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Elliot stirred the minute Deacon did. The room was dark, not yet dawn, but she could see the greenish glow of the monitor that still showed Sydney tucked safely in her bed. Normally Elliot’s bedroom door remained open during the night; how could she have forgotten to open it last night?
Deacon’s rough hand smoothed down her bare stomach, and Elliot closed her eyes tight. That was how she’d forgotten. Damn man. Not that it had been all his fault. Sex was no excuse for either of them. Yes, Saint would be patrolling the house, Fionn outside, but Elliot never left her charge to chance. Never.
Until now.
Deacon’s palm pressed into her lower belly, right over the spot that had contracted so hard for him last night. The spot that tightened now in anticipation. His body curled around her, a protective curve she’d never felt before. It probably shouldn’t feel as good now as it did, but oh, she wished she didn’t have to move from this spot, from his hold, ever again. All hard muscle from head to toe and soft breath across her shoulder and neck. So very good.
But she couldn’t afford to give in to the pleasure again.
Drawing her resolve around her, she eased the sheet from her bare body. Another mistake. She never slept naked on an op. Being ready at a moment’s notice was a necessity. Not that a naked body would keep her from running into danger—she was more dangerous naked than most people were fully clothed and armed. Still, it wasn’t her first choice.
Deacon’s arm went steel-hard when she started to slide from the bed. “What’s wrong?”
The gruff question sent tingles down her spine, memories washing over her of that rough voice whispering to her last night, telling her what to do, commanding her to come for him again.
“Nothing.” She had to clear the husky tone from her voice before saying, “Just need to get to work.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately Deacon knew their duty schedules as well as Elliot did. No hiding behind work then.
“I need to go.”
“You mean you need to run.” He pulled her harder against him, against the part of him that was growing harder with every breath she took. “Why do you need to run, Elliot?”
Just scared shitless, that’s all. “I’m not running.”
Deacon’s fingers moved lower, lower, lower. “I think I know why.”
She couldn’t help it; her legs loosened, refusing to stay clamped tight against his seeking touch. And when two thick fingers slid down either side of her clit to discover her already creamy invitation, all she could do was close her eyes and pray he didn’t call her on her lie.
“That’s why you’re running,” he whispered, all husky and male, in her ear. “Because you’re afraid.”
Her spine went rigid. “I’m not scared of anything.”
Deacon laughed, the sound rumbling along her spine. One finger slid deep, teasing her, tempting her. “Then stay here with me for a few more minutes. I can make you feel good, Ell; you know I can.”
Feeling good; that’s all this was about. And she hadn’t lied. She wasn’t scared of anything—except this being about more than pleasure. Did she want it to be? Did he? Both were equally terrifying options, and she couldn’t risk them. Not now, not when she needed to focus on keeping him and Sydney safe from her father. Not when she knew he’d be walking away when Mansa was dead.
Not when today was her last day to tell him who her father was before Dain did it for her.
Maybe it was her inexperience making her feel this way. There had only been Josh for her. A rough, quick screw in a closet. Nothing like what Deacon had done to her last night. Nothing like what he’d made her feel.
But she had no illusions about his “intentions.” There were none. She was convenient, that was all. Other men had come on to her during jobs, but she’d never been tempted to take them up on it, not till Deacon. And oh, what a temptation he’d been.
Still was.
She ignored the ecstatic reaction of her traitorous body and rolled out of the bed without a word.
The toilet had barely had time to flush before Deacon barged into the bathroom. Elliot was reaching to turn on the shower when the door opened.
“Deacon!”
“Elliot!”
His teasing tone didn’t match the serious set of his face. When she didn’t move, he reached past her and started the water. “You didn’t think you’d get away from me that easy, did you?”
She opened her mouth to argue, though she wasn’t sure how. A knock at the door cut her response off before it escaped.
“Otter?” King. “You got breakfast duty. Get a move on.”
