Beautiful Rush

by Rose, Emery

  “I want you,” I gritted out. “Inside me.”

  “You sure you can handle it?” he teased.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, goddammit. Please, I need—”

  He lifted his head, his green eyes burning with intensity as he stared me down. “Say it. You need me.”

  My hands curled into the bed sheets, my bottom lip gripped between my teeth, because his thumb pressed against my clit and I wanted more. “I need you.”

  “I know you do.”

  Cocky. He leaned over and nabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans on the floor and rolled it down his cock.

  “I was just talking about sex,” I said. “I need sex. That’s all I need from you.”

  “Liar.” He pressed the head to my entrance but went no further.

  “Deacon,” I said, frustrated.

  “This is not a fling, Keira. It’s not a one-night stand. It’s not sex with no strings attached. You and I both know it’s more than that. It has been from the day we met.”

  One hand shot out and he grasped my nipple between his thumb and index finger, increasing the pressure. Pain-spiked pleasure coursed through my body as he rolled my nipple and gave me another teasing push with his cock like he was trying to punish me for suggesting this was anything less than what it was.

  “Tell me this means something to you.”

  “Deacon,” I whispered. I didn’t want him to crack through the last of my defenses, but I wanted him, and I needed him, and he always saw through my lies, so I told the truth. “You mean something to me. I just don’t know what that is yet.”

  It was honest, at least.

  His lips curved into a smile as if my answer made him happy. He wanted to know that he mattered to me. And he did.

  “We’ll figure it out.” He sounded so confident that I almost believed him.

  Without giving me a chance to respond, he slammed home with one thrust and I arched into his lean, muscled body. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. His dirty-blond hair falling into his eyes and that face that could be pretty if it wasn’t for the strong jawline and the feral look in his green eyes.

  “You feel so fucking good,” he said. “You’re everything I knew you would be.”

  Those were the last words he spoke before he gripped my calves and lifted my legs until they rested on his shoulders. Then he began to pound into me. Over and over. Readjusting the angle and my position so he could get deeper and, oh God, he filled me up so much. And still I wanted more of him. I was greedy and needy and insatiable.

  My vision blurred as he worked his hips and never slowed his pace. An orgasm like I’d never experienced before gathered inside me, building with every thrust until I teetered on the very precipice, only seconds away from falling.

  Deacon pushed me over the edge mercilessly, and I would have said or done anything he asked just to feel this high again. Oh God, I was an addict.

  He slid his hand between my legs and pressed his thumb over my clit and I was done. Gone. The orgasm rocked me to the core. My scream was loud enough to wake the neighbors, but I didn’t even care that he had smugly predicted this. It was amazing.

  I rode out the orgasm, slowly coming down from my high, my vision clearing. Seconds later, Deacon’s own roar sounded as his hips stilled and his cock pulsed inside me.

  Sweat dripped from his face, and my own skin was slick even though a cool breeze blew from my open window.

  “Guess I can handle you,” I said.

  And then we laughed because this was all kinds of crazy and wonderful and terrible and we both knew that sex wouldn’t get us out of each other’s systems. It scared me but thrilled me too. Like a turbo-charged ride to an unknown destination.

  He shook his head, looking a little dazed and squeezed my hip before he slid out from between my legs. I immediately felt the loss and wished I didn’t. Rolling onto my side, I watched him as he crossed to the bathroom and disappeared inside. Then I tossed all the extra pillows on the floor to make room for him and pulled the sheet over my body. My head propped up on three pillows, I lay still as a statue.

  Deacon returned within moments, lifted the sheet and slid under it. He turned me over, discarded one of my pillows, and pulled me back into his warm body, his arm wrapped around me, pinning me against him.

  “What have you done to me?” I whispered into the shadows of my room.

  “The same thing you’ve done to me. You’ve ruined me.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  “Shit happens.”

  I laughed and turned my face to his. He kissed the laughter off my lips and my traitorous body melted into his.

  Boom!

  There went another piece of my heart.

  Falling.

  * * *

  “You already have a boyfriend,” Deacon said, taking the phone out of my hand to read the messages after my group chat blew up.

  Deacon and I were lying in bed, with our backs resting against the headboard, watching Sons of Anarchy on my laptop. I was wearing the blue T-shirt he’d tossed on the floor earlier that smelled like him, and he was wearing black boxer briefs.

  Two giddy weeks had passed in a lust-filled haze since the night he had cooked dinner for me. We were still trying to work each other out of our systems. Which meant that we’ve had sex in the shower, on the sofa, against the wall, on my kitchen counter and every other available surface.

  It was a Sunday and I’d spent the day hanging out with Ava, eating tacos and catching rays in the courtyard of Trinity Bar. Eden worked there as a part-time bartender when she wasn’t working on the murals she was commissioned to paint, and it was clear from the moment I arrived that she and Ava had hatched a plan. His name was Eli and he was a musician slash bartender. A drifter with a gypsy heart, he claimed, and quite possibly one of the coolest looking guys I’d ever seen. He had long, wavy brown hair and tattoo sleeves that even Connor, the tattoo snob, had to admit were works of art. Eli smoked skinny cigars and had a devil-may-care look about him. His boots looked like they’d journeyed the world and had stories to tell. In short, Ava and Eden had chosen a cool guy for me and he had asked me out for coffee at a record store which sounded like fun. The only strike against Eli was that he wasn’t Deacon. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my heart already belonged to Deacon. I knew it but was still trying to fight it, even though my attempts were feeble at best.

