by Melinda Minx
“Keep the shirt, man,” I say. “It’s yours now.”
14
Rita
“You should have called the cops,” I shout at Deacon once we’re back in our cabin.
“The cops were probably bribed to stay away anyway,” he says. “Did you notice they never even showed up?”
“Bribes, drugs,” I say, exasperated. “You seem to know way too much about all of this stuff, Deacon.”
“Well, sorry I can’t be as naive as you.”
“Asshole,” I say, scowling. “And why did you have to risk your life to rush that guy? You could have been killed.”
“Don’t you think…” Deacon says, his face burning red with anger, “That Jesus would have done the same thing?”
I let out a huff of pissed-off laughter, “Don’t ‘What Would Jesus Do’ me, Deacon. Jesus wouldn’t have been buddies with a drug trafficker.”
“Wasn’t that kind of his thing? He loves all of his children and helped those who needed it most. Earl isn’t trafficking drugs because he’s greedy, he’s just been dealt a bad hand in life, and—”
“Come on, Deacon,” I say. “No one held a gun to his head and said he had to get involved with drug trafficking.”
“It was probably a slippery slope,” Deacon says. “He told me he tried to get out, but they wouldn’t let him. He was already in too deep.”
“Is he out now then, at least?” I ask, shaking my head.
Deacon shrugs. “He’s going to fly straight to Argentina from Miami. Ximena’s got family there that can keep them safe. I might know a guy, though, who could—”
“No!” I shout. “Do not get involved in this any more than you already have! We should have called the police. You’re lucky they didn’t have any knives or guns.”
“Like I can’t take out an asshole with a knife.”
I stalk toward the door, gripping the knob. I look back at him, furious. “Deacon, you idiot, I don’t want you to be able to handle a guy with a knife. I want you to be smart enough to not get anywhere near a guy with a knife! Is that concept so difficult for you to grasp? Can logic and common sense not permeate through all that ink and muscle?”
I open the door and step out into the hallway before he can answer me. “I’m going to go take a walk. Please leave me alone.”
I slam the door.
Darn it. I shouldn't have said “please” before slamming the door, it really takes the edge off it.
Deacon needs to wake up to the fact that he’s a father and a husband, though a fake one. He can’t so carelessly risk his life for near strangers. What would happen if he had died out there, and I had to go back to Anna and Elsie and explain to them what happened? Telling them that I couldn’t stop him from getting himself killed.
He’s such a freaking idiot.
I stomp down the hallway until I reach the main lobby. I order one of the stupid $16 margaritas, and I proceed to nurse it while feeling sorry for myself.
Everything felt like it was going so well, too, and now this. It’s my fault for treating this as anything other than what it is, a pretend marriage. I should have kept it all business, and I shouldn’t have so much as touched Deacon. Of course I had to kiss him during the wedding, but that was it. Getting closer to him makes me care about him, and caring about him is a liability when he decides to make such terrible decisions.
I’ll do my best not to care from now on. No more waking up clinging to him, feeling his hard cock brushing against my thigh. No more letting him rub sunscreen on my back.
I can’t believe I told him I’m not a virgin. As if that was any of his business.
Though it would be pretty embarrassing for him to think I was, and since he had to ask me, it means he at least suspected I was.
Just because I don’t know about police bribes and drug deals doesn't mean I’m some sheltered idiot!
I chug down the rest of the margarita. When I look back up, I see Ximena is suddenly by my side, smiling at me.
I frown.
“Hey, Rita,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” I ask. “You were involved, too?”
“My grandma in Colombia is sick...really sick. Her medicine costs way more than either of us could ever make—”
I look at her, waiting for her to go on.
“So…” she says, “Earl saw how upset I was, and he did something stupid. I was furious when I found out, even though I knew he was doing it for me. For my grandma.”
“Why are men so dumb?” I ask.
She sits down on the barstool next to me. “He said it would just be one time, and he held to that. But once my grandma got the medicine, she got so much better, and everyone in my family was so happy…”
“So one more time turned into two?”
Ximena nods. “And then three, and four, and then he was in deep, over his head. He couldn’t back out.”
“So now you have to go hide, leave everything behind?”
Ximena starts crying, her lip trembling. I pull her into a hug, and she starts crying on my shoulder.
“I can’t even go back to Colombia,” she says, her voice breaking up.
“Deacon said,” I find myself saying, “he said he knows a guy—”
She looks up at me, her eyes rimmed with tears. “What kind of guy?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I was mad, I didn’t even let him finish.”
“Rita,” Ximena says. “If he really can help us, it would mean everything to us if you could—”
“I’ll ask him,” I say.
“Thank you!” she hugs me again.
What have I gotten myself into?
15
Deacon
I’m lying on the bed watching HGTV when the door creaks back open. I quickly change the channel, not wanting to get caught watching such a domestic show.
I’m still pissed off. This woman is trying to tell me what I can and can’t do? Like I don’t know how to take care of myself.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I respond, just glancing up at her briefly.
“You still mad?” she asks.
“I guess so,” I say.
She bounces onto the bed, sitting cross-legged.