Deacon stared down at her, a lazy grin on his face, but at least his mouth stayed shut. That was all she needed, her team knowing what a colossal mistake she’d made. Although that wasn’t what she’d been calling it last night after she’d climaxed...
“Be there in a minute,” she called, not moving from her position next to the shower. Deacon’s grin became a smirk.
She slapped his bare chest.
“You okay?” King yelled through the door. The handle started to turn.
Panic shot to a full boil in her belly. “I’m fine! Just fine.” Any other time she could’ve come up with a million explanations on the fly for the sound, but between the panic and Deacon’s silent laughter, she couldn’t think of a single thing.
Damn you, she mouthed at him.
Before she could turn, his mouth was on hers, stealing any angry words along with any actual thoughts she might’ve had in her brain. She dimly registered the silence from the bedroom, the doorknob no longer turning, before Deacon’s tongue slid between her lips and curled around hers.
What had she been arguing with him about?
Deacon lifted his head, and she stared up at him, her lips parted as if inviting him back inside. Would he take the invitation?
No. His hands on her waist turned her around to face the shower. “In, spitfire.” He crowded behind her, his big body forcing her into the shower stall. And Elliot let him, her brain too empty to argue, even when a firm swat landed on her ass. Normally she’d have made him eat his fist, but now...
God, she was such a girl.
The warm water hit her breasts, her belly, but it was nowhere near as warm as the heat of Deacon’s body behind her. That heat had seared her from the inside out last night. She’d never felt anything like it, doubted she ever would again. At least, not with anyone else. From the feel of Deacon’s erection nudging her spine, she might very well feel that heat this morning if she didn’t do something to avoid it.
Like the otter her team had named her, she closed her eyes to Deacon’s crowding body and ducked her head completely under the water.
A moan escaped as the hard spray beat against the top of her head. Or maybe that was from Deacon’s grip on her hips.
The water hid her, kept her emotions safe, if not her body. She tilted back until it rained down on her forehead, eyes closed to the force, the reality of Deacon surrounding her, his hands sliding around to cup her breasts. She turned her head away from his as he tucked it onto her shoulder. “Deacon...”
His warm breath hit her neck. “Tell me you don’t want it, Ell.” Rough fingertips gripped her nipples, hardened from the cool air and his touch. Her back arched instinctively. She let it speak for her—words were impossible when he touched her like this.
Deacon pinched and rolled and tugged, reducing her from a tough warrior to a quivering mass of jelly. Who knew breasts could have so much power over her? Men, yes, but women? She groaned as he rasped his palms across the hard nubs. When his touch disappeared, she cursed his absence.
Until he stepped in front of her, ducked his head beneath the spray, and sucked one tight tip into his hot mouth.
It felt so, so good, but it wasn’t the pleasure that gripped her as she looked down at him. No, it was the welling tenderness in her heart that froze her in place, her hands cupping his dark head to her body. Something in her melted at the sight of his firm lips working her breast, his closed eyes with the long, dark lashes lying against his cheeks. Beautiful. Strong. Some might say the two didn’t go together, but she knew they did. She might be a woman, but she had more strength than most men; men could have strength and still be beautiful, and Deacon was. She could see his daughter in his face, the traits he’d passed on to Sydney. She could see the subtle vulnerability, the passion that was sweeping over him. She could see emotion, where most people like them hid any trace of feelings. All of it was beautiful.
And mesmerizing. She didn’t want to let it go any more than she wanted him to let her go.
When she stepped back, the pull of Deacon’s mouth on her nipple sent a tingle of pain and pleasure through her core. She ignored it and urged him to his feet. Deacon growled at the loss, but he didn’t protest when she went to her knees.
The heavy cock between Deacon’s legs was already hard and throbbing. Elliot focused there, feeling her mouth water at the sight. She closed her mind to emotion and need and focused on the hunger to have him in her mouth. She’d never done this before. She wanted to. She needed to, if for no other reason than to protect herself.
A broad palm rested on her head. “Ell?”
