It started differently, but it always ended the same way. This go-around, his fucked-up psyche put Molly in the front seat between him and his brother.

An animated Molly flirted with Dante—who for the first time looked exactly like Deacon at his present age. Deacon had no feelings of jealousy, just relief that his brother approved of his girlfriend. Because god knew Dante hadn’t liked Cassidy.

But when he reached the part of the dream where the tree loomed ahead, the knothole mouth that screamed was Molly’s mouth. When he turned to look at Cassidy passed out in the middle, it was Molly sailing through the windshield.

He screamed and bolted upright in bed.

Then Molly was in his face. “Deacon.”

“You’re alive.” As soon as he said that, he had to look away out of embarrassment.

Of course she’s alive, you dumb fuck.

“Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“This is why you don’t talk about the accident.” She set her hand on the back of his sweaty neck.

Her cool fingers stroking his fevered skin settled him a little.

“You had a nightmare like this in Nebraska. That afternoon you made me sleep. When I woke up, you were gone. I thought I’d heard a scream, but I figured I’d imagined it.”

“No, you didn’t. That one was particularly bad. And I needed . . .” To get away. Like I do now. When Deacon scooted toward the edge of the bed, intending to escape, Molly threw her leg over his hips and forcefully pushed him flat on the mattress.

“Lie still.”

“Molly—”

“It’s my right as your lover to touch you in passion and in pain.” Her hands journeyed down his chest. “You’re in pain, Deacon. Let me give you something else to think about.”

Her silky hair trailed down the center of his torso, following in the wake of her kisses. She took his soft cock in her mouth, sucking and tonguing the flesh until it began to harden.

It didn’t take long for his cock to become fully erect with the expert way she worked him over.

Her hair was a curtain masking his view. He snagged a handful of the dark tresses and yanked to get her attention. The wet warmth surrounding his dick disappeared. Her gaze met his.

Deacon said, “I want to watch you.”

She circled the rim of his cockhead with her tongue and lightly suckled. Then she brought his shaft into her mouth slowly until the entire length was buried deep enough the head touched the back of her throat. She swallowed once.

He groaned. “Jesus. That feels so fucking good.”

Then Molly released him in that same leisurely manner until his dick was wet, throbbing, and entirely out of her mouth. “I know you like to watch me blowing you. But this time I want you to close your eyes and let me have my way with you. Do nothing but feel how much I love touching you like this.”

Like he’d ever say no to that. Deacon traced the edge of her jaw down to her chin, moving his fingers to outline her lips, which were so close to his cock he felt her fast breath teasing the wet tip. “Okay.”

A secretive smile curled those full lips. She placed one hand in the center of his chest and pushed until he was flat on the mattress. Her hair fell, covering her face.

But then the heat and suction returned, and Deacon gave himself over to it.

Molly’s hand jacked his shaft, rising up with hard pulls to meet her tight, wet mouth sliding down. Every few strokes, her fingers would drop between his legs to fondle his balls. Or to rub the section of skin between his sac and his asshole.

It should’ve embarrassed him, how much he liked that touch. But it made him even hotter that no part of his body was off-limits to her, the same as every inch of her was his to taste and touch.

Coherent thought morphed into silent pleas for her not to stop. His body jerked. His hips shot up. Goose bumps erupted when she paused to plant wet kisses on the insides of his thighs as she raked the outsides with her fingernails.

He fucking loved it. She understood he didn’t need a sweet and reverent blow job. He needed urgency, a tiny spark of pain, and being reminded that she’d taken control.

He yelped when she squeezed his balls.

He fisted his hands in the sheets and not her hair when she deep throated him.

He whimpered at the wet lash of her tongue over his anus.

Molly had him so wound up—belly muscles quivering, quads as tight as if he’d performed a hundred squats that even his freakin’ knees were sweating by the time she unleashed his orgasm. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked every hot spurt, her fingers loosely circling his shaft as she stroked and the tip of her finger swirling around his anus.

Deacon tried to hold on, tried to remain cognizant, but the pleasure swamped him and he gave in to it. Then sleep beckoned, and he couldn’t ignore the summons.