Caged

  She slapped his ass. Hard. “Off.”

  Deacon rolled to his back but tucked her body against his. He’d missed this. The warm, soft comfort of her next to him.

  After a while, when he sensed her restlessness, he said, “What?”

  “You told me the bad stuff. Tell me something good. About your brother.”

  His usual why would you care response didn’t come. He had to accept that now that Molly knew about Dante, she’d want to know more about him.

  “Dante and I had exact opposite tempers. I’d get enraged and come out swinging. His anger was a slow burn. The longer it simmered, the hotter he got. So when he finally hit the boiling point, he blew like a volcano.”

  “Did you two ever get into knock-down, drag-out fights?”

  “As kids? Nah. We had our moments, but they were rare. When we got older, we had different interests but we had the same opinion on most things.” He paused, and the memory came rushing back. “Except this one time, when we were thirteen . . .”

  When he finished the story about Dante, the armadillo trap, and the gross of bottle rockets, he had Molly laughing.

  It’d been a long time since he’d thought of that. Of the good times and not just the loss of them.

  • • •

  DEACON shouldn’t have been surprised by the nightmare.

  One of the main reasons he didn’t talk about the accident was his subconscious came back to bite him in the ass and made him relive it in his sleep too.

  It started differently, but it always ended the same way. This go-around, his fucked-up psyche put Molly in the front seat between him and his brother.

  An animated Molly flirted with Dante—who for the first time looked exactly like Deacon at his present age. Deacon had no feelings of jealousy, just relief that his brother approved of his girlfriend. Because god knew Dante hadn’t liked Cassidy.

  But when he reached the part of the dream where the tree loomed ahead, the knothole mouth that screamed was Molly’s mouth. When he turned to look at Cassidy passed out in the middle, it was Molly sailing through the windshield.

  He screamed and bolted upright in bed.

  Then Molly was in his face. “Deacon.”

  “You’re alive.” As soon as he said that, he had to look away out of embarrassment.

  Of course she’s alive, you dumb fuck.

  “Look at me.”

  He shook his head.

  “This is why you don’t talk about the accident.” She set her hand on the back of his sweaty neck.

  Her cool fingers stroking his fevered skin settled him a little.

  “You had a nightmare like this in Nebraska. That afternoon you made me sleep. When I woke up, you were gone. I thought I’d heard a scream, but I figured I’d imagined it.”

  “No, you didn’t. That one was particularly bad. And I needed . . .” To get away. Like I do now. When Deacon scooted toward the edge of the bed, intending to escape, Molly threw her leg over his hips and forcefully pushed him flat on the mattress.

  “Lie still.”

  “Molly—”

  “It’s my right as your lover to touch you in passion and in pain.” Her hands journeyed down his chest. “You’re in pain, Deacon. Let me give you something else to think about.”

  Her silky hair trailed down the center of his torso, following in the wake of her kisses. She took his soft cock in her mouth, sucking and tonguing the flesh until it began to harden.

  It didn’t take long for his cock to become fully erect with the expert way she worked him over.

  Her hair was a curtain masking his view. He snagged a handful of the dark tresses and yanked to get her attention. The wet warmth surrounding his dick disappeared. Her gaze met his.

  Deacon said, “I want to watch you.”

  She circled the rim of his cockhead with her tongue and lightly suckled. Then she brought his shaft into her mouth slowly until the entire length was buried deep enough the head touched the back of her throat. She swallowed once.

  He groaned. “Jesus. That feels so fucking good.”

  Then Molly released him in that same leisurely manner until his dick was wet, throbbing, and entirely out of her mouth. “I know you like to watch me blowing you. But this time I want you to close your eyes and let me have my way with you. Do nothing but feel how much I love touching you like this.”

  Like he’d ever say no to that. Deacon traced the edge of her jaw down to her chin, moving his fingers to outline her lips, which were so close to his cock he felt her fast breath teasing the wet tip. “Okay.”

  A secretive smile curled those full lips. She placed one hand in the center of his chest and pushed until he was flat on the mattress. Her hair fell, covering her face.

  But then the heat and suction returned, and Deacon gave himself over to it.

  Molly’s hand jacked his shaft, rising up with hard pulls to meet her tight, wet mouth sliding down. Every few strokes, her fingers would drop between his legs to fondle his balls. Or to rub the section of skin between his sac and his asshole.

