He growled into her mouth as she crushed her tits into his chest. The hand she had pinned between them, fisted in his shirt, flattened out and pressed.
She pressed harder, then began to shove.
Fuck.
He broke off the kiss and realized all the blood left in his brain had gone south and all the air had fled his lungs.
But, of fucking course, she wanted him to stop.
Fuck.
She planted both hands on his chest and shoved him backwards with such force he stumbled over the leg of the lounge and somehow managed to stick the landing with his ass on the cushioned chair instead of the hard deck.
His mouth gaped open as she yanked her sweatshirt over her head and flung it, then bent over and shoved her loose pants down to her ankles. Either she had worn no panties or she just shucked them along with her pants with impressive efficiency.
Fuck!
“Reese...”
“Shut up and get naked.”
This had to be the first time in his life where he actually hesitated. Where he actually questioned whether he should or shouldn’t get naked.
Seriously, someone must have slipped something into his joint besides weed.
“You have thirty seconds or I’m going inside and taking care of myself with my vibrator... Thirty... Twenty-nine... Twenty-eight...”
“That’s not a whole second. You’re countin’ too fast!” he shouted as he scrambled back onto his feet. Then he groaned and sat back down to work on taking off his boots first.
“Move faster, then.”
Of course, his boot lace would fucking get knotted at a time like this.
He tried to slow his breathing and his spinning brain so he could work methodically at loosening the knot.
“Twenty-four.”
“What happened to twenty-seven?” he yelled in a panic.
“Twenty!”
“What the fuck!” The knot finally unraveled. Thank fuck. He shot to his feet, unbuckling his belt with shaky fingers and thumbing open the button on his jeans. He ripped the wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it at her. “Wrap!”
“Ten.”
This woman did not know the length of a fucking second.
He didn’t even waste another one to see if she understood his order about grabbing a wrap from his wallet. Instead, he unzipped and peeled off his jeans, fighting with his boxer briefs as his hard as fuck dick got caught in that stupid opening. He winced as he jerked it free, from not only the cotton but almost from his body, too.
That crisis was luckily averted. He settled on the lounger and extended his hand to her.
“Five.”
Five? “I’m naked! Gimme the wrap.”
“You aren’t naked. You still have your shirt on.”
Christ! He ripped his tee over his head and threw it at her, then stuck out his hand again. “Wrap.”
The gorgeous woman, who looked a million times better naked than he could’ve ever imagined, stared at him blankly, then blinked.
He sighed. “Wallet.”
She glanced at the closed wallet in her hand like she was only now noticing it. She tossed it at him.
He caught it and dug out the one and only wrap tucked inside, relieved he had a box in his duffel bag... Just in case this night ended up being one long fuckfest where they christened every surface of her house.
Twice.
He tore it open with his teeth, dropped the empty wrapper to the deck, then rolled the condom down his throbbing dick.
He sat back and waited.
She still stood there.
“Thirty seconds to get on my dick or I’m goin’ inside and takin’ care of this myself,” he threatened.
What was good for the fucking goose—
His thought disintegrated as she climbed onto the lounger just like she had his chair a little bit ago. But this time would be more memorable since they were both naked.
And, bonus, he’d get to come, too.
“What if he’s out there watching?” she whispered.
“Now you’re worried about that? You were just standin’ on your deck totally fuckin’ naked.”
“I know, but...” She chewed on her bottom lip.
Oh no. Fuck no. She was not leaving him hanging just because she suddenly became aware of where they were. “If he’s out there, he’ll probably be fuckin’ jealous.”
She slapped his chest lightly. “That’s not funny.”
No, what wasn’t funny was his dick throbbing, wrapped and ready for action.
“Jussie will keep watch. Right, boy?”
Justice whined in agreement and wagged his tail.
“See? Nobody’s gettin’ past him.”
“Apparently, pot makes me horny,” she whispered, but still not making a move to climb onto his dick.
His lips quirked. “Noted. But I got a good solution to help with that.”
She smiled. “What?”
Was she playing coy? “Could tell you, but would rather show you.”
“Show me,” she whispered.
“Just wanna make you aware of what’s gonna happen.” Especially since she basically drank a whole bottle of wine. By herself.
“I’m almost thirty-five years old. I think I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you.”
He lifted one eyebrow. Okay, then. The answer was supposed to be that he was going to fuck her. But he liked that little change in play. He could get on board with it if she ever got on board him.
“I want to touch your nipples.”
He wanted that, too. He grabbed her hands and slapped one over each nipple. “There you go. You don’t need to ask, just take the initiative.”
Her fingertips brushed over his barbells, and even though it wasn’t much, it was enough for him to bite back a groan.
“Why did you get them pierced?”
“So women like you would ask to touch them.”
“Really?”
That wasn’t quite the reason but it would work for the moment.
“Did it hurt?”
“Reese...” Christ, she was going to kill him before he even got a chance to fuck her.
