Caged

by Lorelei James

  record time. I need to know my touch can do to you what yours does to me.”

  And . . . he was done. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her temple as his cock pulsed in her tight fist. He bumped his hips and she pulled on his shaft until not another drop of come remained. The loud whooshing in his head muted the continual sounds of the games.

  Molly faced him, kissing his neck as she cleaned up his dick. Then she whispered, “Thank you for playing along, Deacon.”

  “What goes around comes around. Remember that.”

  “I’m counting on it.” She stuffed her panties in her purse while he zipped and buttoned.

  “Before you run off . . . I wanna see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m not being coy when I ask if I can get back to you, because I might have something else going on.”

  Deacon didn’t like that she’d hedged. But he played it cool. “Yeah, babe. I know you’re not messing with me.”

  “How?”

  “You can’t lie for shit. Those pretty eyes tell me everything I need to know.” He kissed her softly. “Hope to see you soon.”

  Then he forced himself to grab his cup of tickets and walk away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DEACON trained alone on Sunday, focusing on cardio and strength. He limited himself to dumbbells since he didn’t have a spotter in the weight room.

  At the end of three hours, when he’d exhausted himself, he hauled out the training dummy and worked on kicks and body blows. This training aspect was his secret weapon. If he could maintain fighting form—Muay Thai or kickboxing—for forty-five minutes, after hours of endurance training, he should be able to stay on his feet for three five-minute rounds.

  He was on the mat, stretching his muscles as he cooled down, when the training-room door opened and Maddox strolled in.

  Great.

  Maddox seemed as surprised to see him. “Hey, D.”

  “Mad. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t always get my workouts in while I’m training fighters during the week, so I catch up on the weekends.” He sat on the bench across from the mat. “What’d you work on today?”

  “Cardio and endurance. Why?”

  “Just wondered if you’d recovered from Courey’s hit yesterday.”

  “Oh, you mean from his cheap shot? Yeah.”

  “I know you don’t like him.”

  “He’s an arrogant prick.” Deacon pushed to his feet. “So I can see where you two would get along famously.”

  Maddox laughed. “There’s method to my madness. I swear.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Not yet. Yours is not to question; yours is to do.”

  That shitty Yoda impression always cracked him up. “How much longer will Courey be training here as your guest?”

  “Depends.”

  More of the usual cryptic bullshit from Maddox. He liked the guy, but sometimes he fucking hated him too. “That cleared things up. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Did you hit the strip club last night for Beck’s birthday party?”

  Deacon shook his head. “Now that I’m with Molly, my strip-club days are over.” He narrowed his eyes at Maddox. “And if you tell anyone that, I’ll tell everyone you’re cruising nursing homes for your new girlfriends.”

  Maddox whistled. “Low blow, my friend.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who confessed hooking up with your senior-citizen lady friend after I told you about my strip-club fallout with Molly.”

  “Because I thought we were male bonding over our woman problems,” Maddox shot back and batted his eyelashes.

  “Fuck off.”

  “You’re too easy. And FYI: Alicia does not qualify for senior-citizen discounts.”

  “Yet,” Deacon stressed. “But her hitting that golden-age milestone next year will make your date nights cheaper.”

  “You’re an ass. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

  Deacon grinned. “Now you’re getting it, Jedi Master.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “I’m goin’. See you tomorrow.”

  He shouldered his bag and left Black Arts through the back door. Two o’clock. Normally he’d go home, shower, eat, and spend the rest of the day watching fights on the UFC channel or destroying his opponents at WoW.

  But that seemed like a waste today.

  Deacon wanted to be with Molly. And he hated that she’d acted cagey last night when he’d asked about her plans today.

  She’s your girlfriend. It’s your right to know what she’s doing. And aren’t couples supposed to be joined at the hip and shit on weekends anyway?

  With that justification in mind, he headed to her place.

  • • •

  MOLLY needed a personal spa day.

  She waxed and shaved. She soaked in a lavender-infused bath while deep-conditioning her hair. Then she coated her skin with a coconut-oil-based lotion.

  As she plucked her eyebrows, saggy, sallow skin stared back at her. Yuck. It was past time for a toning mask treatment. She slathered a thick layer of clay on her face. While that dried, she decided to give herself a pedicure.

