At his words, her eyes warmed, she pressed closer and whispered, “Mom likes you.”

Maeve had shown that day. Maeve had also cooked dinner for them that night and done it the entire time complaining about the stove, the flooring, the state of the countertops and how she’d probably wake screaming from her nightmares about Emme’s kitchen.

In other words, Maeve Holmes was funny, like her daughter.

But she did not make Shake ’n Bake.

“I like your mom,” Deck whispered back, hands still roaming.

“Can I ask one question about your work?”

Sneak attack.

“Emmanuelle—”

She lifted a hand to his jaw, gliding her thumb along his lower lip and interrupting, “Just one, Jacob.”

“You can ask it, baby, but in askin’, I’m askin’ you, please do not be pissed I can’t answer it.”

She again held his gaze steady and nodded.

“I don’t know what you do, not really. And I may not want to know what you do, considering it might be scary.”

Again, pure Emme. Not f**king stupid.

She went on, “I probably should have issues with that but I really don’t, if you like it and it challenges you. Except one. You’re not going to talk about it, you’ve made that clear. So that means you’re never going to be able to share about it, and by that I mean the stresses, the frustrations, things people usually can let go of during a mind dump with someone they care about. Which means you’ll likely hide those things from me as well. Therefore, what I’m going to ask is, will you pay attention to how it’s going, how it’s affecting you and stop doing it if it makes you unhappy?”

Staring in her eyes, hearing her words, Deck’s blood heated, his chest got tight and his gut clenched.

But his mouth said, “We haven’t had the conversation, but I seriously hope you’re okay I f**k you without a condom.”

Her head jerked even as she blinked and asked, “Pardon?”

He slid his ass down in the chair, his hands down her back to her ass, pulling her over his lap and saying, “Need to f**k you right now, don’t have one, so I hope you’re good with that.”

Her h*ps jerked in his hands, her lips parted and he took one hand and moved it between them, finding her wet. At his touch, her eyes lowered slowly, her teeth sunk into her lip, and when her eyes opened again, she didn’t open them all the way.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his fingers toying between her legs.

She let her lip go, her h*ps undulating with his fingers and her eyes attempting to focus. “I’m…” her eyes slowly closed and again opened halfway, “on the Pill.”

“Saw your pills, Emme, baby, is that your yes?”

Another slow blink.

Fuck.

Gorgeous.

“Have you always used protection?” she asked.

“Always,” he answered.

“Positive?” she pressed.

She was getting wetter and her face was getting hotter.

He needed in there.

“Positive.”

“I have too,” she replied. Her h*ps moved, her eyes tried and failed to focus on him, and she whispered, “You didn’t answer my question, honey.”

He knew exactly what she was talking about and answered immediately so he could move this shit on.

“I’ll stop doing it if it makes me unhappy. Now, you good with no protection?”

“Yes,” she breathed, more than likely because he slid two fingers inside as she said that one word.

He slid his fingers out, freed himself, positioned and slammed her down on his cock, filling her.

Her head flew back, hair flying with it, then it fell forward. She pressed her face in his neck, and she started riding him.

“What if Mom or Dad comes in?” she asked his neck.

“They won’t,” he grunted, helping her move, his fingers digging deep, pulling her up and driving her down.

“What if they do?” she pressed.

“They won’t.”

“Ja—”

“Baby, favor, you’re takin’ my cock, we don’t talk about your folks.”

She lifted her head, still moving on him and showed him the uncertainty.

He grinned, took one hand, slid it in her hair, pulled her to him and stopped grinning when he took her mouth.

Five minutes later, he lifted her, still connected, walked her to the couch and finished taking them both there.

Five minutes after he brought them home, hands trailing, lips drifting, hers found his ear.

“What brought that on?” she asked.

“Need a reason to f**k you?” he asked in return.

“No, but—”

He turned his head, caught her languid, beautiful eyes and she stopped talking.

“Means a lot you give me my head to do my job, something I enjoy doing, something that challenges me, something I can’t discuss with you and something I know I can now do without you eventually bitching, nagging, wheedling or manipulating.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

Deck held her eyes.

“Means a f**k of a lot, Emme.”

“Oh,” she repeated on a whisper.

Deck lifted a hand, trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheek, the corner of her mouth and down her neck before he rounded her with both arms.

“You wanna snooze here while I work?”

She nodded. “I’ll go get cleaned up and come back.”

He dipped his head, kissed her and pulled them both to their feet. Emme disappeared for five minutes, came back with a thick throw from the family room and stopped at Deck to touch her mouth to his. Then she went to the couch and curled up.

She was asleep within minutes.

Deck worked for half an hour and only stopped to watch Buford amble in, look at Deck, look at Emme in the couch, take half a second to make a decision, then move to Emme and settle with a groan on the rug in front of her.

Grinning, Deck went back to work and did it until it was time to wake Emme so she could get ready to go to the yard.

* * *

Six days later…

Deck watched as Emme slid down his chest, her lips moving across it, no tongue, just lips, featherlight, the barest whisper, echoed by her hair which was drifting everywhere.

She moved down and ran her mouth across the ridges of his abs

Those abs contracted.

Her exotic eyes lifted to his. There was fire in them but not all that fire was about what she was doing.

Seeing it, knowing what it said, his abs contracted again as his chest got tight.

“Have I told you I liked you today?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back.

“Well, I like you.” She kept whispering.

“I like you too, baby.”

He watched her face get soft as she smiled, gifting him with the dimple.

“Come here, Emme,” he ordered.

She slid back up his body.

When her face get close, he drove a hand in her hair, wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her mouth down to his.

She gave it instantly.

Keeping their mouths connected, Deck rolled her onto her back.

Then he gave as good as he got.

And better.

* * *

Four days later…

“I don’t believe you,” Emme snapped, the fire in her eyes flashing.

Deck swallowed a laugh and said, “Babe.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Babe? Babe? That’s your response? Babe?”

“How’s this for a response? Babe, you’re just plain wrong,” he told her.

“I can’t be wrong about an opinion,” she told him.

“You can when you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he fired back.

She threw her arms out, narrowly missing slamming one into her avocado fridge.

Buford, lying on the faded linoleum of Emme’s kitchen, lifted his head from his paws, gave her a look at her agitated movements then dropped his head back to his paws, getting used to this because this was Emme.

And Emme, being Emme, kept going.

“Gun control laws are too lax.”

“You own a gun?” he asked.

“I don’t need to to know that’s true,” she said by way of answer.

“I own seven.”

Her eyes got huge.

Cute.

He powered through her cute and kept talking.

“Because of a bunch of ass**les, you cannot take away someone’s right to own a gun. Or seven of them.”

“That’s insane,” she breathed.

“Why?” he asked.

“Who needs seven guns?”

“I do.”

“Why?” This was pitched high.

“Work, and I like shootin’ ’em.”

“Can’t you shoot just one?” she asked.

“Not if I don’t have to or I don’t want to and luckily, with the laws the way they are, I don’t have to so I get what I want.”

“Bad people get their hands on guns, Jacob,” she pointed out.

“And they would even if they were illegal, Emme. People get their hands on drugs, have no problem doing it, some of them they even order on-line, and they’re illegal.”