Merry Oblivion

by Cari Quinn

  “An hour.”

  “A whole hour?” He swallowed hard and her nipples tightened in reaction. She loved his Adam’s apple. “Alone?”

  She grinned against his mouth. “That would be correct.”

  He lifted one hand to her face and threaded his long fingers into her hair as he cupped her jaw. “And you’re just out of the shower?” He nuzzled his lips against her neck and into the shadows of the robe. He nipped the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder and nudged the robe open wider. He quickly pulled back. “What’s that?”

  She pinched the lapels together. “What?”

  “Do you have lingerie on under there?”

  “Why do you sound so shocked? I wear it. Sometimes.”

  “You really don’t, but that’s all good with me. You know I like you in one of my old concert T-shirts, babe.”

  She blew out a breath. “Well, sometimes a quick grope under a shirt isn’t what I’m going for.”

  He straightened. “You don’t like a quick grope under your shirt?”

  “Of course I do. I just mean…” She pushed him back. “Look, Big Guy, I was going for a little something different, but if you’re not interested—”

  He caught her around the waist. “Oh, I’m interested.” He dragged her in. “Very interested.” His green eyes held a tinge of wild.

  She’d missed that wild. It had been directed at his work a lot lately. So much so that she was actually jealous of his Pro Tools.

  And she was going to shut that thought process down right now.

  In fact, this would be the perfect time to mention her ulterior motive, but she was afraid to lose the moment. Especially since said moment included a very hungry Deacon look.

  She loosened the belt of her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders.

  “Jesus.” His jaw actually dropped.

  She flipped her long braid over her shoulder. She probably should have taken it out. She’d meant to, dammit. Instead, she’d had a little freak-out and talked to Jazz. Now it seemed silly to pull out the braid, but she didn’t want to be mommy Harper or chef Harper right now.

  She took a few steps back as she tugged the band off the bottom of her braid and started the arduous task of unwinding it. She had a helluva lot of hair.

  “I was thinking that maybe you’d like your pre-Christmas present.” Her hand landed on her necklace for a second. “Maybe not quite as sentimental as your gift to me.”

  “We can make a memory or two.”

  She got to the elastic band she used for her ponytail and pulled it loose before shaking her hair over her shoulders. “Just two?”

  “I only have an hour.”

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Fifty-five minutes now.”

  He stalked across the room and trapped her against the wall with one forearm above her head and his other hand on her waist. His finger span covered her to the middle of her ribcage. He tangled his fingers in the side laces of her bustier. “Merry Fucking Christmas.”

  She tipped her head up. It would be an even better Christmas if she made a baby, but she knew it couldn’t happen just yet. For once, she wanted to plan out something in her crazy life.

  Plan to make a kid.

  She’d ask him tomorrow. Maybe later tonight.

  He lowered his mouth to hers and the kiss was scorching. Not the distracted kind in the morning before one of them was flying out the door or the tired kind when they were literally falling on their face in exhaustion. No, this was the fire she’d been missing.

  The man she remembered on the cliffs of Red Rocks where he’d taken her less than fifty feet away from a crowd of people. She could still remember the red dust staining her skin from the sheer power of getting fucked against the rock wall.

  This wall was a little nicer and a lot cleaner, even if part of her missed the gritty insanity of how it had been before.

  He detangled his fingers and tugged at the laces to free her breast. His tongue crowded out any thoughts about babies or birth control pills. There was nothing quite like Deacon looming over her to make her heart explode out of her chest. She’d never get used to just how big he was.

  Gentle.

  Ever the gentle giant most of the time.

  Most being the operative word tonight. Getting him to let go was always a feat in itself. Especially now with a four-year-old breaking in on them at all hours. But he was out tonight.

  Her manster.

  Her beast of a husband.

  She went up on her toes to meet his mouth in a demanding kiss. She looped her arm around his neck, then wrapped her leg around his waist. He took the signal—her man was very good with signals. He wrapped her other leg around his waist and slammed her against the wall.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled against her mouth.

  She climbed higher, gripping his ribs with her knees. “I want it hard. Don’t hold back, Big Guy.”

  He growled into her neck as he pinned her to the wall so he could free a hand. The clink of his buckle and tear of buttons on his jeans revved her ever closer.

  Just a quickie to relieve the tension. That was all she needed to get through the first half of this. Then she’d tell him—ask him. Then there would be all the conversations.

  But right now, she hissed out a breath as his cock slid against her panties.

  “Fuck.” The biting edge of the word soaked her panties further. “Oh, fuck. No way.”

  She bounced up against him and wiggled until he slid through the slit in her panties. “Oh, yeah.”

  “New favorite outfit. Every day.” He moaned against her neck as he sank into her. “You need a pair for every day.”

  Her damn eyeballs rolled into the back of her head. God, she missed him—missed this. The fullness that only he could provide. She fought with the need to hold him there, to just wrap herself around him and soak in the stretch of his cock taking up every space. But the need for more overrode the sweet factor. The darker, needier side of her demanded more.

  “Faster,” she whispered into his ear. She curled her arms and legs tighter around him. “Fuck me harder.”