  It should’ve embarrassed him, how much he liked that touch. But it made him even hotter that no part of his body was off-limits to her, the same as every inch of her was his to taste and touch.

  Coherent thought morphed into silent pleas for her not to stop. His body jerked. His hips shot up. Goose bumps erupted when she paused to plant wet kisses on the insides of his thighs as she raked the outsides with her fingernails.

  He fucking loved it. She understood he didn’t need a sweet and reverent blow job. He needed urgency, a tiny spark of pain, and being reminded that she’d taken control.

  He yelped when she squeezed his balls.

  He fisted his hands in the sheets and not her hair when she deep throated him.

  He whimpered at the wet lash of her tongue over his anus.

  Molly had him so wound up—belly muscles quivering, quads as tight as if he’d performed a hundred squats that even his freakin’ knees were sweating by the time she unleashed his orgasm. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked every hot spurt, her fingers loosely circling his shaft as she stroked and the tip of her finger swirling around his anus.

  Deacon tried to hold on, tried to remain cognizant, but the pleasure swamped him and he gave in to it. Then sleep beckoned, and he couldn’t ignore the summons.

  The last thing he remembered was Molly snuggling into him with a softly whispered, “Let’s hope your dreams are much sweeter now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  BEING naked in bed with Deacon defined decadent.

  Being naked in bed with Mr. MMA brooding badass after he’d poured his heart and soul out to her, confessed his love, and then proved it, oh, twice? Downright heavenly. Her body, throbbing from Deacon’s very thorough attentions, the heat, the weight, the scent of him all over her . . . She knew there’d never be another man for her.

  Deacon bent down to nuzzle the side of her breast. “You trying to get me hard again with that sound?”

  “What sound?”

  “That sexy little hum you make when you’re thinking about us fucking.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  He didn’t look up when he said, “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Better than when I make that sexy little fucking moan you get crazy possessive about?” she teased.

  “You make soft need-you noises when I start to touch you. You make desperate-to-come noises when I’m inside you. But that little hum I hear after I’ve fucked you? It lets me know you’re still thinking about me fucking you.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Will it get your back up if I say that’s sweet?”

  “I ain’t sweet, babe. Not fucking ever.”

  Wrong. But she’d keep those moments to herself. When she caressed the smooth line of his head, down to the back of his neck, he sighed. His reaction to her touch was one of the sweetest things ever.

  “You still seem tense. Want a bac
k rub?”

  Deacon raised his head. “You’d do that?”

  “Let’s see . . . putting my hands all over this body, an outstanding example of masculine perfection? Damn. Such a chore. What was I thinking? I rescind my offer, because touching you would totally suck.”

  “You wanna suck me too, I’m good with that. Because, babe, you are very good at that.”

  “Thanks. Roll over.” Molly shifted and slid down to straddle his naked ass. Maybe she should try to keep some of her weight off him by balancing on her knees. Nah. He’d notice and chew her out for her body-image issues, so he’d just have to suffer if she squished his dick.

  Before she dug her fingers into his muscles, she ran her hands across the broad expanse of his back. She’d seen his tattoo before, but she hadn’t studied it this close.

  The angel’s wings spread from one shoulder to the other and stretched down to his hips. The feathers faded from black to gray. The detail was breathtaking, utilizing his skin as part of the shading, which accentuated the solid lines. When he moved, his muscles gave the ink fluidity.

  His arms were in a blocky U shape against the mattress. She noticed the symmetry between the tats on his arms with the one large piece on his back. Two thick black bands circled both of his biceps and were connected with what looked like a DNA chain. From that point down, the designs on each arm were different. He hadn’t gone with full sleeves—not yet anyway. These tats weren’t strictly shades of black, but bold colors interwoven in the chains and scrolls, creating patterns and yet total chaos.

  “You’re quiet.”

  Molly traced a spiral of green that looked like a fern frond beginning to unfurl. “Just admiring your ink.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss behind his ear. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Not everyone thinks so.”

  “Does anyone who’s not in this bed matter?”

  Deacon didn’t answer.

  His silence didn’t bother her. Because she knew his initial knee-jerk reaction was from defending the art on his body. And it pained her to admit, but at one time she’d been judgmental about men and women who sported tats. She hadn’t understood the beauty in personal expression until she’d gone to college. Her roommate had decided to mark the pivotal points in her life with ink as a daily reminder of life’s joys and sorrows.

