Page 69 of Deceive Me
Elliot’s fingers tangled in his hair, but he ignored the pain as he moved down her body, his intent obvious. She gave a single questioning, “Deacon?” before subsiding. His Elliot, so strong and tough on her feet, but willing and pliant in his bed. He showed his pleasure with a long lick from the bottom of her opening to the top.
Another choking sound. He savored her taste on his tongue, savored the privilege of Elliot’s surrender, but there was a tinge of heartache too. Each new taste of pleasure seemed to startle her, unknown and unfamiliar, underlining what she’d denied herself all this time. But no more. He licked her again, set up a rhythm, and brought her to release once more with only his tongue and lips and breath.
And love. Too fast or not fast enough, dangerous or not, he was in love with the woman beneath him. He remembered what it felt like, recognized what was in his soul—the feeling was the same even if the woman and the circumstances were different. He knew his heart, and his heart wanted Elliot. Needed her. Needed to be deeper than he was right now.
He waited until she was once again breathing hard, her fingernails digging mindlessly into his skin as she lost herself in the pleasure he was giving her, and then he moved up her body and drove himself deep in a single move. His kiss smothered the cry rising to her lips. He could feel the tension in her body, the conflict of pleasure and pain warring inside her, and then all of her softened beneath him—her mouth opened, her breasts cushioned him, her muscles melded with his, and inside…oh, inside, she melted around him until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
Slender, strong legs lifted to grip his waist. Strong arms encircled his ribs, eager fingers gripping the thick muscles lining his spine. The cuts on his back protested with a zing of pain, but they didn’t matter because Elliot surrounded him in every way possible. When he drew back slowly, then pushed inside again, her chin tilted up, exposing the quivering muscles of her throat. He ducked to nibble the sensitive skin along the side.
“Deacon, please. Please. I need… I… Please!”
He couldn’t tell if she was begging for mercy or begging him to move. They were the same thing in the end. Needing to surround her as she did him, needing her closer than he’d ever held her before, he forced one arm beneath her hips and one beneath her head to brace her exactly where he wanted her, then drew his knees up to start a heavy rhythm of advance and withdrawal that neither could deny and certainly couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Elliot curled into him, the huff of her breath filling his ears every time he hilted. Then there it was, the rush of warmth around his cock that signaled her rise to orgasm. The feeling freed the animal instinct inside him, taking her hard and rough and exulting in his woman’s equally wild response. When she dug her heels into his thighs and forced her pelvis against his, seeking that final push over, he gave it freely and joined her on the downward slide.
“Elliot, God.” He shuddered for a long time in her arms, unable to break away from the feeling of complete peace she’d given him in the middle of this insane day. He would stay here forever if he could, inside her, her body keeping the world at bay. But already he could feel sleep swamping him, stealing him away, and he clutched her harder to try and stop it. “God, I love you.”
His brain shut down and he drifted off, but somewhere in the transition, faint and far away, he swore he heard the sound of tears.
27
Deacon’s weight went heavy on top of her, the day and the emotion finally catching up with him, it seemed. Or maybe it was just that he finally felt safe enough—and felt Sydney was safe enough—to relax. Either way, Elliot savored the struggle to breathe and the overwhelming peace that settled deep inside her. She’d never known real peace, not till Deacon and Sydney came into her life.
And in the next few hours, she would probably lose any chance at keeping it.
When Deacon groaned and rolled off her, onto his side, she braced herself. Sliding from the bed was harder than she’d thought it would be, the need to stay tugging her back even as she pulled her clothes on. But the night was passing, and she had a lot to do before dawn woke them all.
The outside room was dimly lit, King reading in one corner, Trapper and Mark playing poker in another. Fionn and T.C. would be outside the suite door, she knew. With the barest nod she crossed to the bathroom and locked herself in for a quick cleanup. Her duffel waited under the sink, and she grabbed fresh underwear and socks. Dressed, hair pulled back from her face, she returned to the living room to put on her boots.
“Where are you going?” King asked.
“Commissary.” She’d scouted earlier and knew the store was open 24-7. “I need supplies.”
King seemed ready to argue, but when she lifted her brows and waved a hand toward her crotch, his mouth clamped shut. One thing about King being a loner like her: he’d never been truly comfortable with anything related to her biology. At the first indication that her period had come, Dain would give her an understanding smile and immediately offer to go to the commissary for her. Saint, with the overabundance of women in his family, would fearlessly make a joke about that being what was wrong with her mood. Not King. He clammed up and even blushed—she could see it in the low light of the room.
She was lying, of course. But this was the easiest way to get out without suspicion. Using her team’s idiosyncrasies against them. Yes, she was a bitch, and yes, they’d probably never forgive her, but it was far past time that this was finished. No one else would be hurt on her watch.
Outside the door, Fionn immediately straightened away from the wall. “And what would you be needing? Want me to call down for something?” His finger went to his earbud.
“Tampons?”
Fionn choked. T.C. cracked up—quietly, of course; it was one a.m., after all.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She waved a hand over her shoulder as she walked down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”
She wasn’t going to the commissary—she was going to the infirmary. GFS had outfitted them with general badges that allowed entry and exit, providing Elliot with a quick trip across the compound to the temporary medical wing that had been set up this afternoon. Once inside, she simply asked the nurse to let her sit with Sheppard. The woman confirmed via computer that Elliot was associated with the case, searched her, and allowed her into the room. The door had barely slid closed before Elliot was shaking Sheppard’s shoulder.
“Lyse? Lyse!”
The woman looked fragile, as if she would fall apart at the slightest word. If she hadn’t read it in Sheppard’s file herself, Elliot would have a hard time believing they were the same age. But weak or not, the girl’s thin eyelids fluttered open at Elliot’s insistence. After several long blinks, recognition flared in her eyes, determination settling in the tired lines of her face. “Elliot Smith.”
“Lyse.” She squatted until her face was level with Sheppard’s. “You made it.”
A slight shake of her head. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.” Her chin trembled. “What’s important is, did everyone else make it?”
“They did.”
“And…” Sheppard licked her cracked lips. “Fionn?”
“Is that why you did this?”