  He groaned into her neck. “Lawless.”

  “Yes.” She tangled her fingers in his hair. “Like that night in the shed. When you couldn’t wait to get inside me.”

  “Every time.” He nipped at her jaw. “I swear it. Every time is like that.” He snapped his hips against her inner thighs and split her wider. “This is home.”

  She didn’t want the softness and security of home. Not right now. Her nails bit into his shoulder. He hissed and increased the tempo. The best part of a partner who knew you inside out.

  She rolled her hips as much as possible, but the wild Deacon had come out to play. He drilled into her without an ounce of mercy. Her spine was flush with the wall and the buzz started deep in her brain.

  Gone were the worries and responsibilities that normally crowded into her mind. His hot breath, relentless thrusts, and the rough thermal fabric pushed her through pleasure into bliss with a scream.

  She didn’t remember doing it until Deacon reared back and closed his mouth over hers. The friction of his barely unsnapped jeans and his shirt added to her complete meltdown. She tore through the fragile skin of his lip and the tang of blood hit her tongue.

  He ripped his mouth from hers. There was no censure there, only the flash of intensity in perfect harmony with her own. He gritted his teeth as his fingers dug into her hips. “Fuck.”

  She felt the wash of heat inside her. The pulse of his strong, sure cock filling her up with his cum. As if a switch was flicked, she relaxed and the trembles began. She sunk her teeth into the slice of flesh at the collar of his shirt and swallowed the next scream.

  He pressed his forehead into the wall by her face and dragged in gulping breaths. “Sweet fuck.”

  She rested her head against the wall, completely relaxed for the first time in months. “Nothing sweet about that one, Big Guy.”

  His rumble of a l
augh made her melt all over again. “No, not at all.” He smoothed his hand along her thigh with a long, slow breath. He eased back a little and swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “You drew blood.”

  She winced. “I know. I tasted it.”

  “My wife, the she-cat.”

  She licked across the swollen skin as they drifted into a lazy kiss. “I missed this. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m always right here.”

  “I know.”

  “Really? Because this felt a little intense.” He slowly lowered her to the floor. He straightened before drawing the pad of his finger across the lacy edge of her bustier. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Kinda sounded like it.” She slipped away.

  “No, you don’t. Don’t walk away from me like that.”

  “It’s fine. You have to get ready.”

  “I’d rather go on stage smelling like my wife.”

  A quick shiver skated up her spine. It had been a long time since he’d said something like that to her. Not that there was anything wrong with how they were together—not in the least. She was damn happy.

  And there they were, having a moment of actual sexy talk and she wanted to bring up babies?

  Maybe she was making a mistake.

  They were in a really good place right now.

  “Lawless. Seriously, what’s up?”

  “Nothing.” She turned back to him and dragged him down so she could cup his face. “Really, Deacon. I’m good. We’re good. I’m just…” How did she say it without sounding terrible? And there was no way she could bring up the baby situation now.

  Not when the nanny would be there in twenty minutes, and he had to get his head on straight for one of the biggest shows they’d had in a while.

  She was insane.

  He gave her that half smile again as his face suddenly cleared. “Horny?”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Works for me.”

  She laughed. “Ass.”

  He scooped her up and sat on the bed with her on his lap. “We’re always running around with Lex and you have to take care of the crew. I forget about this stuff. I don’t mind this kind of reminder.”

  “No?” She linked her arms around his neck.

  “Hell no. I’m all loose and charged up at the same time. Might have to play ‘Simple Man’ tonight.”

  She bumped his nose with hers. “Tease.”

  He grinned against her mouth. “Teasing is my favorite thing.” The kiss was sweet, then hot. Kisses she remembered from years ago on that damn tour bus. When she lost herself for hours in his bunk just touching every part of him.

  She skimmed her hands under his thermal to the firm, warm flesh of his abs, then up to his chest. No ‘dad bod’ for her husband. Unless he was trying out for Hot Dad of the Year.

  One that she was going to mount like it was her damn job. She pushed him down on the mattress and straddled his thighs. She nosed her way under his shirt and shoved it up out of her way. He flipped it off and she had nothing but tanned skin to explore.

  The flat disks of his nipples had a tinge of fur these days. A man’s body. Not that he’d ever really had a boy’s body, but they were cruising their way to thirty and his chiseled body had filled out even more.

  She linked their fingers, pinning them to the bed over his head. Heated eyes met hers as muscles flexed under her softer arms. Nothing about her was truly soft. She hucked food, trays, and warehouse-sized bags of produce to feed the bottomless pits of the people on the tour. But compared to the rippling muscle of Deacon, she was positively rubenesque.

  She’d never admit to anyone that she secretly loved being the soft one. Everything about Deacon made her feel feminine and small, but she’d rather descale a thirty-pound marlin with a pocket knife than own up to it.

  Her legs were still slick from him, and she wanted him again. She’d inched lower to unsnap his jeans when the front door slammed.

  “Mama!”

  “Shit.”

  “No, it’s not time yet. Right?”

  Deacon sat up and scooped her into his arms. He climbed off the bed and deposited her into the bathroom with a distracted kiss before stuffing his rapidly softening cock back into his jeans.

