“I’m glad you stayed,” she said without thinking.
Deacon ran his tongue along her bottom lip and tasted her. He set the soup on the tray and pushed his hands under the quilt. He ran his palms over her hot, naked skin. Being wrapped in the big cover had left her hot to the touch, but the air from the room felt cold. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why would you?” Rayka bit her lip at the way his face colored and grew even more serious.
“Because I don’t fuck and leave. And I didn’t know I gave off that impression.”
“You don’t, “she stammered. “It’s just me. The last guy I dated, he seemed like the kind to stay and the first time...well, the only time—”
“As it should have been,” he said gruffly and hauled her onto his lap. She could feel his cock, hard and ready again, through his jeans. It rode the cleft of her sex, and now when she bit her lip it was for a different reason. Rayka felt a flush start in her cheeks as he pulled her close and bit gently on the slope of her collar bone. Then he bit even harder where her neck met her shoulder. A spark of pleasure mixed with pain shot through her, and she gasped.
“I’m not going anywhere, Rayka.” His hands took a quick tour, and then he was tugging at his fly and she was helping. He settled her down on him again. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of the feel of him, how his cock felt stretching her, filling her. She already felt sore and used, but in the best kind of way. Her tender flesh accepted him again, and she sighed.
“I have plans to stick around for a very long time,” he said and then bit her again. It was the hardest bite of all, and she felt her flesh bruise even as her cunt clenched around him. The bruise on the back of her neck from early thumped in sympathy.
The orgasm rolled through her, pushed higher and then higher still by that bright, intense flash of pain. “You belong to me now,” he said into her ear.
A flash of fear and then an odd calm. Deacon tensed under her and then came, pulling her down into his lap even as he thrust up into her. “Mine,” he said again.
Somehow, Rayka believed him.
Chapter 12
They didn’t even make it to the bed. They devoured the lukewarm food and then curled up on the sofa. The fire was dying and Rayka was out cold. She had nestled down against his chest, his arm crooked around her. She snored lightly, and he grinned down into her sleeping face. She would have a fit if she knew she snored.
Deacon smoothed her hair off of her forehead and bent to kiss her softly. She would have something smart to say if she saw him do that. More than once as they had eaten, she had teased him for his gruffness. What he felt around her was an ease. But he didn’t say it. Couldn’t admit that to anyone, to a degree, not even to himself. It was no effort to spend time with Rayka. He didn’t struggle to think of conversation or find ways to engage her. Whether discussing the dreaded Mrs. Shapiro, The Good, the Sweet, and the Yummy, or the impending name change of said shop, being with her was effortless. Something Deacon would have to adjust to. Mostly he struggled through the date to get to the sex. He neither sought, nor had he found, anything that resembled an emotional connection.
This intense and seemingly instantaneous connection with her was unnerving, and very few things unnerved him. In most situations, if brains didn’t get you through, brawn would. If that failed, a combination of the two would always work. With her, he seemed to be running on what he felt in his chest and his cock. His heart strings seemed directly wired to this crazy, quirky designer.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled when he kissed her again. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. He kissed her once more between the eyes.
“I believe the kids are calling it kissing these days.”
“Uncle,” she mumbled and snuggled closer, her breasts mashing against his bare chest. How many times can you make love to a woman in one night and still suffer an insane want of her?
“What do you mean?” The fire was almost out. Just a bright orange and red glow with only the slightest blue flickering flame.
“I mean,” she said softly, “that if you try to, um...”
“Fuck you?” he said just to feel her go tense and then hear her easy laughter.
“Yes. That. If you try to do that again, you’ll kill me. It would be the best way to die, I’m sure, but I’m so sore. In a very, very good way, but still. Very sore.”
“Don’t worry. I’m happy. I do have one or two manners in my arsenal.”
She laughed. “More than that. Do you want to go up to bed?”
“The fire is nice,” he said. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to break the spell if that’s what this was.
“You sure? We need our rest. Tomorrow is a big day. We have to rest up.”
“Why a big day?” Deacon ran his hand down her back. He cupped the swell of her bottom and played his fingers over the welts that still stood out on her flesh.
Rayka moaned against his chest and pushed her body closer to his. She liked that. She liked the after-pain and the feel of his hand on her marks. And Deacon liked that she liked it. He kissed her hair.
“Mrs. Shapiro’s party, of course.”
“Yeah, about that,” he said, trying not to laugh.
“Oh no! No, no, no! It’s all your fault. You will be there, Deacon. No doubt. Spank me, tie me up, whip me, drag me around by my hair, but you are coming.”
“Careful how you phrase things.” In his head he heard her lilting voice again, tie me up. Definitely on the menu but he would keep that to himself.
Rayka reached down and slid her palm along his cock. A gentle touch. Already awakening, it twitched in her hand. “Jezaloo. You are a machine. Are you human?” she snorted.
“Yep, all man.”
