by Jen Doyle
She lost her composure for a second, a grin breaking through, possibly because he may have whined. Then she got her lawyer face back on. “Hmmm... The prosecution can see the point.” To his surprise, she even brought her eyes up to meet his, something she rarely did when nakedness was involved. “The prosecution is also taking into account the fact that the prisoner came to the rescue of a damsel in distress earlier this evening, and she’s petitioned the court for lenience.”
Yes, maybe she was mixing her metaphors a little, but he wasn’t about to call her on that. Not when she sounded a little more emotional than usual in these circumstances. “Fitz...”
But she didn’t reply as she settled her shoulders between his legs again and let her hair fall teasingly over his skin right before her mouth closed over him.
Okay, fine. He was happy to go with that for now. Especially when she’d come up with an excellent alternate use for her tongue. Sweet Jesus.
But he wanted his hands on her. He wanted his mouth on her. He’d never been restrained—he’d never had any woman be with him the way Fitz was. And hell, fucking, yes he was getting off on it, as was overwhelmingly obvious. But he wanted to see her. Look into her eyes and have her look right back. With her down between his legs, the only thing he could do was jerk his head up.
Or maybe not. With a frustrated huff, he let his head fall back down to the bed. “Hell, Fitz. If we’re gonna do this again, at least put the cuffs a little higher so I can see you. Or come closer for fuck’s sake.”
She laughed, goddamn it. Actually laughed before taking him all the way to the back of her throat and then releasing him. Teasing him the way he’d teased her more than once before—and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Not in a physical sense. He wanted inside her so much he was actually sweating. But he’d never not been the one in control before; he’d most definitely never been handcuffed. Hell, if it was any other woman, he still wouldn’t be.
Still playing her part, she shook her head regretfully, her hand going back down now, from his thigh to his knee to his ankle. “The jury finds the defendant guilty of the original charge. Punishment will proceed.”
Trying to pull his head up again, he said, “Unless you’re into whips and chains—” and he was ninety-nine percent certain that wasn’t the case although, God knew, she was always doing something she wasn’t telling him about so there was always that slight chance “—I’m not sure anything else you can dream up will be nearly as effective.”
Because he was already in pain. Pulsing, throbbing, serious pain.
Completely unexpectedly, she gave him a wet kiss on the inside of his thigh and then pulled away. Then he felt something drift over his foot that was far too light to be anything but...
Oh. Fuck. God. Damn. It was the flimsy thing, which she was taking off, deliberately out of view. It was followed by the sound of a zipper, a slow, seductive slide he could only listen to. His dick jumped to attention like she was pulling it on a string. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She laughed again, and this time something with a bit more substance, something a little lacier, landed on his knee. He sucked in a breath as it continued its course right on up. “You know...?” she said. “Seeing you like this sure does make me wet.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
She came crawling up over him on all fours, letting her breasts graze his stomach and chest. Then she let out a quiet gasp as she dragged that slick, wet heat over the length of his pulled-way-too-tight skin. But rather than sink onto him—as he so fucking required—she lay down, her hand slowly making its way down her own body. Down the curve of her neck, down between her breasts... It disappeared from his sight just as she let her head fall back. “So wet,” she moaned.
The growl erupted out of him and he was pretty sure he’d be bleeding by the end of the night if she didn’t take these handcuffs off him, but he didn’t give a shit as he twisted and hooked his leg over hers, dragging her toward him as she squealed in surprise.
She’d pinned him down for a reason, however, and clearly had no intention of giving up control. She flipped him back over and straddled his thighs. “Take your punishment like a man, Prisoner Deacon.” Then she leaned down and kissed him, murmuring, “Time for you to show a little bit of that trust.”
He tried—oh, fuck, he tried—working on getting his breathing back to normal as she sat back up and over him, what little clothes she still had on in disarray.
Then all bets were off when she bent down again and had her way. She took him in hand and mouth, torturing him with long, slow strokes before coming up for air. She knew exactly how wet to get him, exactly how hard to squeeze and stroke, exactly where to swirl her tongue. In the brief moment of sanity before his eyes rolled back in his head, he realized no other woman had ever made him feel this way—or ever even tried to.
He wanted to touch her. Needed to get his hands back so he could run them over every single centimeter of her skin.
Her hand cupped his balls, then her finger trailed underneath, and the whole world collapsed around him, falling and crashing left and right, every cell coming together in one big mass, pounding and pulsing right there. At the very last moment before the entire universe detonated, she pulled away.
Again.
She sprawled across him, her hand fumbling with the drawer of the bedside table and then jerking back when he caught her nipple with his teeth in a not very gentle tug. She cried out and came back to him, knocking the drawer out of the table as she did, but managing to snag a condom as everything else spilled to the floor. Which was good because he was past the point of caring whether he had one or not.
And it was even worse now, because he could see her. Every goddamn gorgeous inch of her from her ruddy red lips right down to the tips of her still-boot-clad toes. Fuck, those boots... “Get up over me.”
“What?” she asked, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over.
He flattened out so as to give her enough room to swing her leg over his chest and straddle him. “Higher.”