  She closed the door then rested her forehead against the cool surface. “How does an hour go by so damn fast?”

  The excitement in her daughter’s voice activated the baby-making gene that had hatched inside of her a few months ago. Deacon was so good with her.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d be with another.

  Maybe a little boy?

  Cripes, she was doomed. She tugged at the laces of her bustier and de-rockstarred herself. She swapped lace for sturdy cotton, but tossed it back in the bag before she pulled it on.

  Not quite time for Mommy yet.

  “Maybe the blue one will get some action after all,” she murmured.

  Chapter 2

  Deacon waved as Macy left for her dinner hour.

  “Where’s Mama?”

  He lifted Alexa and dropped her on his lap. “Getting dressed.”

  “Now? Did Mama have a nap?”

  “Something like that.” He cleared his throat. He was used to getting interrupted by his daughter. It was about as common as the sun rising at this age. She sneaked into their room in the middle of the night so much he’d taken to wearing actual workout pants to bed instead of his boxers.

  Way too many questions.

  “Do you hafta work tonight?”

  He brushed the dark bangs out of his daughter’s eyes. “It’s kinda a big show.”

  She crossed her arms. “Hank. You promised!”

  Ever since he’d taken her to the matinee of Finding Dory his daughter had been obsessed with the damn octopus—well, septopus, if that was a thing—ever since. “Dory will definitely be waiting for us soon. You asked Santa for it, right? It just might be under the tree when we get home.”

  “Hank.”

  Deacon laughed and dragged her in for a hug. “I know you like Hank. And we’ll totally watch it on Christmas day.” His little girl was also getting the plush Hank he’d scoured the internet for. The ornament, pillow, and blanket was also in her out of control pile. A buffet of Hank was waiting for his little girl.

  From his perspective, he’d rather watch Finding Dory nineteen times this week than Frozen one more time. Holy Christ. He knew the lyrics to “Let it Go” better than his own songs.

  “Mom’s got some dinner ready for you.”

  Her little lip curled. “Not chicken.”

  It probably was chicken. To stave off the histrionics, he stood and flipped her over his shoulder. She squealed and kicked. A Mary Jane to the temple was the very best way to start his warmup for the stage.

  He managed not to drop her. Barely. More because he was a pro at taking a hit than anything else. None of the baby books mentioned how many times a guy got kicked in the nuts by hard-soled baby shoes. Even in the father editions of the books.

  “Mom made your favorite mac and cheese.” He settled her in the booster seat that went with them wherever they went.

  Prepared for the fit sure to be coming, he popped the food in the microwave, then grabbed all her favorite utensils—cup, fork, divided dish. Anything she could want.

  He would be ecstatic when she went back to eating whatever they put in front of her.

  And Harper was sneaky as hell. She hid chicken in with the cheesy goodness. Hell, it was his favorite these days. Not before a show of course. He’d pass on the puking, thanks.

  Deacon quickly checked the temperature of the food and dished it out for her.

  His lucky day. Lex didn’t screech. She didn’t even complain. She shoveled the pasta in as she sang a bastardized version of the whale song from Dory. At least he was pretty sure it was. But there were no tears, so he was all good with that one.

  He looked up to find Harper in the doorway. She was back in her standard chef wear. Except her hair
.

  Deacon swallowed. It was rare to see her with her hair down. Even going to bed, she kept it tied back in her forever braids. Not now. No, her hair was wild and the cornsilk strands urged him across the room.

  He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and feel all that silk against his thighs.

  Jesus.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  And with his daughter right next to him like some perv?

  He needed to get a grip.

  Their gazes tangled and he saw the same fire lighting Harper up from the inside. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the intense side of his wife. He saw it in chef-mode, but aimed at him?

  Not since Lex had come along.

  Lexi stopped mid-warble. “Are you listening to me, Daddy?”

  “What?” He blinked and broke the crazy vibes spawning between him and his wife. “Of course I am.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  He leaned down to her and did a facsimile of the whale song. Her spoon clattered to the table as she clapped. “Again.”

  Harper snickered.

  Lexi twisted in her seat. “Mama. It’s time for Dezitin’s song.”

  “Destiny,” they both said in unison.

  “That’s what I said.” Her little eyebrows lowered and her bottom lip trembled. “Dezitin.”

  Harper crossed to them. She made the crazy moan and Lexi immediately started giggles. They’d do just about anything to stop waterworks. Even if they sounded like demented ghosts trying out a mating call.

  Harper gathered her hair up. At Deacon’s look, she stopped. He dragged her out of Lexi’s view. Their daughter was making airplane sounds as she chomped her way through her dinner.

  Deacon twisted his fingers into Harper’s hair. “Just tonight.”

  The long column of her neck made his mouth water. The cool strands shifted and flowed around his fingers and wrist. She arched her back a little and his grip increased.

  A creamy noodle bounced off his nose.

  Harper’s arch went from breasts out to curving down and laughing.

  Seduction with a four-year-old.

  Awesome.

  “Sorry, Big Guy.” Harper flipped her hair back. When another bit of cheese went airborne, she sighed. “I’ll see you at the venue?”