  Molly hadn’t gotten quite brave enough to do that. “Can you tell me what any of them mean?”

  “The angel’s wings . . . That artist I told you about who did the art in my living room drew them for me. I had the outline of the tat started on the one-year anniversary of Dante’s death. Every year I added more until it was finished. Since then I’ve had sections of it re-inked every year, so I . . .”

  “So you don’t forget the pain and suffering you went through on that day and what you lost.”

  “Jesus. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. Not for sure.”

  “You scare me,” he said softly.

  “I know. But you’re not alone in your fear, Deacon. I feel it too.” She scooted down and pressed the cradle of her hips to the base of his buttocks. Molly rested her cheek between his shoulder blades and stretched her arms out on top of his.

  Deacon exhaled heavily. “I like that, babe. Don’t move.”

  That simple body-to-body contact gave them both something they needed. Comfort. Trust. A different way their bodies could feel connected as one.

  Molly dozed off when she heard Deacon’s soft snores.

  Fingers threading through hers roused her.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

  “Now I understand why you like having my weight on you.”

  “I’ll bet your legs and ass are tingling.”

  “Nope.” He reached back and smacked her ass. “Get cracking on that back rub, woman.”

  She straddled his butt and started pressing the heels of her hands to the base of Deacon’s neck. Within a minute or so of her digging her thumbs into his flesh, he released the tension and melted into the mattress.

  After a bit she said, “Not to be crass, and I’m not asking for specifics, but I was surprised to learn that your family is rich. Does your family have a long history in Texas too?”

  “No. The Westermans are new oil, which is completely different from old Texas oil.”

  “Um, isn’t all oil . . . old?”

  He laughed. “Our family story is along the lines of the Clampetts of The Beverly Hillbillies and not the Ewings of Southfork. When I returned to Texas after bein’ gone for almost five years, my dad told me I had a trust fund. But he wasn’t sure if changing my name affected my claim on it. I had to meet with Granddad. Jesus, he was a scary man.”

  “Was he upset you changed your name?”

  “Not after I told him why I’d done it. It helped, I think, that I took Uncle Jesse’s surname. Uncle Jesse was my grandmother’s brother, and Granddad respected the hell out of him.”

  Molly dug her thumbs alongside his spine, above his buttocks. “What happened?”

  “He freed up the money, but the stipulation was that I got put on the JFW board. Then he informed me that Dante’s trust had become mine as well. After living hand-to-mouth for years? I almost passed out when they told me the ridiculously high amount in the account. And I don’t talk about it because what I’m worth ain’t nobody’s business.”

  “Your financial worth isn’t your true worth to me, Deacon.”

  “I know that, babe.” He slowly raised his head and looked at her. “And I fucking love you for saying that.”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” She shifted to the side so she could look into his face. “But I need some idea if you’re talking about a trust that allows you to buy first-class airplane tickets without checking the price? Or if you just buy the damn airplane.”

  “JFW has several planes. We’re not talking an Okada level of money—either for the business or the family. But my eight-figure trust fund ensures I don’t ever have to work as a dishwasher again. I’m lucky enough to be able to follow my dream to become a MMA champion and train full-time.”

  Her jaw dropped at the nonchalant way he tossed off eight-figure trust fund.

  “Tag is my investment guy. Granddad also set up stipulations of how much money I have to take out every year.”

  “You don’t mean a limit of how much money you can take out?”

  He shook his head. “I have to take out a certain amount. Not that I’m complaining. With the exception of a couple of cars, I never developed expensive tastes.”

  “How will you ever survive until your next payout?”

  Deacon appeared to be scrutinizing her for malice. Seeing none, he gestured to his apartment. “Ain’t like I’m livin’ at the Ritz.”

  “But like Shiori . . . you could live there if you wanted to.”

  “Yeah. But the penthouse at the Four Seasons is nicer and way more tricked-out.”

  She laughed. “Goofball.”

  He threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m happy to see your hands and knuckles have developed thicker skin.”

  Molly was glad he changed the subject. “Kickboxing is hell on manicures. There goes my dream of striking it rich as a hand model.”

  Deacon smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  She smoothed her hand over his pate. “What’s going on in this shaved head of yours?”

  “Ronin and Amery had a huge fight and broke up over money and