  She settled on her sofa, surveying her spa-day essentials. Miranda Lambert playing on her iPod. A detoxifying kale, spinach, cucumber, and lemongrass shake for lunch. The latest issue of InStyle magazine queued up on her tablet. Her nail buffer and the glittery orange polish for her pedicure.

  Time alone to reflect on the recent changes in her life while she pampered herself was the perfect way to spend her afternoon.

  She jammed the pink foam spreaders between her toes and slicked on the first coat of nail polish. After she propped her feet on the coffee table, she hummed along with “Gunpowder & Lead” and sipped her shake. It tasted like crap, so it had to be good for her.

  Four loud, hammering knocks rattled her apartment door.

  Had to be Nina. She’d sent Molly several text messages since she’d run into her Friday night.

  Molly tightened the belt on her robe as she carefully walked on her heels, trying not to smudge her toenail polish. She detached the safety chain and unlocked the door, not bothering to check the peephole. She should have.

  Because it wasn’t Nina standing in the hallway, but Deacon.

  A wide-eyed Deacon as his gaze roved over her from her forehead to her toes and back up. Then he said, “Babe. Why did you hit yourself in the face with a cream pie?”

  She screamed and slammed the door in his face.

  This was not cool. He did not just show up unannounced and interrupt her personal time after she’d told him last night that she couldn’t see him today!

  Two knocks sounded, less forceful than before.

  “Molly, let me in.”

  “Go away.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  She frowned at the door. “Why?”

  “Did you hurt your feet or something? I saw those splints between your toes.”

  For the love of god. Seriously? He thought she was injured? Had he never seen a woman give herself a pedicure before?

  Then she remembered his confession she was his first girlfriend in fifteen years—so he’d probably never seen this girly shit, either in real life or on TV. She doubted Deacon McConnell watched anything that didn’t have explosions, car chases, gratuitous sex, and violence.

  But the pie-in-the-face comment was insulting.

  So educate him.

  Molly slid the safety chain back on and opened the door as far as it’d allow, but she stayed out of his line of sight. “Deacon, I’m fine. I’m having a home spa day. Painting my toenails, conditioning my hair.”

  No response. Then, “That gunk is conditioning your face, too?”

  Don’t beat your head into the door. “It’s a mask.”

  “You’re beautiful. Why would you need to wear a mask?”

  “Now you’re just being”—sweet, damn you—“obtuse.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  Be ni
ce, Molly. “Why are you here?”

  Deacon slid his big hand in the opening, curling his fingers around the door. “I don’t like not seeing you every day.”

  “In other words . . . you missed me.”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?” His fingers tightened on the door. “I’m tired of talking through this damn crack. Let me in.” He paused. “Please.”

  So much for her personal spa day.

  “I’ll let you in only if you don’t make fun of me.”

  “Tall order, but I’ll try my best.”

  As soon as he moved his hand, she opened the door.

  But the second he crossed the threshold, she slapped her hand on his chest. She wrinkled her nose. His shirt was soaked clear through. “Deacon. You reek.”

  “Well, yeah. I just got done training.”

  “And you didn’t think you should go home and shower before you showed up unannounced at my door?”

  “I needed to see you. I didn’t think. I just drove.” He leaned forward, like he wanted to kiss her, but his eyes were wary, scrutinizing the clay mask.

  Molly grinned and smashed her lips to his. And yeah, maybe a little bit of the clay crumbled onto his face as she kissed him.

  “You’ve got a mean streak, babe,” he said when they came up for air.

  “Mmm-hmm. I’m going to wash my face. Then you’ll scrub the stench off in the shower while I put another coat of paint on my toes.” Her gaze dropped to his gym bag. “You have clean clothes in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She drilled her finger into his chest. “Do not sit your sweaty self on my couch or I will kick your butt.”

  Deacon wrapped his hand beneath her jaw and held her in place while he ravaged her mouth. Then, after he finished blowing all her circuits, he pressed his forehead to hers, heedless of the mask. “I like this. I like us together. I’ve gotten used to it and missed it when I didn’t have it. So I came over.”

