Page 84 of Deceive Me
Aftershocks spasmed through her muscles, one after another, squeezing his fingers. Elliot stuttered his name.
When she finally stilled, he pulled his fingers free. Elliot grasped his wrist, tugging until he stood, and guided his hand to her mouth. Full lips surrounded his finger, her tongue laving him, collecting the essence of the pleasure he’d given her.
The last strap on his restraint snapped.
Fuck slow. He’d meant to savor, to take his time, take her over, but he couldn’t, not with that look on her face. Not with his cock throbbing like a son of a bitch with the need to be inside her. He couldn’t wait, and he didn’t; he grasped her hips, lifted, and impaled her on him all in one movement.
Elliot choked at the tight fit. He barely held on long enough for her body to soften, for her creamy invitation to ease the way, and then he was pounding her against the wall with every ounce of the desperation filling his very soul. The catch of Elliot’s breath, the ragged sigh of his name, the scratch of her tight nipples against his chest drove him higher and higher until he thought his head might explode—he certainly hoped one of them did. Elliot’s legs pushed wider, trusting him to hold her, her pelvis straining against him, and the rising pitch of her cries told him she was right there with him. A tiny shift of his angle, enough to pound the base of his cock against her clit, and that was all either one of them needed.
They shattered together, so hard Deacon couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, wasn’t even certain he’d survive. Everything disappeared but the pleasure clenching his gut and the sense of being one soul, one body. He took Elliot’s mouth, gave her his tongue, savoring the moment for as long as he could make it last.
Finally, minutes later, he helped Elliot to stand, holding her tight until her legs were solid beneath her, then tugged her back under the water. Her skin felt soft and slick beneath his soapy hands as he washed her, reveling in the way her eyes closed and a smile tugged at her lips. Content; his woman was content. His chest actually puffed up at the thought—yes, he was that Neanderthal.
Elliot was practically asleep on her feet now that the last of her tension was gone. He rinsed her off, then gave her a nudge toward the shower door with a firm hand on her ass. “Go get in bed. I’ll be there in just a sec.”
She didn’t argue, which proved exactly how tired she was. It took him no more than a few minutes to clean up before getting out, drying himself, and wandering into his bedroom to change.
Elliot was nowhere to be seen.
Boxers on, he went into the hall. Downstairs was still dark, only the slight glow of a night-light showing faintly at the top of the stairs. The same was true for Sydney’s room, but he heard the slightest movement in that direction, so he followed, his footsteps stumbling to a halt at the door. The sight before him was arresting—there was no other word for it. Elliot, dressed in her normal nighttime tee and shorts, lay on one side of Sydney’s bed, her body curled around his child, their hands linked together.
Sound asleep, both of them.
He found himself leaning against the doorjamb as his knees went weak and his heart melted. He’d spent his life fighting for what was right, bringing justice to the world, but nothing he’d accomplished compared to moments like these, when the healing of Elliot’s heart became so damn obvious. She was theirs, and they were hers—and Elliot had been courageous enough to let it happen. They might be taking it slow, might be feeling their way through this thing that had hit them both out of the blue, but when he saw her like this, when he saw the two of them together, he knew. With everything inside him, he knew.
His family was complete.
