by Cari Quinn
“You are not getting me naked again,” she said and squirmed. “I’m starving, dammit.”
He tucked his arms under her butt and lifted her breasts to his eye level. “I’m not sure I should let you out of the house with this whole ensemble on.”
She stiffened. “Let me?”
“Way too delectable. How the hell am I going to concentrate? Or better yet, when some punk kid drools over you, how am I not going to kill him?”
“So I should take it off for the safety of others?”
“Definitely.”
She relaxed into his arms, playing with the ends of his hair. “Good save. But I’m still wearing it.”
He nosed along the triangle and watched her nipple peak. “Jesus, you are so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes.”
She cupped the back of his head as he flicked his tongue along the little cutout, then moved over to her nipple and sucked her through the material. He lowered her to the floor and palmed her ass before stepping back. She was wearing tiny white shorts that showcased her tan legs. “Yeah, I’m so going to have to kill someone today.”
Harper grabbed her sunglasses off the bed. “Now you know how I feel twenty-four seven.”
Deacon tugged his faded white Led Zeppelin shirt over his head. “Whatever.”
She walked by and whacked him on the ass. “C’mon, big guy. Feed me before I expire.”
Six
Ride the Wave
Harper jumped on Deacon’s shoulders halfway to Rhianna’s. She was worn out, dammit. After a ridiculous piggyback ride that left her sandier and sweatier than when they landed on the ground this morning, she was happy to see the beachfront shack.
The morning rain had mostly burned off, but had lasted long enough that the beach wasn’t teeming with people today. In fact, when they schlepped into the bar, only three people were inside.
“We are out of tequila!” DJ called from the bar.
Harper laughed and held a hand over her middle. “No more tequila.”
Deacon dropped onto a bar stool beside her, his arms and shoulders pushing her over a bit. They shoved at each other until she slid her arm through his and leaned against him.
“You guys are disgusting.”
Harper grinned at DJ. “Honeymoon. We’re allowed.”
“Oh, is that what yesterday’s dance floor fuck-a-thon was?”
Harper turned her head into Deacon’s biceps. “God, were we that bad?”
DJ nodded with a serious look on her face. “Of course not.”
“Shut up.”
“Nah, you two are adorable. If he wasn’t taken, I would have kidnapped, I mean…taken him home last night.” DJ set two glasses in front of them and nodded to Deacon. “You are the most adorable drunk boy I’ve ever seen.”
Deacon groaned.
Harper grinned. “He really is. He doesn’t get sloppy often. Takes a lot to get him drunk.”
A light flush stained Deacon’s cheeks. “All right, enough about last night.”
She leaned up and pressed a kiss into his bearded cheek. “You’re my sloppy drunk.”
He nipped her ear. “This sloppy drunk still managed to make you come your brains out last night.”
She lifted her shoulder with a laugh. “I didn’t hear you complaining either.”
DJ poured a pink concoction into their glasses. Pulverized strawberries floated through the mixture. “No sex talk unless I’m invited into the conversation, dammit.”
“What is that?”
“This is our strawberry lemonade. Perfection on a hot day.”
Harper squinted at her. “What’s the proof?”
“Zero. Virgin. Nada.” DJ waggled her eyebrows. “In fact, I make delicious pregnancy pops with it. A lot of moms wander in from the beach.”
“Oh.” She slid the glass forward and sipped. “Holy lemons.”
Deacon took his glass and gulped down half the contents. “Man, that’s good.”
She glanced at him. “Doesn’t it taste really lemony?”
He laughed. “If a lemon was dipped in sugar, sure.”
Harper scooped a finger into the ice for a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. Frozen strawberries. Smart. It kept the drink cold without having to water it down with too much ice.
“Stop studying it for a menu.”
She looked up at Deacon. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
DJ propped her elbows on the bar. “That’s right. You’re a cook, right?”
“Chef.”
DJ waggled her fingers. “Right, right. La-di-da.”
Harper laughed. She took another sip, but man, it tasted like she was sucking on a lemon proper. “Do you have some iced tea to make it an Arnold Palmer?”
“Your sugar buds must be broken,” DJ said as she turned to the cooler behind her. She pulled out another pitcher. “It’s only sun tea.”
“That’s fine.” Harper pushed her glass over to DJ. She pulled it back and took another sip. “Better.”
Deacon tapped the side of his glass. “I’m going with the strawberry lemonade. It’s awesome.” Deacon nudged her. “Must be that crazy chef palate.”
“Must be.” Harper frowned. “I am hungover. Maybe that’s it.”
“Well, let me get you some Rhi Fries.”
“Yes.” Harper slapped the bar. “That would be excellent. A gut full of grease will put me back to rights.” She slid off the stool. “We’re going to go find a booth.”
DJ waved at her. “Anywhere you want. I am the one and only master waitress, bartender, and hot girl.”
Deacon took both their glasses and followed her to one of the booths along the wall. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Just not used to hangovers anymore, I guess.”
“Me neither. We’ll give it a rest tonight.”
“That’s until you’re looking for wine later.”
Deacon gave her a dimpled grin. “It’s your fault. Dragging me to those tastings to fill your stash. Bad idea.”
