Page 45 of Deceive Me
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.
18
Elliot opened her mouth. Deacon found himself anticipating whatever she had to say, his body tensing to argue, to convince her, cement their relationship—whatever it was—before this skittish woman had a chance to get away.
The sudden blare of an alarm from the bedroom cut the moment off. Elliot’s eyes went wide. “Code Red!”
And then they were both running for the other room.
The alarm was emanating from Elliot’s comm, a particular blaring pattern that signaled something more than the ghost visits they’d been getting; it signaled someone was hurt. Elliot grabbed for the comm and slipped it into the pocket of a pair of fatigues as she pulled them on. Deacon scooped up his fatigues from the floor beside the bed and dragged them on as he rushed for the hallway. A quick look showed Sydney still in bed, eyes closed—so, not her. Someone else then. He shouldn’t be relieved, but God, he was. He so was.
Elliot hit the stairs before he did, her body now clothed in a tank top as well. The familiar calm of battle settled over him as he followed her down to the first floor. He could hear yelling coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. Dain. Saint. What the fuck was going on?
Elliot grabbed the banister about five steps from the bottom and vaulted over the side, landing on a run without pausing, Deacon on her heels. Their footsteps barely whispered on the hardwood floors as they slammed through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Inside was chaos. Dain was yelling, “Hold him still!” while men struggled with someone on the floor. Deacon paused in the doorway to count heads, figure out who was where. The only person he couldn’t account for was Fionn. And then the thrashing reddish-blond head on the ground registered.
Shit!
Choking back his fear, he pushed around Elliot and through the crowd to kneel next to his best friend. Fionn lay on the hard tile, blood spreading across his gray T-shirt. He thrashed around, fighting the hard hands holding him down, biting out curse after curse as he struggled.
“Motherfuckers! I’m fine, a’right. Let me go.”
“You’re not fine. Settle now, soldier,” Deacon barked.
Fionn went quiet at the familiar authority in Deacon’s voice. It centered Deacon as well, pushing back the fear and anger and despair at the thought of losing another team member and, even more, someone he considered a brother. He wouldn’t lose Fionn, not now.
“Saint, get his shirt off.”
Saint grabbed a pocketknife from his belt while Deacon bent closer, forcing an eyelid open to examine Fionn’s unfocused eyes. Fionn jerked his head, then stilled, his breathing choppy.