Eyes widening, she shook her head. “I...”
She was so fucking close he could practically taste her arousal. With a groan he jerked his head up close enough to get a nip of her inner thigh. “Hands up high on the headboard, Angel. I want to see all of you stretched out above me.”
Finally he could do something with his hands: grab hold of her knees and splay them open hard enough for her to fall against him. He took full advantage by getting his tongue on her clit and then his teeth, just enough for her to scream. It was abso-fucking-lutely perfect.
He couldn’t touch her breasts but he could see them, and he enjoyed every single second it took to drive her to the point where she was writhing and moaning his name in a constant chant before shattering, slumping against the headboard as she gasped for air above him.
When she finally came down, literally and figuratively, he nearly exploded when she drew the condom over him, and then looked directly into his eyes. Held his gaze. He came harder than he ever had within seconds of her sinking down. She collapsed against him, both their chests heaving as they gasped for air.
“Oh my God,” she finally murmured into his chest. “That was... It was...”
“Intense,” he finished for her. As in, hands down, the freaking most amazing sex he’d ever had.
Ever.
Goddamn it. He wanted her to have his babies.
Oh, fuck, he was screwed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
To Deke’s utter astonishment, the sex kept getting better. That was a new experience for him. Yes, he’d had years-long relationships of a sort with more than a few women. But never more than a few nights at a time, and definitely never in a way that made him think he might be interested in something permanent. He and Fitz had been sleeping together for almost a month now and not once had he thought it was time
to move on.
On this particular night, everything was going great. The bar was crowded for a weeknight, and Deke liked seeing folks having a good time and enjoying themselves. Seeing the bar thrive made him appreciate the legacy his father had built, and his father’s father before him. And, yes, he’d begun to think about Fitz alongside things like family and ongoing generations. It should have been terrifying but wasn’t.
But he wasn’t quite ready to fully admit that. He sure as hell knew she wasn’t.
A roar of laughter erupted from one of the tables in the room and he looked up.
Well, okay. Maybe not everything was perfect.
Shunning an entire table of regulars wasn’t good for business, yet that was exactly what he was doing. It was doubly hard because it was Peggy and her crew, which meant the Cosmos flowed and shit got loud. It also usually meant Deke playing along. Although he’d managed to keep his distance so far, the natives were getting restless. With Little League season long over, he wasn’t seeing Peggy as often as he had then. But there’d been a shift in the wind it seemed, and although they hadn’t been together in quite some time now, she’d been turning up the heat. Occasional texts had turned into a regular stream that, looking back, wasn’t entirely unusual yet now seemed beyond extreme. He was finding it harder and harder to turn her down without making a big thing of it.
And it really would be a big thing. If he ever did have another conversation with Peggy, what she’d done to Fitz would be the first topic they covered. He didn’t think he’d ever in his life straight-out disliked someone. Now, though, he felt an unfamiliar ugliness inside. Considering his livelihood, he was hoping to hell it didn’t come out.
Thankfully, tonight was busy enough that Deke could play dumb without too much trouble, and he’d acknowledged Peggy’s wave with a nod and then turned away. It was only a matter of time, however, before that came to a head.
He scanned the bar, checking on empties and refills, his eyes, as always, landing on Fitz. She was happy tonight in a way he didn’t think she’d ever been. She hadn’t warmed up to Peggy by any means, but she and Dorie had spent some time at a table with a few of Peggy’s friends, one of whom had just started working for Dorie. And then when Dorie and Jules took the kids out on the dance floor tonight, Fitz had gone with them. Except for the night of the prom and in San Francisco, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her dance. He’d most certainly never seen her let go like that here in Inspiration.
All thoughts stopped abruptly when the door to the bar swung open and Sam Price walked in. Sam Price, followed by Johnny Whitfield.
What the hell? Whitfield wasn’t filming his show for at least another week, and Sam... Well, Deke had no freaking idea what Sam would be in Inspiration for, but it sure as fuck better not be to check out Fitz’s ass again. Or any other part of her. Without realizing he was doing it, Deke yanked a tray of dirty dishes out from under the counter hard enough that two of the glasses almost broke.
“Geez, Deke. What did those dishes ever do to you?”
He turned to see Lola coming up behind him. She wasn’t hostessing tonight but her attention was on the front door, too. They both watched as Dorie approached, a welcoming smile on her face, yet one that showed she hadn’t been expecting them either.
Nor had Fitz. That was clear the second Deke got his wits about him enough to turn to look at her. She seemed downright shocked. She had a handful of playing cards and two three-year-olds vying for her attention, but she was just sitting there, eyes wide as she stared at Dorie and the two men.
Deke ran his hand through his hair. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he was used to. He’d never cared enough about a woman to want to stake a claim. But whether he was ready to admit his feelings to or even about Fitz, they were sure as hell there. Seeing that she didn’t seem particularly happy to see Sam was a relief of frightening proportions. She managed to recover by the time Dorie led the others to the table, standing up and smiling during the round of introductions. They knew Mama Gin and Jules, of course, but they hadn’t met Aunt Laura or Uncle A it seemed, nor, of course, Deke’s own parents, who were back in town in between stops on their road trip, or any of the kids.