  “So you’re not here just to fuck me senseless?”

  “Babe. I’ve told you it’s more than that between us. When are you gonna believe it?” He paused. “Ah, hell. Do I have to keep my hands off you for a couple of days to prove it?”

  “God, no. I like us together out of bed too. I just didn’t want to overwhelm you by expecting we’ll spend weekends together.”

  “Everything about you overwhelms me, so it’s too late for that,” he said softly. “And I’m really fucking sick of spending my weekends alone.”

  “Me too.”

  “Good. I’ve got plans for us as soon as you get that dirt off your face and I get cleaned up.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “There’s some flower show, farmers’ market thing at the Botanical Gardens. I thought we could stroll around. See what’s what, since you like flowers and shit.”

  Flowers and shit. She fought a grin.

  “Oh, and I used all the tickets we won from last night and got this for you.” He dug in his bag and handed her a box.

  “For me?” Molly grinned so widely more clay crumbled from her face. She tore open the end of the box and tipped the object into her hand. Her heart clenched at seeing the retro, miniature black cat with a curved plastic tail, complete with oversized cat eyes that moved back and forth with every tick of the clock centered in the cat’s belly. A larger version of this clock had hung in Grams’s dining room for as long as she could remember.

  “I saw you looking at the one in your grandma’s house when you walked through the last time. I thought about stealing it for you, but I figured your asshole cousins would get pissy and blame you. I saw this last night and . . . figured it’d be the next best thing.”

  She swallowed hard, completely undone by Deacon’s sweetness. No one had ever taken such care and consideration in giving her a gift. “It is perfect. Thank you.”

  Molly knew right then she could totally fall in love with this man.

  • • •

  THE look on Molly’s face when Deacon strolled into kickboxing class on Tuesday night was priceless.

  Surprise, babe.

  He surveyed his students. Then he grinned. “Miss me?”

  A loud chorus of no’s rang out.

  “Aw, now my little feelings are hurt. And if I hurt, you hurt. Push-ups. We’ll start with twenty.”

  “Start with?” a young guy he’d never seen before repeated.

  Liv elbowed him and shook her head.

  “You’re right, newb. Twenty ain’t near enough. Forty.”

  No one dared complain.

  “And, ladies, none of those ‘on your knees’ girl push-ups. Everyone does everything the same in my class unless I say differently. Drop to plank position.” He wandered between the rows, making them hold plank, just for fun. “And . . . go.”

  By the end of the hour, newb looked ready to puke, Presley was red-faced and breathing hard, Liv was actually lying on the mat groaning, and Molly . . . Well, good thing he was wearing a cup.

  Hell yeah, he’d missed teaching.

  * * *

  FRIDAY afternoon Molly cut out of work early to make Presley’s roller derby match in Colorado Springs. Since they had a photo shoot scheduled for Saturday, she and Presley planned to stay over.

  Deacon insisted on attending the match, but he had five-a.m. training Saturday, so he’d drive back to Denver afterward. Which was why they were in separate cars.

  Molly hadn’t seen the need to caravan to Colorado Springs, but Deacon insisted. Of course, he insisted on being the lead car in his fancy-ass, fast Mercedes. He’d started off nine miles an hour above the speed limit. She’d followed him at that pace for ten minutes, until paranoia about higher insurance rates forced her to return to the speed limit. Within five minutes she’d lost sight of his car completely.

  Her phone rang. Hmm. Wonder who that was. She answered, “Yes, Deacon?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Behind you. Driving slower than you because I can’t afford a ticket.”

  “They’re not gonna ticket you for nine over, babe.”

  “I’m a rule follower, babe, which means I obey traffic laws. I don’t care if that makes me lame.”

  His sigh indicated he thought it was lame. “I’ll slow down. Speed up until you catch me.” He hung up.

  Tempting to ignore his order. Instead she cranked on the radio and sped up, passing cars until she reached his. She pulled in behind him and waved like an idiot.

  Mr. Badass NASCAR didn’t wave back—big surprise.

  That night the Denver Divas kicked serious ass. The bout was a rout and the ladies were ready to celebrate, so it sort of sucked