Caged (Mastered 4)

She grabbed his wandering hands and placed them on her tits.

“Come here. Let’s have some kinky fun.” After kissing the back of her neck until gooseflesh broke out and she started to squirm, he pulled her over to the portable heavy bag. He draped the towel around his neck and picked up the cloth jump rope from the bench. “Wrists together.”

“You weren’t kidding about kinky fun.”

“I never kid about that.” Deacon looped the rope around her wrists in a hojojutsu quick tie. “Hands above your head.”

Molly watched him with lust-filled eyes as he tied the rope around the chain holding the heavy bag so the chain bore her body weight and not her wrists. Her pulse beat erratically in her throat. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing. And she kept licking her lips—a sure sign this fantasy of his turned her on as much as it did him.

With her back against the canvas, he lifted her left leg and wrapped it around his hip. His hands were shaking so fucking hard, it took an extra moment for him to get his cock lined up.

So when his fingers connected with the creamy wetness between her thighs, he groaned and rested his damp forehead on her breast. “Fuck, woman. I can’t . . .” Breathe. Calm down. Find control.

“It’s okay. Release the beast. He won tonight. He should get to celebrate.”

“However he wants to take you?” he asked with some skepticism.

“Yes.”

The beast roared.

Deacon clamped his hands on the backs of her thighs and lifted her. Then he spun her around so she faced the heavy bag.

She immediately squeezed her legs around it and wiggled frantically. “I can’t hold on—”

“Babe, stop fighting. Let the chain hold you on the top. I’ve got your bottom.” He slipped the towel between her pussy and the canvas. Then he bent his knees and impaled her in one vicious thrust.

Molly gasped.

Deacon attacked the nape of her neck and the slope of her shoulders while he fucked her without pause. He bit, sucked, and kissed every inch of her skin from her hairline to the center of her spine.

Sweat poured from him, and he fought for breath—he exerted more energy fucking her than he had during the fight. He rocked his hips up hard on every thrust, pushing her clit into the towel. Faster and faster until she started to thrash and whimper.

“Please, Deacon.”

He found the spot that sent her into orbit and scraped his teeth over it. When he felt her cunt muscles tightening, he sank his teeth in.

Molly bucked wildly, forcing him to dig his fingertips into her legs to keep her from dislodging his cock as she came violently.

He eased up when her climax abated, but he knew he’d left bruises.

Good. They’ll match the bite and suck marks on her back, the beast snarled.

A few more brutal thrusts and Deacon reached the end of the climb. Despite the frenzied need of the beast and the insatiable way they’d fucked, Deacon came in utter stillness. His cock jerked against those hot pussy walls, while her contractions milked his orgasm, his mouth open, his breath stalled as he heard her whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until he was completely spent.

It was the single most perfect moment of his life.

But when the harsh pants of pleasure faded, he pulled back in his mind, as guilt of his animalistic treatment of her began to assert itself. He pulled back in body, keeping his eyes closed against the evidence of his mindless passion and thoughtless treatment of the woman who meant everything to him.

“Don’t,” she said softy, bringing his attention back to her. “Don’t apologize. Don’t feel guilty. I love you. All of you. I wanted this, Deacon. I wanted you. Please don’t take anything away from this.”

He lowered her legs to the floor.

Molly spun around on her own as he unhooked her hands.

“Look at me.”

Their eyes met. What he saw there . . . love shining in her eyes . . . that was the perfect moment.

Molly stood on tiptoe to fasten her mouth to his. With every sweeping stroke of her tongue, every teasing glide of her lips, she gave him—and the beast—peace, approval, and acceptance.

That was worth more than any fight he’d ever win.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DEACON’S dad had called an hour after the intense locker-room rendezvous. Deacon had still been high on that, lazily sated, as they drove to his apartment. So he’d answered his cell phone without conscious thought. Then, after Deacon told his dad he’d won the fight—his father must’ve sensed his son’s distraction—he’d issued an invite to Texas to both of them to celebrate and Deacon had agreed to fly down. But Molly knew Deacon would’ve said anything to get his dad off the phone.