“Hang on tight, baby. If you thought we went fast before, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
16
Emma
Before today, I’d had a vague idea of where Deacon lived—somewhere in town, I knew, and for some reason, I’d pictured him in one of those soulless townhouses with beige walls, beige carpet, stainless steel appliances and nondescript furniture. Not that I imagined Deacon in those terms at all—quite the opposite—but he was so much a part of the hospital that it seemed to be his natural landscape. Somehow, I’d thought of his home just as the place where he slept between shifts.
But I was wrong, because the house we pulled into was the farthest thing from ordinary. It was small, yes, but in a cozy way. The outside was turquoise, which was utterly unexpected and yet absolutely perfect. I spotted a porch tucked into the front of the house before Deacon eased the car into the garage next to his truck.
I was curious about the inside, but I didn’t get to see much of it right away, since Deacon dragged me out of the car through the door that led from the garage into the house and then turned me so that my back was braced against the wall of what seemed to be a living room. I had a fleeting impression of two small sofas and an easy chair before Deacon grasped both of my wrists in one large, capable hand and pinned them to the wall above my head.
And then I didn’t care one iota about my surroundings, his house or his furniture.
He cupped his free hand around my cheek and stared into my eyes.
“Tell me what you like. Tell me what you want.”
I swallowed hard. “Whatever you do to me is what I’ll like. I just want you to touch me.”
“That works out for both us, because touching you . . . all over . . . is exactly what I want, too.”
I thought he’d kiss me then, but he didn’t. The hand that framed my face trailed down my neck, teasing my collarbone and then covering my breast. With his eyes staying steady on mine, he tugged down at the neckline of my dress, putting tension on the straps until they bit into the skin on my shoulders. I wasn’t wearing a bra—the dress had enough support to go without—and I watched, fascinated, as he pulled the material below the swell of my boob, thrusting the nipple into prominence.
Deacon had touched my breasts before. He’d teased me over my clothes, through my bra, and he’d ground his erection into my core while we were both fully clothed, but this was the first time we were skin to skin . . . and damn, it felt good.
His eyes were riveted on his fingers as they circled the rosy tip of my breast. My nipple stiffened to a peak as I shivered, writhing, needing more than what he was giving me.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He leaned forward to kiss me, a mere brush of his lips against mine. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
“It feels like more. Like I need more.”
He smiled. “Be more specific. Tell me exactly what you want.” He moved his mouth to my ear. “Say it in plain, dirty detail, Emma. Don’t hold back on me.”
I ran my tongue over my lips. “I want your mouth on my breast. I want you to suck my nipples . . . hard. And then I want you to pinch them until I’m begging you to stop. When I do . . . don’t.”
Deacon’s eyes widened in approval. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
Bending over me, he fastened his mouth on the nipple he’d been toying with. His tongue played with the aching tip for just a moment before his teeth sank down on it. I cried out even as I bowed my body to give him even more.
He sucked hard, and everything within me sang. I could feel the pressure of his pulling mouth to the tips of my fingers and down to my core, where I was wet and waiting.
Deacon glanced up at me as he kept his mouth in place, and the connection of our gaze somehow made everything he was doing hotter. More intimate. Sexier.
His hand moved to my other breast, moving the neckline so that now both boobs were bared, causing the material to tighten around my ribs, making it just a little harder to breathe. I wasn’t complaining, though; the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure was too enticing to ignore.
Deacon’s fingers were relentless now, pinching the nipple to erection before he shifted his mouth to that side. My breathing was coming in short pants as need built to a critical point within me.
“God!” I tipped my head back, my eyes closing. “That feels so fucking good, Deacon. Your mouth on me . . . I’m dying here. I never want you to stop.”
“I could suck your sweet tits all night long,” he mumbled around my nipple. “Do you know how much these torture me all the time? I’m at the hospital, we’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, and all I can think about is the way your breasts move under your shirt. It’s maddening.” He palmed one boob. “Getting my mouth on them is everything I fantasized it would be.”
I moaned. “Have you really fantasized about this? Tell me. Tell me what we did in your dreams. And then do it to me.”
He lifted his mouth from me. “When I dream about you, baby, it’s just like this. Shaking with need for me. Begging me to do all kinds of dirty things to your body. Letting me use my mouth and hands on you however I want.”
“Do it,” I whispered. “Do it now.”
His lips curved into a predatory smile. “I’m going to let go of your wrists now because I need both hands free. But keep them where they are.”