She dropped into one side and snuggled in when Deacon sat beside her instead of across the table. He hooked his arm around her shoulder, dangling his fingers a little too close to her chest.
“Behave.”
He swiped his pinkie along the side of her breast. “You sure?”
She shivered and crossed her arms to hide the instant response from her nipples. “Evil.”
“I can’t help it. Those little cutouts keep drawing my eye right there.”
She tipped her head up, nuzzling her nose along his furry chin. When his thumb slid over the cutout, she closed her eyes. What was it about the coastal air? She’d never been so revved up so easily in her life. Just a look from Deacon had her aching and crazy.
He made her want to do things in public, for God’s sake.
What, like the kitchen of the Bishop house too? Like that, Harper Lee?
Okay, so that wasn’t on the coast. She was just happy to be around Deacon that was all.
She dropped her hand to Deacon’s lap. When he stiffened under her touch, she flicked her tongue along his neck. “Not so nice, huh?”
He groaned, shifting his foot up on the wooden casing of the booth to block anyone from seeing her fingers curling around his rapidly hardening shaft.
They should be beyond spent, but it seemed the both of them were more than ready for more. She curled her arm around the inside of his on the table as she scooted closer.
“Lawless.”
“It feels good, right?”
He groaned as she tightened on him just as he liked. Deacon liked a firm hand with long, slow strokes. His board shorts were loose fitting enough that she had a little give. She turned her face into his neck. “I wish it was my mouth.”
“Fuck,” he whispered.
She smiled into his neck. “Just a little bit of teeth down the length until I get to the silky soft head. The slit there that tastes so good, just a hint of you on the tip of my tongue.”
His breath
ing grew more gravelly, groans that meant he was with her completely. God, she loved that sound. She nipped at his Adam’s apple. “Then I’d draw you inside until you filled my mouth, easing slowly down my throat.”
The tips of his fingers teased the underside of her breast as he looked out at the bar. When he hissed out a dark groan, she gripped him tighter. “Squeezing the base of this thick cock as I take the rest. I love the way you taste. Like the ocean and heat. Always so hot.”
“Freaking shit. Lawless, you’re killing me here.”
“We could go outside. Around back. There’s no one around today.”
“Harper.” His groan broke off as she palmed him.
“Let me.”
“Here we go, kids.”
Deacon’s hand went flat on the table as DJ seemed to materialize in front of them. She dropped a huge plate of fries in front of them. She glanced down at him then back up to their faces. “Honeymoon on hold, ya randy pair.”
Harper sat up. She missed his heat already. So hot and hard. She cleared her throat. “Just killing time.”
DJ looked from her to him. “Do you have a brother?”
Deacon laughed. “Sorry.”
Okay, so maybe his laugh sounded a little strangled. But then again, he was sporting a pretty fierce hard-on.
“Of course you don’t.” DJ sighed and stole ketchup from another table. “Eat first. Then you can go back to your sex shack.”
Harper cleared her throat and snagged a fry from under the melted cheese, bacon, and chives. She dunked it into the cup of Ranch. “Eating,” she said and popped it into her mouth.
She sighed, then sat back, chewing quickly. The fry was perfectly crisp with the fluffy potato insides she loved, but what was up with the bacon?
And the Ranch for that matter.
Deacon licked his fingers, his mouth full. That was her husband, quick to change gears to his stomach.
“Does it taste okay to you?”
He flicked his tongue over his thumb to get the last of a dab of Ranch. “You’re kidding, right? These are awesome.”
“I guess you’re getting my bacon.”
He frowned. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I mean a little murky from the tequila, but I’ve felt a ton worse before.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Not warm.”
She grinned up at him. “Did you just pull a mom temperature gauge?”
“Don’t knock it.”
She sat back and picked at the fries. The cheese and fries tasted okay. It was just the bacon. She tried the Ranch again, but held it up to Deacon. “Ranch too.”
He closed his teeth around her fry. “The Ranch is perfect.”
“What the hell did the tequila do to my tastebuds?”
“I don’t know. Wonder if you’ll hate other things?” His gaze went to his lap.
“Now that would be a true sacrilege.”
“No shit,” he muttered.
She elbowed him. He smiled around another fry, the jerk. She ate a few more before leaning back into her seat.
“Not hungry?”
She shook her head. “I guess not.”
“Do you want to order something else?”
Harper rested her hand on her belly. It didn’t feel upset, but she also didn’t feel hungry. She slid the plate in front of Deacon. “No. I’m good.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m gonna hit the restroom.”
His eyebrows lowered. “Sick?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She patted his cheek. “Relax. I’ll be right back.” She skirted the table and headed to the back of the bar to the restrooms. Once inside, she went to the sink to splash water on her wrists and finally her face. She patted her cheeks with a paper towel, peering into the mirror.
She didn’t look any different. A little pale, but that was to be expected with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before. Then why did she feel off? She didn’t even feel that hungover now that she’d had two glasses of DJ’s lemonade concoction. Dehydration was long behind her.