She twisted one and his whole body instantly went electric.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“That’s what I’m supposed to do with them, right? I’ve never been with anyone with pierced... anything.”
“You do whatever you wanna do with them. Ain’t gonna stop you.” Hell no, he wasn’t.
“I want to lick them.”
Before he could respond, she dove for him, knocked him back into the lounger and planted her lips around one of his nipples. She sucked it as deep as she could get it into her mouth, then flicked the tip with her tongue.
As much as he wanted that, he was already ready to blow and if he filled that fucking wrap up before he got to fuck her, he would be pissed.
“You’re supposed to be on my dick when you do that,” he ground out, the muscles in his jaw popping.
She didn’t let up on the torture of his nipple. She forced her hand between them, grabbed his dick, held it and lifted herself up.
Oh fuck.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted as she tucked him between her warm, wet, plump lips and shimmied her way down his length. “Ooooh fuuuuck.”
She released his nipple and he dug his fingers into her long hair, wanting to pull her face to his so he could take her mouth, but she went for his other nipple. He kept his hand wrapped in her hair as she planted one palm solidly on his chest and used it for leverage, along with her feet planted on the deck, to rise and fall on his dick.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to fuck him.
He only wished they were somewhere where there was more light so he could see her clearly. He wanted to see every inch of her.
Next time.
He would explore every fucking crack and crevice. He’d taste, lick, suck, bite every bit of her. He’d make her toes curl, make her beg. Give her the best
orgasm she ever had.
But for now, they were cramped on a deck lounge chair. He was just relieved it hadn’t given out yet with their combined weight as her slick heat squeezed him tight. She wasn’t riding him like a bucking bronco, but more like a pleasure horse out for a trail ride. Her pace smooth and steady.
But it was her mouth that kept pulling his attention away from that warm pussy engulfing his dick.
Because what she was doing with her mouth was going to be his downfall. It didn’t help that, while she sucked, licked and nibbled on one nipple, she twisted the other one with her fingers.
Fuck yeah. This was why he’d pierced his fucking nipples.
This right here.
“Reese,” he groaned, keeping one hand firmly in her hair and, with the other, finding one of her rock-hard nipples, thumbing the tip before pinching it firmly. That got her increasing her pace, so he twisted it to the point where he knew it had to be uncomfortable.
And that had her slamming down on him and grinding.
Well, that fucking backfired.
“You close?” he forced up his tight throat. Because, fuck, he was close. He was closer than close. He was teetering...
Dangerously.
She began to rock back and forth, grinding her clit against him. She groaned against his nipple, making the metal barbell vibrate.
Holy fuck.
She released his nipple, lifted her head and shouted, “I’m going to come,” so loudly it made Justice tear across the deck, barking. She grabbed his face and took his mouth, smothering his own grunt as she drove down on him harder and faster, making the chair creak scarily.
If the chair collapsed...
Fuck the chair. The thick cushion would soften the fall.
“Oh, yes. I’m coming,” she groaned, making him groan as she circled her hips and drove her clit harder into him.
She whimpered. He whimpered. And the pressure in his lower body built to the point of no return.
He swore he saw stars, other than the ones in the sky above them, when he exploded at the same time she did. With a grunt, he finally released all the cum he’d been desperate to hold back, relieving that pressure.
She collapsed onto his chest, her pussy still squeezing him tightly as his dick pulsed, emptying his balls until there was nothing left.
He gripped her hips, holding her there, keeping her connected, and dropped his head back to the cushion to stare up at the night sky, trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.
This was not how he pictured having sex with her for the first time.
Not like this.
He figured she’d want it to be more dignified.
He smiled.
She shifted her hips until he slipped from her. Way too soon. With a sigh, she swiped her hair out of her face and sat up.
She stared down at him for a couple heartbeats, then moved to get off him.
“Hey—” He wasn’t ready for this to be over yet.
“Thank you.”
Thank you? Was she shitting him?
“I have to go now.”
“You live here,” he reminded her.
“To bed,” she mumbled, standing naked next to the lounge chair, staring at the French doors that led into the house.
“Reese—”
“Thank you,” she repeated.
What the fuck?
“Reese...” He carefully removed the wrap and when he looked up, she was already heading inside.
The door softly clicked closed. And he hoped to fuck she didn’t lock it on him.
He turned, still holding the full wrap. Through the window, he watched her walk naked across her great room, go into her room and close the door.
What the fuck just happened?
Justice came trotting up, his tail straight up and a fucking grin on his face.
“It’s just me and you, dude. Guess she don’t wanna cuddle.”
She hadn’t slept that good in...
Ages. She wasn’t even sure when she’d last slept like she was buried six feet under.
She also didn’t remember setting her alarm for four a.m. But, surprisingly, she had set her alarm for that insanely early hour. And now, dressed and ready for the day, it was five.
Apparently, her buzzed-self decided it was a good idea to sneak out of the house early and avoid a discussion of what happened on the deck with the person it happened with.