  I snatched the phone from his hand. “A secret boyfriend I can’t tell anyone about.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh and we watched Jax Teller shoot a federal agent. Secretly, I thought that Jax Teller, who used to be my ideal man, had nothing on Deacon.

  His eyes were still trained on my laptop as more messages lit up my phone.

  Killian: If it’s Eli, that’s a hell no.

  Eden: You don’t even know him

  Ava: He’s hot

  Connor: Stop ogling other men

  Ava: I’m only doing it for Keira

  Connor: Stop matchmaking. It never ends well

  Killian: I met him. He’s shifty.

  I snort-laughed at the word shifty as I typed out a reply: Shouldn’t this be my decision? If I want to go out with him, it’s not your concern. Butt out, Killian.

  Before I could hit send, Deacon snatched the phone out of my hand again and read the messages. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re with me and nobody else.”

  I didn’t deny it but still felt the need to assert myself. “That doesn’t give you the right to make decisions for me.”

  Deacon ignored my protests and held my phone out of arms-reach, typing a reply on my behalf.

  Me: I’m not looking for a boyfriend. And I agree he’s shifty. Thanks for looking out for me, Killian.

  He pressed send and tossed my phone on the bedside table. It skittered off the edge and hit the hardwood floor with a clunk. I crawled over him and retrieved my phone, waving it in his face. “You’re lucky you didn’t break it.”

  “I would ha
ve bought you a new one.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the bed, moving over to make room for me in the space he’d previously occupied.

  We watched a sex scene on Sons of Anarchy, and I chewed the cuticle of my thumbnail, trying to sort out what had just happened and how I felt about it. For Deacon, this was over, and the matter had been dealt with. By him.

  “I feel like you took away my power,” I said.

  He glanced at me. “Do you want to go out with this guy?”

  “No. But that’s not the point.”

  “You were just teasing me to make me jealous?”

  Was I? Was I mean and childish and petty? Did I want to arouse his jealousy? That wasn’t really my style. I wasn’t interested in playing those games and I would hate it if he did that to me. “No. I was trying to tell my brother that the choice was mine, not his.”

  He thought about that for a minute. “Okay.” He nodded. “I’m taking you on a date.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his eyes still glued to the laptop screen.

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Keira Shaughnessy, will you go on a date with me?”

  “You can’t take me on a date.” I ran my hand over the smooth skin of his chest and traced my fingertips over the ridges of his abs—one, two, three, four, five, six—he was lean and lithe, and I loved touching every inch of his body.

  How had it come to this? I was the girl who hadn’t wanted a relationship. He was the guy who assured me he wasn’t looking for one. Yet, now here we were. In a relationship I couldn’t tell anyone about. We ate late-night dinners together. Watched movies. Talked and laughed and argued. Showered together. All without leaving my apartment.

  “I can and I will,” he said, the set of his jaw stubborn. “We’re going.”

  My hand moved lower, to the bulge in his boxer briefs. Palming his cock through the fabric, I pressed my thumb against the slit. He hissed and pushed the laptop aside, peeled off his boxer briefs and pulled me on top of him so I was straddling his hips.

  “Oh. You want this?” I asked, grinding my body against his. “Think you can handle me?”

  “Oh, I can handle you.”

  He ripped off the T-shirt I was wearing, and his hands moved to my waist, lifting me up. Positioning him at my entrance, I sank down slowly until he filled me to the hilt. I rolled my hips, grinding my body against his. He gripped my hips to hold me in place, stilling my movements, a pained look on his face.

  “Don’t move. Just…stay still.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Is this okay? Without protection?”

  I hadn’t even thought about it, but we were safe. On the birth control front, anyway. On the emotional front, I couldn’t be too sure. “I’m on the pill.”

  “You feel so fucking good.”

  “So, do you.” I leaned forward to kiss him.

  We kissed each other like we were starving, and this was our favorite food and our last meal.

  He pushed me onto my back and pinned my wrists to the mattress, his face hovering inches above mine as he thrust into me. “I don’t want you to go on a date with anyone else.” Thrust. “I don’t even want you to fucking think about another man.” Thrust.

  My legs encircled his waist and I lifted my hips so he could go deeper. “I only want your magic dick. Don’t even think about letting another woman touch you or kiss you or even look at you.”

  “I’m yours. All fucking yours.” The words were a growl.

  I clawed his back and he marked my neck. We fucked like wild animals, thrust for thrust a play for dominance and survival. We gave as good as we got.

  Our love was the crazy kind. The kind of love that makes you feel more alive, teetering on the edge of something beautiful and dangerous. Like driving too fast on a road with hairpin turns on a steep rocky cliff. It scared me sometimes. Because I was me and he was brave enough to fall for me, even though I’d warned him it was a bad idea. Deep down, I knew that a girl like me could never have anything real and good. My past would forever chase me, and somehow, someway, he would pay the price. I didn’t know how or when or why but I could feel something bad coming.

