Page 23 of Beautiful Rush
She smiled sweetly. “I don’t. I love you.”
“I love you more.”
They were so in love that if it had been anyone else, I would find it sickening. But for my brothers, I made exceptions. I trailed behind Ava and Connor and stopped in front of the ’69 Mustang Shelby Connor had bought from Tate a few months ago, unbeknownst to Ava. On her twenty-fifth birthday, Connor had sent her on a scavenger hunt. The clues had led her to the keys and then outside to the Mustang convertible wrapped in a big blue bow.
Connor put the top down and handed me his tuxedo jacket which I draped over my shoulders before I climbed into the backseat. I found a pack of cinnamon gum in the pocket and helped myself to a few pieces before passing it to Connor.
As we drove through Brooklyn, classic rock blasting, the three of us singing along to ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ I was drunk and happy.
This was freedom. This was joy. I wanted to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. I wondered what Deacon was doing tonight. Then I told myself I didn’t care. But it wasn’t true.
8
Deacon
Iwatched through the open glass door as she stepped into her apartment. Her strappy heels dangled from her fingertips, her other hand clutching a small purse and a bouquet. Tendrils of hair escaped the pins that held half of her hair up, the rest of it hanging down in loose curls around her shoulders. Her eye makeup was smudged, and her cheeks were flushed like a child with a fever. She was undeniably beautiful.
She dropped her shoes onto the floor and set her purse and flowers on the coffee table, her movements casual, unhurried. I stepped into the living room so she could see me. It was official. I was a creeper. Who did shit like this? Who broke into a girl’s apartment?
Keira’s eyes met mine as I eliminated the distance between us. She didn’t look surprised to see me here. Or alarmed that I’d gotten in without a key. Other girls might be freaked out, but Keira Shaughnessy wasn’t like other girls. She’d been raised by a criminal and surrounded by her father’s soldiers. I suspected that she’d noticed me as soon as she walked in the door but hadn’t let on.
“I could have you arrested for breaking and entering.”
I didn’t know what had possessed me to do it or why I thought I’d had the right to, but the flirty smile on her face told me that she liked it. That it excited her. “I have a search warrant.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“I haven’t searched the premises yet. You should probably kick me out.”
“I hardly ever do what I should.” She scrolled through the playlist on her phone and made her selection. Ed Sheeran’s cover of “Make It Rain” started playing. The lyrics fit her life story and this version was bluesy as hell. “You owe me a dance.”
I took her into my arms, my gaze traveling down from the thin straps that held up her dress to the layers of sheer fabric of the skirt. From the front, it was deceptively sweet and innocent. I spun her around and gathered her hair in one hand, sliding it over her shoulder. I traced my fingers down the ridge of her spine and felt her shiver of pleasure under my touch. She leaned back against me, her bare back pressed to my chest and rested the back of her head on my shoulder. Raising her arms, she wrapped them around my neck and our hips moved to the beat of the music, her ass rubbing against my cock in a way that felt deliberate.
“Are you trying to be a gentleman?” she asked.
“Yes.” I kissed her bare shoulder. “But it’s not easy.”
I wanted to taste her, kiss every inch of her skin, make her orgasm so hard that she’d scream my name loudly enough for the neighbors to hear it.
“Good.”
As punishment, she turned to face me and snaked her arms around my neck. With a thrust of her hips, her pussy lined up with my cock. A small laugh escaped from her lips when she felt what she was doing to me, the alcohol having taken away her inhibitions. My hands ventured lower and I palmed her ass, pulling her body flush against mine. She retaliated by grabbing the back of my head and positioning it where she wanted it before sinking her teeth into my bottom lip. I flicked my tongue over it and tasted the metallic tang of blood before I drove my tongue into her mouth. We kissed like our tongues were dueling for power. It wasn’t a sweet kiss. Our teeth gnashed. Our lips were raw and swollen.
I pulled back to look at her face, her kohl-rimmed eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust.
Hooking my finger into the neckline of her dress, I slid it back and forth. “How drunk are you?”
“Drunk enough not to overthink a kiss. But not so drunk that I won’t remember it tomorrow morning.”
Without breaking eye contact, I pulled down the neckline, exposing her soft pink nipple. I flattened my tongue and took a lick as my hands gripped her waist. She moaned, arching her back almost painfully, demanding more. Tightening my hold on her waist, I took another swipe. She gasped, her eyes falling closed.
Dropping to my knees like she was the altar I worshipped at, I inched up her dress, and slid my hands up her legs, over her trembling thighs, exposing a scrap of white lace between her legs. I found it sexier than if she’d been wearing red or black. She bunched the fabric of the skirt in her hands, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. I brushed my thumb against her clit through her underwear, and her body jerked at the sensation.
“Deacon. Please.” It was a strangled plea.
“Please what?” Hooking my fingers through the sides of her underwear, I looked up at her. “You want this?”
“Yes,” she gritted out.
