don’t worry about goin’ without, babe.”

Molly put her hands on his chest and nudged him back. “Gotta dismount, cowboy.”

He grinned against her throat as he withdrew from her body. “I sure like plowing into you, farm girl.”

She slapped his ass. “I’ll hit the shower. Then I’ll cook.”

•   •   •

ACCORDING to his distance calculator, he’d run seven miles. In an hour.

He stayed outside until his breathing returned to normal. He’d forgotten how much farther he could run when the elevation was three thousand feet lower than the Mile High City.

Deacon sat on the low rock wall separating the children’s play area from the parking lot. Cornfields stretched as far as he could see. Everything was so damn green. He’d grown up in west Texas, where the dirt, the trees, and even the sky were a dull brown.

His stomach gurgled. He’d waited an hour after eating before hitting the pavement. An hour where he’d stretched out on the puffy bed and watched Molly sleep.

After she’d showered, she’d strolled into the kitchen in her bathrobe. Being the horny bastard he was, he slid the robe off her shoulders to play with the amazing tits he couldn’t get enough of. Under the fluorescent lights, Deacon got a full look of the marks he’d left on her chest.

And on her neck.

And on her belly.

And on her hips.

And on the insides of her thighs.

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