  Four days later, on the afternoon before my date with Deacon, a link on the chain around my neck broke. When I had felt that the cross was missing from around my neck, I’d panicked. It was a bad omen. Bad juju. The end of the world was approaching. My loved ones were all going to die a fiery death and end up in the pits of hell. But the cross wasn’t lost; it had just slipped down inside my T-shirt and I was able to retrieve it and identify the problem. It was an easy fix, and it only took Pete a few seconds to tighten the link with a set of small pliers. Pete had a soft spot for me and treated me like a daughter, but not in a creepy or controlling way. In a nice way, like asking how I was doing and reminding me to take a lunch break on the days when I got so immersed in work that I forgot to eat.

  “Good as new,” he assured me as I looped the chain around my neck and tucked the cross inside my T-shirt.

  I thanked him and went back to work, laughing at my own silly superstitions. But just to be safe, I called my brothers and Eden and Ava. They were busy working, they were all fine, no major disasters to report and Deacon and I were going on our date tonight, so everything was right with the world.

  12

  Deacon

  Oh hell, no. Heads swiveled as the beauty in a tiny black dress and biker boots strutted past them to the tune of Slayer’s “Angel of Death” blasting from the jukebox. Her eyes were on my face as I stalked toward her, a wicked smile turning up the corners of her lips.

  “Are you trying to get me into a fight, baby?” I hooked my finger in the skinny strap holding up her dress, although calling it a dress was a stretch. It was short and silky, trimmed in black lace and barely reached mid-thigh. She’d paired it with the cross she always wore and smoky eye makeup that made her look sexy and sultry. She looked like a femme fatale in a film noir. An assassin sent to seduce her mark before she stabbed him in the heart with his own fork.

  “Would you fight for me?” she asked.

  “To the death,” I growled. “Would you be my ride or die?”

  “Until my last breath.”

  Did we mean the things we said? Time would tell.

  My lips ghosted down her neck and across her collarbone. Her body shivered in my arms and she let out a low moan that went straight to my cock and most likely every other guy’s cock in this bar. It was probably safer to stay in her apartment. I had never been possessive before, and no woman had ever aroused my jealousy, but with her everything was different. When we were together, I didn’t think straight. It was dangerous to feel this way, to be in a bar full of people, my senses so heightened that all I could see was her.

  I took her hand in mine and led her to the stool in front of my beer, peanut shells crunching under our boots, the scent of stale beer and sweat hanging in the air. It was our first foray into the wild since December and Keira’s first real date. She had wanted to tick off another item on the list of things she’d never done. Hit a dive bar. So here we were at a dive bar on the Lower East side which was less dive bar and more like a kitschy curiosity shop. I thought she’d appreciate it. Skulls and saint statues lined the dusty wooden shelves behind the bar festooned with multi-colored Christmas tree lights. Bonus points, a motley crew of hairy bikers in black leather cuts had rocked up on their Harleys earlier and were shooting pool in the back room.

  “How did you get here?” I leaned my hip against the bar, so I was facing the door as she settled onto the stool and tugged down the hem of her dress.

  “Subway.”

  I wanted to bash my head against the wall for not picking her up. “I told you to take a taxi.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “The subway was faster.” She helped herself to a handful of maraschino cherries from the plastic garnish tray behind the bar and lined them up on a cocktail napkin like a row of cheerful soldiers. “How did you get here?” />
  “Subway.”

  She gave me a smug smile and ripped the fruit off the stem with her teeth.

  “I’m a guy and I’m not wearing a skimpy dress.”

  “I have pepper spray in my bag and a mean right hook.” She cocked her fist and I let out an exasperated sigh as she ate her maraschino cherries and told me to chill, like I was overreacting. I was NYPD. I have seen the worst of humanity. Rapes, muggings, shootings, domestic violence. Horrific things and sad things that wrenched your heart and blackened your soul if you thought about them too much. To do my job, you had to deal with the situation and move on, put it out of your head so it wouldn’t eat away at you and haunt your dreams. For the most part, I was good at compartmentalizing. But sometimes it was not that easy to ‘chill,’ not when you cared about someone and wanted to keep them safe. So yeah, maybe with her I overreacted, seeing danger where there wasn’t any, but on top of the skimpy dress and her general attitude of giving zero fucks, she was carrying a Louis Vuitton bag. She was a mugger’s wet dream. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. She was here and she was fine.

  The bartender, a beefy guy with a shaved head and facial piercings, stopped in front of us to take our order. Keira hastily folded her cocktail napkin to hide the stockpile of cherry stems as if she didn’t want to get caught stealing. It made me laugh.

  “What can I get ya?” he asked in a thick New York accent.

  I ordered another beer and she asked for a dirty martini with extra olives.

  “Missed you, Kosta.” She gave me a smile that could light up this gloomy dive bar. Light up the whole fucking city.

  “Missed you too,” I said as if it had been years instead of just a few days since I’d last seen her.