“You’re not mad now?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “I was...but no, I guess not.”
“That was fast,” I say. “Next time, just don’t get mad at all, save us both the trouble.”
“Asshole,” she snaps. “Anyway, you said you knew a guy…”
“Is this a trap?” I ask. “If I tell you about him, you’ll use the fact that I know some shady guy as a reason to get furious at me again?”
“No,” she says. “I just talked to Ximena. I realized, just like you tried to tell me, that Earl was doing bad stuff for the right reasons.”
“I know guys—I tattoo them—who do business with some guys in Nassau and Colombia. They are big enough players that they probably could cash in a few favors to get Earl and Ximena off the hook. Of course, he won’t get the damn money back, but they at least could stay in Miami and not have to flee to Argentina.”
Rita looks at me. “Sorry I judged you so fast, Deacon. It’s not very Christian of me.”
I laugh. “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
“You’re seriously quoting scripture to me?”
“Sure,” I say, grinning. “It’s, uh...Matthew, Mark, Luke—”
“It’s actually Matthew,” she says. “You guessed right for once.”
“I knew it would eventually be one of my dudes. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John can only let me down so many times. I’ll put the call in, in the morning, but don’t say anything else to Earl or Ximena. They might not be able to help him, and I don’t want to give them false hope. Is there a good Bible verse for false hope?”
“There’s plenty of them,” she says, smiling. “Do you really want to quote scripture with me all night, Deacon?”
“Well,” I say, pulling up my
phone, “I did find this one verse that I was pretty interested in. Can I read it to you?”
“I guess,” she says, flashing me big, bright “fuck me” eyes.
I open the bookmark I created earlier, and I look at the screen, grinning. “Okay,” I say. “This is from, uh, Proverbs. I don’t really know who’s talking, but I don’t think it’s Jesus. It says ‘Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant doe; let her breasts satisfy thee at all times; and be thou ravished always with her love.’”
Rita laughs. “That’s not from the Bible.”
“Yeah it is!” I say, shoving the phone in her face. “Even the Bible is telling me that your breasts should satisfy me!”
“Do they?” Rita asks, blushing. “Satisfy you?”
I look up at her with hunger in my eyes. “I think they will,” I say huskily. “Though I’ve barely seen them.”
She bites her lip. She reaches behind her back and around her middle, pulling off her halter top. Her breasts are still contained by her bikini top.
“I’ve seen this much already,” I say, grinning.
“You haven’t touched them, though,” she says, not making eye contact with me.
I move behind her, touching her thighs, and I move my hands slowly up her legs, to her hips, and then to her waist.
She leans back into me, her head resting against my chest. I move my hands across her stomach. It’s so soft and warm. Finally I slide my hands up and cup her breasts through her bikini top. I squeeze them gently, but I hear her moan and feel her body squirm.
They feel so fucking good in my hands. It’s not like I haven’t squeezed a lot of tits before, but not since Stacy did I really care about the woman herself. Now I do, I realize. I run my fingers along her breasts, until I feel her hard nipples poking out. When my fingers graze them, her body tightens, and she shudders.
“You like that?” I ask.
She whimpers and nods.
“I’m going to take off the top,” I whisper.
She nods again.
I reach back and untie her top, and I let it fall to the bed. I pull her against me and cup her bare breasts, looking down over her shoulder to see them in all their glory.
I squeeze harder now, massaging and kneading her. I let her pebbled nipples slide between my fingers, and I squeeze them.
Rita reaches back behind and grabs me, clutching my thighs and ass. I laugh, and just squeeze her harder.
“Your turn, Deacon,” she says, her voice heavy and breathy.
“To take off your clothes,” she says.
“You’ve only taken off your top,” I say.
I let go of her breasts and rip my shirt off, throwing it down beside the bed. “Now we’re even.”
She turns around to face me, pouting. She looks down at my swim trunks, and points. “It looks like you’re ready to get out of those.”
My cock is hard, and it’s pitching a pretty big tent in my trunks. “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe. You sure you’re ready for it?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not really sure, but I can’t resist any longer.”
“Good thing we’re married then,” I say. “Or it’d be a sin.”
“Don’t joke about that,” she says, grabbing my thigh.
I lean back, letting my cock press hard against my trunks. Rita’s hand slides further up.
“How do you get so strong being a tattoo artist?” she asks, squeezing my muscular legs.
“I gotta be able to cut an imposing figure,” I say. “My customers are hard men, and I’ve gotta be harder if I want them to respect me.”
“Harder…” she says, grabbing my cock through my trunks. I gasp.
Fuck. It feels incredible, but I crave the feeling of her skin on mine. I grab my trunks and tug them off. My cock springs up tall and slaps against my abs, and I toss the trunks down beside my shirt.
“Oh,” she says, locking eyes on my cock. “Thank goodness.”
“Thank goodness?” I ask, sarcastically. “Did you think I was going to have a pencil dick, or did you think I was deformed, or—”
She laughs. “No, I thought you might have tattoos all over your dick, but I’m so glad you don’t.”
I laugh. “No needles poking my cock, thank you very much.”