As the evening wore on, however, whereas Fitz became more relaxed, Deke got more and more irritated. Seriously, if Whitfield didn’t stop putting his arm around the back of Fitz’s chair, Deke would take his fucking head off.
Deke snapped his towel against the side of the sink.
Lola, who was back at the bar to get a round of drinks for the table, reached for some limes and smiled. “Have you ever seen Fitz look so happy?”
That wasn’t Fitz happy, that was Fitz playing a part. Deke was surprised Lola couldn’t tell the difference; it was clear as day to him. She’d been happy dancing earlier. She’d been happy having dinner and playing Go Fish with the boys. Hell, just this morning he’d had her tied spread-eagle to his bed, and all he’d had to do was breathe and she’d arced up like she’d been hit by a thousand bolts of pure electricity. She’d sure as hell been happy then.
“Ecstatic,” he answered.
“Dude,” Jason said from his regular seat at the bar. “Why are you so stressed out?”
“What?” Deke dragged his attention away from Fitz’s table. Sure, Jason could talk. Being that there wasn’t room to squeeze anyone else in at the table, both Price and Whitfield had made a point to come over to the bar and say hi. After a round of high-fives and some small talk, everyone had happily gone about their business. Everyone except Deke.
“I’m not stressed out,” he said. “Life couldn’t be better.”
Fuck. That wasn’t any better than Fitz had been with Lola before the board meeting last week.
Then Wash muttered, “Do not even fucking tell me...”
With a jolt, Deke realized he’d been watching Fitz again, so he made sure to pull his attention away. But Wash was already staring at him.
“Fitz?” he asked.
Looking down quickly, Deke thought maybe Wash’s comment had been about something else entirely. Just because Wash had honed his observation skills under the tutelage of Nate and Mama Gin didn’t mean he’d figured anything out. Then again, Wash had been the one to call Nate and Dorie first, so it wasn’t a complete surprise to look back up and meet Wash’s stare and know he had to handle this carefully.
Drying off the glasses he’d taken out of the sink, Deke stared right back, refusing to give anything up. Jason was not an observer by any means, but even he would catch on to that, especially with Wash practically blaring a horn in his ear.
Too late. Jason’s eyes went over to Fitz and then back. “No fucking way. Fitz is the one who has you all locked up?” A look of horror came over his face. “I mean, yeah, she’s hot. But that’s just gross. It’s like doing your own sister.”
If only Deke felt that way, these whole last few months would have been a hell of a lot simpler.
“Uh, no offense, Lo,” Jason added. “If you weren’t Deke’s sister, I’d totally do you.”
“Really,” Lola said, not bothering to hide her amusement. “I’m, um...not sure what to say. Although, if I had to be honest, I’d most likely go for one of Nate’s baseball friends. If, of course, I ever had sex ag—”
“Whoa!” Deke held up his hands. He was entirely unprepared for Lola to go into the monologue about how she was not, in fact, ever having sex again, at least not until all of her eggs had shriveled up and died. For one thing, she was, actually, his sister. For another, the words “eggs” and “sex” did not belong in the same sentence. He took appropriate precautions every single time. As far as he was concerned, that was all that needed to be said.
“It has nothing to do with Fitz.” But the fact that he might have maybe wanted it all out in the open meant he wasn’t a little more forceful in his denial.
“What has nothing to
do with me?”
Deke’s, “Nothing,” was about as smooth as the motion of his head when he jerked it up to see her standing there.
Since he was staring into her eyes, it was impossible to miss them go wide as Jason ever-so-helpfully answered, “Well, thank Christ, because you two being together makes about as much sense as, hell, I don’t know...” He shrugged. “Deke having an actual meaningful relationship.”
It was called a schmelationship, thank you very much. “Gee, thanks, Jase. It’s nice to know my best friends think so highly of me.” Deke tried to somehow telegraph to Fitz that, no, he hadn’t said anything to anyone and that this conversation had taken on a life of its own. But he also wasn’t too happy the look in her eyes was something akin to horror.
Of course, that was the moment Peggy decided to make her way over to the bar and call out his name. “Deke, baby, we need a little sugar. You think maybe you can oblige?”
Again, not anything she hadn’t said a hundred times before. It was just that now it made him cringe.
She was a regular, he had to remind himself. A not very nice person, but his job required he play a role. And Fitz, who he was actually beginning to think of as his girlfriend even though a total of two other people in the world were aware of their connection, had looked like she’d rather face another tornado than acknowledge to their friends there was something between them. So maybe it wasn’t his best move, but he looked up at Peggy and did what he had to do. “Give me five minutes and I’ll make it real sweet.”
Her satisfied smile—not to mention her glance at Fitz, although he may have imagined that part—was a blaring red sign that, not only wasn’t it his best move, it was probably one of his worst ever. And when he turned back to look at Fitz, she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bitch.
Screaming, out-of-control, hate-isn’t-a-strong-enough-word bitch.