“Don’t do this guilt trip.” His warm breath tickled the fine hair on the back of her neck. “Now, if you’d skipped your grandma’s funeral to bang me all afternoon, that’d be entirely different.”

When had Deacon become so intuitive?

He’s not. He’s trying to justify getting his rocks off.

“So this wasn’t a ‘take her mind off her troubles’ mercy fuck?”

Deacon had flipped her onto her back and straddled her hips, pinning her arms above her head before she could blink. “Don’t try to piss me off so I’ll leave you alone to wallow in guilt. Not happening, babe.”

“Don’t use jujitsu on me, Yondan.”

They stared at each other. Winning a stare down with him was impossible.

Molly caved. “Fine. But I doubt I’ll be good company.”

“I’m not looking to be entertained.” He touched the side of her face. “I’m taking care of you. That includes me bein’ a dick and calling you out on your misplaced guilt.”

“Get off me.”

He backed off.

But as soon as her feet hit the floor, he said, “Where are you goin’?”

“To make something to eat.” Without a robe nearby, she snatched Deacon’s dress shirt and put it on.

His eyes flared with heat. “If that’s supposed to keep my hands off you, you oughta know it ain’t gonna work.”

“I’m not trying to be provocative. I’m just borrowing it.”

“Don’t matter. I still have the right to demand it back at any time.”

•   •   •

DEACON didn’t let her cook. He didn’t ask her what she wanted to eat. He settled her at the table with a glass of scotch and a lingering kiss.

He’d slipped on a pair of athletic shorts, but his upper torso remained bare. She shamelessly studied the ripple of the muscles in his arms as he chopped cabbage, carrots, green onions, celery, broccoli, and peppers. It struck her in a fresh wave of lust that this man was simply breathtaking. A head as perfectly shaped as his shouldn’t have hair. His face was a beautifully masculine study in angles. High cheekbones, a square jaw, a broad forehead. The full lips beneath his narrow—and slightly bent—nose provided the only hint of softness in his face. His dark brown eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. His jaw was set. The tendons in his neck were rigid.

Molly’s gaze moved down. The front side of his body wasn’t as heavily tattooed as his back. The tats were swirls of color instead of black and shades of gray, but the scrolls and images melded together to look seamless.

She gulped a mouthful of scotch, hoping the alcohol would dampen her sudden need to trace every curve and line of his ink with her fingers and her mouth. She imagined being behind him, using her teeth across the slope of his shoulder while running her hands over the smooth pate of his shaved head. Then she’d nibble on the backs of his ears, sucking on his earlobe before she followed the outer rim with her tongue. She’d whisper dirty, raunchy things as she touched and teased him.

“Stop making that noise,” he half growled, not looking up from the chicken he sautéed in sesame oil, soy sauce, and garlic.

“What noise?”

“The noise you make when I’m sucking on your neck right before you come.”

“I can’t stop it. I can’t help it. You’re just so . . .”

Deacon’s gaze snapped to hers. “So . . . what?”

“Hot.”

“Fuck.” A pause. “Gimme two minutes.”

Ask him what happens in two minutes.

But she knew.

It might be the longest two minutes of her life.

She closed her eyes and let her anticipation build. What would Deacon do to her first? She wanted burn marks on her neck from his razor stubble. She wanted purple love bites on her breasts, on her belly, on her ass. She wanted her lips swollen and chapped from kissing him. She wanted her pussy sore and all the muscles in her body aching from his total possession.

“Molly, look at me.”

She opened her eyes.

Deacon stood by the sink, drying his hands with a tiny tea towel. “Get up on the table, hands behind you.”

But the time he crossed the small space, his cock was tenting his shorts.

She licked her lips.

He reached down to the seat next to hers and came back up with the entire box of condoms.

Did he take that box with him everywhere? “Been planning this?” she asked breathlessly.

“Only since before I had you the first time.” After he’d suited up, he undid the buttons on his shirt she was wearing. “You ready for me?”