Completely sober-self agreed that was a great idea. It was one way to avoid any awkwardness.
She hesitated in the kitchen, desperately wanting a strong dose of coffee, but afraid the smell of fresh brewed caffeinated bliss might drift upstairs and wake Deacon. Then her plans of escaping early would all be for nothing. She’d stop at the local donut shop on her way into the office for a caffeine fix and maybe a breakfast sandwich.
She chewed on her bottom lip when she spotted the empty wine bottle on the counter. A reminder of what happened.
Well, one besides the vivid memory she’d replayed in her mind as she showered.
She spotted the clothes she’d abandoned on the deck last night draped over the arm of her leather sectional sofa. His black leather boots were lined up on the floor next to her clothes.
She closed her eyes and sharply inhaled to fight another replay of what they did in the lounge chair last night. That inhale reminded her of how she had smoked pot last night. Crazy.
But even crazier, she had actually stripped naked on her deck and told him to do the same.
Weirdly enough, it was the first time she’d actually relaxed since before the whole mess began with Reilly and Billy.
She now knew it took more than a glass of wine—or two extra-large glasses—to unwind.
It also took the company of a sexy biker/bounty hunter, who was also probably a player, along with a few hits off his joint.
Afterward, she had done the walk of shame across her great room and into her bedroom, flopped face first on her bed and couldn’t remember anything after that. But apparently sometime in the night, she’d gotten up to use the master bathroom, cleaned up, and set the alarm for that ungodly hour.
Normally, she’d be dragging at four in the morning. But this morning? She was, for the most part, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Hmm.
She eyed up his truck key fob, which was on the counter near the door where she left it last night. She needed to grab it and get out while the getting was good.
Yes, that’s what she needed to do. Escape before being caught.
Yesterday morning was awkward as it was, this morning would be worse.
Way worse.
But instead of moving toward the door and snagging her key to freedom, she turned and headed toward the stairs leading up to the loft and spare bedrooms. She didn’t tell her feet to move in that direction, they just did.
With every step up those stairs, she heard stop, turn around, leave, on repeat in her head.
Don’t do this, Reese. It’s stupid.
Just like last night.
Last night was a mistake only made once. It could easily be forgotten. She could chalk it up to the wine she drank and the unknown effect the weed would have on her. She could apologize to him and ask he forget everything that happened.
She rolled her eyes at her own pipe dream.
He wasn’t going to forget. Hell no. He would hold it over her.
He thought he was irresistible.
Unfortunately, she’d proved him right.
And look at her now, creeping up the steps like Creepy McCreeper.
For what?
Simply to check to make sure he was okay since he was a guest in her house.
That was all.
Like a good host should.
She hit the loft at the top of the staircase and told herself it wasn’t too late to turn around. And when her hand was on the doorknob, she told herself this was wrong.
Wrong.
She turned the knob quietly and pushed the door open just en
ough to peek in.
So wrong...
Sooooo so...
Oh.
Damn, whispered through her mind.
Deacon Edwards, skip tracer, bail bondsman, bounty hunter and creator of orgasms, was sprawled out over the bed on his belly.
The comforter was in a pile on the floor in the corner of the room. The top sheet was pushed down to the bottom of the bed in a rumpled mess. And he had one arm curled over a sleeping white and brindle American Bulldog.
Had she secretly been hoping he’d slept naked?
No.
Noooo.
Even so, her disappointment was short-lived as the man only wore a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his ass perfectly. An ass that was pure perfection encased in black cotton.
His lightly furred thighs...
Heat swirled through her and she groaned...
About her behavior the night before. Not because of the sexy man practically naked in her bed.
His bed.
The spare bed.
Justice lifted his head and whined softly.
Shit!
She made a let’s-keep-this-between-us face at the dog and pressed a finger to her lips.
It was a dog! Would he understand that expression and hand signal?
Justice flopped his head back down with a groan.
Wait. Maybe he could.
She went back to her inspection.
Deacon’s dark blond hair was unbraided, and the loose, wavy mess covered his face. She had an urge to wake him up, if only to see what he looked like with it down.
Would he look better? Worse?
She did dig the Viking look. It fit him.
She grimaced at her own thought while studying the club’s colors inked into his back.
She didn’t know much about MCs. Only what she’d seen in the news, or on TV shows and movies. She knew they could be a rough bunch who caused trouble. And the ones she’d seen in photos of Sturgis, or Myrtle Beach Bike Week, or in articles about the Hells Angels, Pagans or Mongols, didn’t look anything like Deacon.
Maybe he was just an oddity amongst a bunch of beer-bellied, bushy-bearded bikers. He did have a business with a reputation to maintain, after all.
And she hadn’t seen him wear one of those leather jackets or denim vests she’d seen the bikers, who belonged to clubs, wear before. Maybe his club was more of a gentlemen’s club.
Not the stripper kind, but the sitting around playing poker, shooting the shit and smoking a stogie kind. Just substitute a joint for the cigar.
Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC Book 4) Page 12