“Yeah, but most men can’t...I mean they don’t...they aren’t so resilient,” she finally finished and then shook with laughter. He held her close, liking the way her body felt happy and alive. Not tense with him. That made him feel even more at peace. Mostly, women were attracted to him but had a certain amount of fear. Awkwardness, even. Not her. She would get on her knees for him, cry for him, obey him, and then tease him mercilessly.
Like before. And look what happened that time. With that woman...
He ignored the thought and delivered another kiss. Rayka squinted up at him. “You sure you’re okay? You look awfully pensive. You don’t have to stay—”
Deacon put his finger over her lips. “No.” He barked it at her. He didn’t mean to, but she was pissing him off with that stuff. “Do not say it.”
Her eyes grew wide and she nodded. Then put her head down until he kissed her again.
“As for my resiliency, it’s you. You do that to me. I am all man and my abilities—” he chuckled, “—are directly related to the company I am keeping.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure if I buy that, but I am awfully tired and you are awfully warm and it’s getting very dark in here and...” Her voice tapered off and soon she had snuggled back against him.
Deacon pulled her closer. He wouldn’t listen to all of the arguments and worries his brain was suddenly pulling out. He would just be with her and not think. Deacon draped her leg over his and tucked her head under his chin. He gave his own yawn and watched the fire die down to nothing but embers. “Rayka,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear or answer, “you snore, baby.” Deacon closed his eyes and let himself relax.
He woke to a note and a hot decanter of coffee on the kitchen table. She had even taken the time to lay out some croissants, a bottle of honey, some butter and jam.
I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so cute. Eat up and have a great day. I’ll see you tonight. Dress well. Mrs. S. likes her men refined. Remember it’s all your fault.
XOXO
Ray
PS: I like my bruises. I don’t know why.
His cock jumped at that. The postscript. She liked the marks he had left on her. He wondered if she would admire them in the mirror. Push on them with her fingers. If
she would prompt the skin to sing with a little bit of pain so she could remember the pleasure that had followed.
He hoped so. He read the line again and smiled. Actually, he was almost certain she would.
Chapter 13
“I cannot believe he did this to me,” Rayka muttered. “I was duped. Roped into this party. He better look good.” She slid the black skirt into place and topped it with a wrap-around blouse in shades of roses, mauve, and cranberry. Black sling-back heels and a big pair of hammered silver earrings and she was set. Hair up? Down?
She piled it up on top of her head and shoved a few clips in. She was going for stylishly messy but ended up with a wind tunnel effect. She put it down and it strayed in several different directions. She flopped on the bed and dialed Mo.
“Is he there?” her best friend hissed. Caller ID strikes again.
“No. I am having a hair crisis.”
“Windy day crisis or Medusa crisis?”
“Medusa.” Rayka snapped her fingers. Snap, snap, snap. When she felt really stressed, she craved a cigarette, even after all these years, so she snapped to keep her hands busy.
“Oh shit. Do you need me to come over? I have a straightening wand and I’m not afraid to use it.” She heard Mo chomping and then the resounding pop of her bubble gum. God. Maybe she needed to chew some bubble gum.
“As tempting as that is, I don’t think there’s time. We’re due there in less than a half an hour. Deacon should be here to get me any minute now.”
“Did you try piling it up?”
“Yep.”
“So it didn’t turn out like that time at Josh’s Labor Day cookout?”
“Nope. More like Christmas 1999.”
“Dear God, I’m surprised you didn’t just hang yourself from the shame,” Mo snorted. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know. You’re nervous, right?”
“Well, who the hell knows who Mrs. S. invited to this shindig. Probably other designers and rich people and I can’t even imagine who else. Probably her horrible grandchildren and her sticky and rude great-grandchildren. And of course there is Petunia.”
Petunia was Mrs. Shapiro’s pug. Petunia hated Rayka. Petunia thought it amusing to sprinkle just a bit on Rayka’s shoes from time to time.
“Ah, punt that canine football a good one when she isn’t looking.”
“Mo!”
“I’m joking. Calm down. It was a joke. Mostly.”
“Do you think I have time to shave my head?”
“Do not! And do not trim. You remember the junior prom? When you trimmed?”
“Shut up.”
“Christ, your bangs made Cyndi Lauper’s hair look symmetrical.”
“You are not helping me, Mo.”
“How about a smooth, low pony tail?”
“It never looks right. I always look...unkempt.”
“Hmm. Then I say you go with it. Put a spritz in that hair, a bit of water, turn your head upside down and make it as bed-head sexy as possible.”
“It’s my only option, isn’t it?” Rayka sighed.
“Pretty much. You’re running out of time.”
“Okay. Here I go.”
“Go with God, young one,” Mo said and hung up.
Rayka stared at her hair. Maybe if she...
The doorbell rang.
“Shit.”
“Jesus.”
“I know. It’s the hair. It’s like a science experiment gone awry.”