She reaches up and grabs it, squeezing against my bulging veins.
I close my eyes and lean back, savoring the feeling. “Fuck, that feels good, Rita.”
Before I open my eyes and look up again, I feel her lips and tongue envelope me. She sucks and slurps on me as she tries to take me deeper and deeper.
I finally open my eyes and look down at the beautiful sight. Her big lips are wrapped watertight around my shaft, and her beautiful amber brown eyes are watching me, the picture of innocence.
“Don’t stop,” I say. “You can’t stop now, or my balls will turn blue and fall right off.”
She tries to laugh, but my cock is a few inches down her throat, and her laugh just comes out muffled and muted. I put a hand on the back of her head, and gently press her further down.
She slides down, sucking harder, and then she starts to slide her head up and down. I feel her lips sucking on me as she bobs her head against me. It feels fucking incredible, and she sucks harder as my cock stiffens to its maximum hardness.
She can barely fit my girth in her mouth, and her lips are stretched as wide as she can get them. She plunges down as deep as she can go, and her tongue runs along my veiny shaft as she sucks for all she’s worth. Drool drips from the corners of her mouth as she pulls back up, and it runs along the contours of my veins, finally hitting my balls.
“Keep going,” I say hoarsely. “I want to come in your mouth.”
She speeds up, hitting a furious pace. Each slurping and sucking sound brings me closer to exploding, and I finally feel my balls tighten up. “I’m gonna come.”
She goes down as deep as she can and sucks for all she’s worth. Adrenaline floods through my veins, and I get an insane headrush. Then every part of my awareness channels itself right down into my cock, and it explodes into Rita’s mouth. Thick load after thick load blasts into her, and I see her throat moving as she tries to swallow it all, but it’s too much, and cum drips down out of her mouth as she pulls off me.
She laughs. “I couldn’t swallow it all!”
“It was saved up from last night,” I say.
She tries to lick the cum off with her tongue, but she can’t get it all. I hand her a tissue, and she wipes off the rest.
“I love your dick, Deacon,” she says, looking down at it.
“It’s your turn now,” I say, edging toward her.
I slap her ass and squeeze it. She moans.
I pull her shorts and bikini bottom off in one swoop, and I reach down between her legs. My fingers find her wetness, and I slide a finger gently up and down.
She squeezes my bicep, digging her nails in. “Deacon…”
“No need to talk,” I say, getting my finger good and wet before I go for her clit.
“Deacon,” she says. “I’ve never...never—”
“You said you weren’t a virgin,” I say, my hands freezing.
“No,” she says. “I’m not...but I’ve never done this.”
“You...skipped third base?” I ask. “I think that’s against the rules. You can’t get a real home run if you skip bases—”
“Shut up,” she says. “You know what I mean. Brian was...he didn’t—”
“I get it,” I say. “Don’t worry, I’m not Brian.”
I run a finger up to her clit, and she nearly collapses in my arms. I lay her down on the bed, angling a pillow beneath her head.
I slide back on the bed and then dive in between her legs. If no man has ever gone down on her, she shouldn’t have to wait another second.
I run my tongue up and down her swollen lips. Her taste fills me, and I feel my cock get hard all over again.
16
Rita
His tongue presse
s against my wetness, and I feel like I’m going to cum on the spot. I’m not—thank goodness—but the initial feeling is so intense that I’m taken completely aback.
“Oh,” I hear myself cry out.
“Yeah,” Deacon says. “Relax.”
I try to, but my heart is slamming against my chest, and the hottest guy in the world has his tongue on my pussy. How am I supposed to relax?
His tongue presses against my clit, and any chance of relaxing totally disappears. I scream out.
Deacon’s calloused hands grab my thighs and ass, and I squeeze my legs against his head. His tongue moves along my clit, pressing with gentle and constant pressure. I’m so soaking wet that I feel I should be embarrassed, but I feel too good to be embarrassed.
I grab one of my breasts and squeeze it, touching and pinching my nipple as Deacon sucks on my juices.
Waves of intense pleasure wash over me, and with each surge, the feelings become more and more intense. I soon find my hips moving up and off the bed involuntarily. My toes are curling, and suddenly I feel something slide inside me.
Deacon’s finger. No, fingers.
He slides inside my slick channel, never removing his tongue from my clit. His fingers stretch me wide, and it makes me realize how much I want that big, thick dick buried deep inside of me. But I don’t want him to stop licking me, and he doesn’t.
His fingers begin to slide in and out of me, and from how soaking wet it feels as they penetrate, I can imagine just how wet I must be.
Soon I feel my walls squeezing against his fingers. My pussy clenches up, and my clit feels like it’s swollen so much it will explode. His tongue presses harder as I scream out his name. My hips buck wildly. My blood catches on fire. I try to scream again, but no sound comes out.
I cum. I cum hard. It’s the first time a man has made me cum, and it’s so much more intense than trying to get myself off. Each small movement of Deacon’s tongue against my clit sends me further and further over the edge. I passed the edge ages ago, I’m just waiting to fall, but Deacon’s tongue and fingers won’t let me. Not yet.