She wished he wouldn’t call her that. Without responding she leaned in, mouth open, and capped his cock in wet warmth. Deacon grunted.
The angle was wrong. Taking him in hand, she tugged down, leading him back into her mouth. Deacon bent at the waist, and she heard the slap of his hand against the wall before the adjustment registered and she realized his cock was aimed directly into her mouth. When she tightened her lips and slid down his length, they both groaned.
“God, Ell. That’s it. Take me again.”
She slid back, then forward. His length was a hard presence between her lips, on her tongue. Even this part of him was strong, steel, and Deacon wielded it like a weapon when he was inside her. He proved he could do the same now as he began a slow rhythm of advance and retreat that would’ve made her weak in the knees if she wasn’t already on them. Careful not to push too far, he pleasured half his length with her mouth. His breathing quickened above her, cool blasts atop her head, telling her he was staring down at what she was doing. He watched, and it only made her want to please him more.
Her hand seemed so small on his thick erection, barely fitting all the way around. She gripped him anyway, using her palm and fingers to massage him down to the hilt while opening her mouth as much as she could, allowing him deeper access. When the soft tip hit the back of her throat, she swallowed against her gag reflex. Deacon cursed, the word harsh and somehow still beautiful. The thrill of knowing she affected him so strongly, that he might lose control because of what she did to him, had her repeating the move on the next thrust. They began a litany of sucking, swallowing, and cursing until Deacon’s legs shook and his words became a sob. She cupped his balls lightly in her hand, and he cupped the back of her head, surging deeper than before as he went rigid and began to pulse down her throat.
Elliot choked, surprised. Deacon pulled out with a curse. She watched in fascination as he shot semen into her palm with each squeeze of his climax.
And then she did something she never thought she’d do: she brought her hand to her mouth and licked, tasting him, tasting what she’d done to him. His cum was salty, thick on her tongue, matching the taste at the back of her throat. She licked again, her gaze rising to meet Deacon’s dazed eyes, and the roaring heat waiting for her there warmed far more than her skin.
“Jesus, woman.”
As he hauled her up from the shower floor and back into the warm water, she wondered if he’d ever reacted like that to Julia blowing him, then immediately dismissed the thought. If he had, if he’d used those same words for the wife he’d loved, she didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter, anyway. He didn’t love Elliot; he loved the sex, and so did she.
That’s all this was. Nothing more, even if she might dream about more, deep down inside where no one would ever know.
Deacon used his big body to maneuver her back until her spine met the cool tile. She squeaked in surprise, glaring up when Deacon chuckled.
“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”
Weren’t they? He’d come, so...
A hand pushed roughly between her legs. Elliot opened to him automatically, a moan escaping when his fingers caught her clit between them and began a soft circling motion, dragging the hood over that sensitive spot in a way that crossed her eyes.
Okay, not done. She tilted her pelvis and thanked whatever god she’d pleased to be blessed with such a skillful lover her second time around.
This time it was Deacon who dropped to his knees. He worked fast, his mouth on her breast sucking hard, his fingers pushing deep inside her body, his palm pressing tightly against her clit. Elliot laid her head back against the tile and clamped down on a scream as he shoved her over the edge fast and hard. Her legs shook as she pulsed around his invasion. And even when it was waning, it wasn’t over. Deacon’s rough fingertips found her G-spot and rubbed, the feeling so good she dropped her weight onto his hand, pressing down to get more as she climaxed a second time. Only when the contractions eased and her ragged breath became a bit more even did he withdraw, and even then he kissed his way up her breast, her throat, her jaw. He took her mouth and her last sighing moan at the same time.
Elliot let him; she had no other choice. Her mouth opened to him, her tongue met his, and her leg even wrapped around his thigh so she could feel him against that satisfied, empty part of her. The part that wanted nothing more than to do all of this over again.
Not the only part, Elliot.
Because she was an idiot if she thought this was all about sex for her. It wasn’t. And that’s what made it so fucking dangerous.