But then he wasn’t staring slack-jawed at the mess of tangles and waves any more. He had his hand planted in the blonde mess and was tugging her forward. Tugging her to his mouth. Rayka let him kiss her. Kiss her so hard she felt her lips bruise right then and there. And it wasn’t only her lips, but her scalp. Pain sang along the nerves and follicles, danced along her top of her head with wild abandon until her heart knocked against her chest like a war drum. He was hurting her. The pain was very real but the pleasure overshadowed it. Her body was a war of sensations. Pain, pleasure, dread, excitement. One big tug of war to be won by the most dominant nerve endings.
The crotch of her satin panties crew moist, and she moaned into Deacon’s hot mouth. She had a winner. Pleasure had won. Now all she had to do was convince him to stop playing caveman, release her hair, and get her to the party.
“We have to go,” she managed.
“Not yet,” he said. His voice was barely a voice. More animal than man.
“We’ll be late.”
“So we’re late.” He pulled her in and kissed her harder. Rayka let her head fall back. Let her body go limp as he kissed her until she thought she’d die. What a wonderful death it would be.
Deacon’s hands slid up her legs, dragging the skirt with him. He found her bare above her thigh-highs and slid his palms over her skin. The cold night air found her naked flesh and pebbled it instantly. His hands felt so hot, like he was branding her.
“We’re outside,” she said and tried to worm back from him. On the front porch with the light on. Might as well be a stage with a spotlight. Plus they were late. Her mind was whirling with shoulds and should nots. Her body didn’t care. Her body was at Deacon’s mercy as it called up all the memories of the pleasure he had already delivered.
“Shhhh. Do not move.” His voice left no room for argument.
As he continued to kiss her, branding her throat with his mouth and tongue. Surely marking her with his teeth as he bit her here and there. Hard in some spots. Hard enough that her cunt clenched up around nothing. His fingers moved higher and Rayka felt her skirt drape across his wrist like a curtain. Felt the fabric tickling along her stockings as his hand traveled higher still. He clutched her tight to his body with his free arm, played his lips brutally hard across her own. Then slid two fingers effortlessly inside of her. High into her pussy. And there, he stroked her, hooking the pads of his fingers against her swollen G-spot over and over again until she felt the inevitable begin. The tightening of orgasm. Right there, in the cold, on the porch, under the light.
“Come for me, Rayka. Come on. I know you want to,” he hissed in her ear and yanked her tighter against him. Deacon nudged her blouse off her shoulder with his chin, and with one more hard stroke inside of her, he bit her.
Rayka came, and there was no subtlety. Whoever had been missing the performance before surely was watching then. The cry swelled out of her before she could stop it and no matter how hard she tried to swallow the sound, it kept going. Growing. The orgasm was pulsing through her with such an intensity she couldn’t make herself be quiet.
When the last flicker worked through her, Deacon pulled his hand free and kissed her. He slid her blouse back into place and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Now,” he said.
“Now what?” Rayka asked. Heart fluttering, pulse pounding, body in a beautiful state of chaos, she was thoroughly confused.
“Now we can leave.”
“Right. Now we can leave,” she repeated stupidly. “Just let me wash up and lock up and we’ll go.”
“Lock up but don’t wash up,” he said. His face handsome and serious and something else she couldn’t put her finger on.
“What?”
“Do not wash up. Stay that way.”
“But I smell like...sex,” she said.
“I know.”
“Won’t people smell it on me?”
“Maybe. Do you care?”
“Well...” Did she? She wasn’t sure.
“It doesn’t smell bad,” he said. “It smells like sex. Your sex. And trust me, sweetheart, your sex smells good.”
Rayka opened her mouth and then when nothing would come to her, shut it again. What could she say?
“Um...okay.” That’s what.
“Good girl.”
Rayka shut off all the lights except the hall and locked the door. Half way down the steps, she froze. “Shit.”
“What?” Deacon hit the remote and unlocked his car.
“I forgot! My hair!”
; His dark eyes flooded with humor as she ran her hands through the wild tangle. “Leave it. It’s bed head. Sexy as hell.”
“Bed head, smelling like sex. Fuck, I’m going to lose my job.”
“Nah. You’ll be the envy of all the women.”
“You think?” she asked, not even a little bit serious. He was being crazy.
“Hell, yeah.” He started the car.
Rayka shrugged. There wasn’t much to do but to go with the flow. “Hell, yeah.”
Chapter 14
He was thoroughly and seriously fucked. Deacon shook his head and tried to keep his eyes on the road. Not on her knee or the length of her thigh under that skirt. He took a deep breath to steady himself and failed. All that filled his head was the scent of her and that made him nearly stupid with want. It had been all he could do not to slam her against the brick façade and fuck her right there on the porch. Right under that porch light she was so worried about. Jesus. When was the last time a woman had made him so crazy? His gut seized up and he wished the thought had never passed through his mind. But it had.
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