The fullness, the indescribable pleasure, overwhelmed, and she cried out as she came with one more fast shove.
Deacon, the bastard, didn’t ease up, just held her through her orgasm before standing, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe, then muttering, “Now we’re even.”
He left a dripping mess over the floor and stalked away.
Two hours later,much too early for bed even if she hadn’t been wide awake thanks to Deacon’s sexual magic, Solene stared at her ceiling and berated herself for being a coward.
She didn’t need to hide from him. He’d seen her naked. So what? Much of the world had seen her in lingerie ads, where she’d been wearing not much more than a thong and teeny-tiny scraps of fabric over her nipples. And so what that he’d given her a real, frightfully intense orgasm that had made her as wet as the shower? She’d given him one first.
How immature are you? This is not a freakin’ contest, Solene!
She covered her face, wondering why she was acting so stupid. The attraction between them had been there from the start. But the liking, the feelings of affection, unnerved her. Giving him pleasure made her feel good. That he’d returned the favor showed him to be a giving lover, didn’t it? Why should mutual enjoyment be so bad? She couldn’t reason it out. An orgasm from a man without having to do anything for it should be a gift.
So why did she keep feeling as if she’d lost something?
Angry at feeling confused, she left her bed and stomped out of her room. She found Deacon lazing on her couch flipping through channels, dressed in flannel pants and no shirt.
For some weird reason, she wanted to laugh, relieved things seemed unchanged between them. Had he actually been wearing a shirt, she might have been concerned.
“You.”
He raised a brow.
“What was that about?”
He didn’t turn away from his channel surfing to look at her. “I’m sorry. Could you be more specific?”
She grabbed the remote, calmly turned off the television, and sat on the coffee table next to him. “Explain.”
“Explain what?”
At the innocent tone, she gritted her teeth, saw his smile, and wanted to kiss—smack—the grin from his handsome face.
“You entered mylockedbathroom, stalked me in the shower, and…and… You know.”
His grin turned into a satisfied smile. Deacon laced his hands behind his head, all stretched out on her oversized couch. “First of all, locks don’t work on me. They’re more like foreplay.”
“Perv.”
He chuckled. “Second, that was a thank you for making me come so hard I saw stars. Aw, baby, don’t blush. You started this.”
“Me?” She leaned closer to poke him in the chest and ended up sprawled on top of him when he yanked her close. Geez, Deacon couldmove.“Get off.”
“Hey, I’m on the bottom. Not my fault I was having such a hard time seeing youwayover there.”
“What? One foot away?”
She sat up, uncomfortably aware of straddling his abdomen while wearing her own fuzzy pajama set. Not a dress, but pants and a shirt. For modesty’s sake, she’d worn a bra. Hopefully it helped hide the knots her nipples had turned into.
“Deacon, what is this?” she asked, exasperated. And strangely charmed. God, she had so many issues.
“This is called conversation. You really don’t want me making blond jokes, do you? Come on, Solene. It’s just talking.”
She glared.
“Who knew you’d need reassurance? You were amazing, baby. Just great.” He gave her a mock leer, and she smacked him in the chest. “Ow.”
“Stop joking around. This,us. The mutual masturbation party. What the hell was that?”
