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She jerked, her breath catching in her throat. “Jesus.”
He rode her hard, filling the air with the sound of flesh smacking slick flesh. The luscious scent of her need blanketed him, an electric zap to his senses. It sang in the stall’s humid air, calling to him; drugging his mind; driving him to take her harder. So he did.
The tips of her fingers scrabbled against the wet tiles as she threw her hips back to meet every frantic thrust. She was never a passive participant. She took what she wanted. Demanded what she needed.
He grabbed her hand, lowered it to her pussy, and spread her fingers near her entrance. “Feel me taking you.” Pounding faster, he gritted his teeth at the sensation of her fingers brushing over his shaft.
His eyes flew to the brand on the back of her shoulder, and his balls ached at the sight. That mark of his possession was straight-up porn for him. It shouldn’t be. Didn’t used to be. Initially, he’d viewed it as an inconvenient necessity; a way to prevent his cat from interfering.
That had changed.
He wasn’t sure when. Perhaps it had been a gradual thing. Whatever the case, he now liked marking her. Even looked forward to it. More, it didn’t bother his cat any longer.
Right then, Deke found himself disappointed that his brand didn’t yet need renewing. The act of gripping her skin between his teeth, of biting down hard enough to leave a mark … fuck, his cock was pulsing just thinking about it.
Feeling his balls draw up tight, he caught a fistful of her wet hair and tugged her head back. “Play with your clit, baby. Make yourself come.”
She didn’t hesitate. She got right to it. And each time she rubbed or rolled her clit, her inner muscles spasmed around him.
He wasn’t sure he could take it for long. He didn’t want to come first. Didn’t—
Fingers stroked over his aching balls.
Deke cursed as his release slammed into him with such shocking, violent force it stole his breath. His thoughts splintering, he kept on thrusting, pumping his come inside her … barely aware that she’d exploded right along with him.
It took some time for Bailey’s brain to regroup after the dazzling orgasm that practically tore her apart. When she was finally able to think again, he was pulling his softening cock out of her. He brushed his lips over his bite in a barely-there kiss, making her pulse do a silly little spike.
Her pulse did it again when they got out of the shower. Why? Because the big lump didn’t do his usual thing and toss her a towel—something he occasionally threw at her face, always snickering when she caught it wicked fast. Nope, this time he carefully wrapped a towel around her and began to pat her dry.
For long moments, she stood there, not knowing what to do. Clearing her throat, she finally said, “I can dry myself, you know.”
“Clever girl.” Pure sarcasm.
Dick.
He finished drying her off, dumped the luxury cotton fabric on the floor, and then none too gently lifted her.
She squeaked, fisting his own towel so tightly she almost tugged it off his waist. He carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the mattress. She scraped her wet locks off her face. “You gotta stop tossing me around like I’m a damn doll.”
“Why?” It sounded like a genuine query.
She rolled her eyes. And people thought she was difficult.
Deke gently threw a comb her way and then dried himself off while she dragged said comb through her hair. Done, he took it from her, returned it to the surface of the dresser, and then sank onto the mattress beside her.
Bailey frowned when he yanked the duvet over them, as if they were settling down for the night. She never slept over. Ever.
Still, she wasn’t gonna shove off the covers. Nu-uh. She was cold, and his quilt was so much thicker than hers. She’d just lie here until she warmed up. Then she’d get dressed and leave.
The past week had been uneventful in every respect, really. There’d been no more attacks. She hadn’t seen or heard from the jackals, Ginny, or Jackson’s family again.
As for her and Deke … they each did their own thing during the day, and then she’d go to his apartment in the evening. They sometimes had dinner here together. Mostly, though, she ate before she showed up.
In that sense, nothing had changed. Yet it had. Because he’d started doing stuff he didn’t do before. Like call her “baby” during sex. Like shampoo her hair. Like touch her outside of fucking and even in public—a little thing, maybe, but he used to act as if to touch her would have been to stick his hand in a damn fire, so it didn’t feel little.
It also sort of flustered her. People generally weren’t touchy-feely toward Bailey. Her past partners had given her plenty of personal space and hadn’t been too tactile, sensing she preferred it that way. If Deke sensed it, he was choosing to ignore it.