Was it a vitamin deficiency? Maybe she’d look up her symptoms on Web MD. When another woman came into the bathroom, she gave her a polite smile and headed back into the bar.
Deacon was finished with their fries and he had a bowl of ice cream waiting for her. She smiled and scooted in next to him. “Chocolate ice cream? You must feel bad for me.”
“Hey, I like chocolate too.”
She brushed her lips over his. “You like strawberry better.”
He shrugged and scooped out a spoonful and held it out to her. “You’re the chocoholic. This may not be your favorite Scharffen Berger chips, but I’m sure it will hit the spot.”
She opened her mouth, letting the icy treat slide across her tongue before she closed her lips around the stem of the spoon. Inferior chocolate to be sure, but ice cream was ice cream.
She frowned when it slid down her throat with a weird aftertaste. It didn’t look freezer burned. Seriously? Ice cream tasted crappy too? Where was the justice?
Unwilling to listen to Deacon worry about her, she scooped up another spoonful. Melting whipped cream and a lonely cherry slid down the sundae glass. She popped the Maraschino cherry into her mouth and forced herself not to grimace.
What the hell?
When her spoon hit glass, she pushed the cup away. “Thanks, babe.”
Deacon smoothed his hand down her hair. “How about we head back and take a nap? Maybe both of us will feel better.”
“Great idea.”
“I already paid for the bill, so we can just boogie.”
“That’s my guy.”
Their walk back to the cottage was quiet. Deacon seemed to always know when she needed chatter and when she needed silence. They held hands, sloshing through the small waves that covered their toes.
When their cottage came into view, he scooped her up and over his shoulder, making her laugh as he climbed the sand dunes into the knee-length grass that bordered the fence to their back porch.
He put her back on her feet at the small outdoor shower so they could de-sand. Kisses and a few trailing touches later, he drew her back inside. In no hurry to do anything other than be with each other, they shucked clothing and slid into the king-sized bed.
Both of them seemed intent on sleeping instead of sex. She snuggled into her favorite spot with Deacon curled around her from the back. The breeze was cool enough that her husband’s forcefield of heat actually felt good.
When she woke again, sunset’s silky red fingers were streaking the sky. She slipped out of bed and grabbed one of Deacon’s T-shirts. She sighed as the sun made its descent into the ocean. Could there be anything more beautiful?
A wide palm slid across her belly and Deacon tucked his chin on top of her head. “So, you mentioned that you were going to cook for me?”
“Is that all you can think about?”
“The three food groups that make up a honeymoon are sex, food and sleep. Guess which one I’m looking for?”
She laughed. “I think I remember reading something about a few fishmongers that were close. Want to explore a little? Take a drive down to the wharf?”
“Now that’s a plan.”
They got dressed and after a few hit and misses with some apps she used to locate fresh markets, they were driving out of the quaint little area they stayed in. Piers and industrial parks gave way to fishing boats and finally a tiny little shop that was open late. The strong scent of fish, seafood and catch of the day specials met them as they opened the rickety door to the shack-sized place.
“Are you sure about this?”
She elbowed Deacon. “Yes. This is the perfect place. Our selection probably isn’t going to be the best this late, but I can make us some fish tacos. Yes.” She moved down the aisle to the case. Red snapper would be perfect.
Deacon stood behind her, his hands gentle on her shoulders as she made her order. Such
a couple thing to do, but this was probably the first time they’d actually been at a market to make food for them. She was usually buying in bulk for catering. Not just a few pounds of fish and shrimp to make her husband a meal.
Twenty minutes later they had veggies from a Mom and Pop store and they were on their way back to the cottage. They chatted over food prep, laughed through an impromptu cooking lesson and sang along to the radio.
It was after nine by the time they’d set the table outside and enjoyed their spread of butter and garlic pan-fried shrimp, citrus-infused snapper tacos and a bottle of Moscato. He plowed through the platter of food and she picked at a single taco.
Deacon frowned. “Is your stomach still bothering you?”
She shrugged. “You know me. I’m always picking and tasting when I cook. I’m half filled up before it’s even on the table.”
He sipped from his wine. “No more tequila for you.”
She grinned and held up her glass. “Agreed.”
He clinked his glass against hers and hunched over the table. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah. It feels weird to relax, but yes.” She tangled her fingers with his and leaned forward. The kiss was sweet and soft and held the crisp pear tones of their wine. She stood and drew him up with her. “Dance with me?”
“Here?”
“Yes, here. You, me and the stars.”
He slid his phone out of his pocket and flicked through a few songs until the sweet tones of a piano came from his speakers. John Legend’s silky voice flowed out into the night as Deacon curled her into his body. His knee between hers, one arm around her waist and the other up and around her shoulders until she was completely encased in his warmth.
One song slid into another, one kiss into soft touches, soft touches into dreamy sighs. They drifted inside, their lovemaking gentle and easy. Full of love and the indulgence of a night without a schedule or deadline. And they both slept dreamlessly in a tangle of limbs and sheets.
Morning came with a grumbling belly. Harper rolled off the permanent heater that she shared a bed with and to her feet. She snagged one of Deacon’s shirts and padded into the kitchen.
