Page 32 of Crashed
A couple weeks ago, Piper had put together a quote for a potential customer. A customer they wanted, badly. He still hadn’t made a decision, and all three of them were on tenterhooks while they waited. The guy usually took his cars to R.I.P. Classic, the biggest car restoration business in Miami. If they managed to take that job from R.I.P.—well, it could mean big things for them. Had the potential to get West Restoration’s name out there.
Which meant more work coming their way. It also meant proving Deacon wrong.
“You’re still thinking,” he mumbled into her hair, arm tightening around her waist. “Sleep, woman.”
Dammit. Closing her eyes, she pretended to do just that. At least that way there was no chance of further conversation…
She woke curled in a tight ball, screaming.
Strong arms were wrapped around her, warm lips pressed against her temple. “Shh, I’m here.”
“Get the fuck off me!” The angry words burst from her throat, remnants from the nightmare still swimming in her head.
“Alex, calm down.” Deacon’s voice broke through the terror, the sadness, the pounding blood rushing through her ears. His strong arms restrained her as she fought the invisible hands trying to take her from the people she loved, his deep voice low as he whispered in an attempt to soothe and comfort.
She fought the tight feeling in the back of her throat, the sob desperate to escape, and tried to pull herself together.
She didn’t want his sympathy, didn’t want to need him, to need anyone.
“You still have them.” His voice was gentle, guarded. “I wondered.”
There had been no secrets from the West family. It wasn’t like she could hide it. Deacon had been living there when she started having sleepovers with Piper and Rusty.
He’d woken in the night, like the rest of the house, to her screaming bloody murder.
“I hadn’t been, not often anyway.” Not until you forced your way back into my life.
“Have you tried?—”
“Don’t. Just leave it, okay?”
He slid his hand across her shoulder to the back of her neck. “Come here.”
It felt good to be touched, better than good, and she went to him without thought, letting him comfort her despite knowing what a bad idea it was.
Going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen, so she just lay beside him and listened to his slow, steady breaths, the faint thump of his heart against her back as he curled around her.
The next thing she knew, the sun was filtering in through the window and Deacon’s warm hand was coasting down her belly to her hip.
“Morning.” His voice was sleep rough and sexy as hell.
She couldn’t believe it; she’d actually fallen back to sleep. “Hey.”
His fingers moved between her thighs, and he lifted her leg over his, opening her for him. Fingers dipping low, he started toying with her. Heating her up like no one else could.
“You’re already wet for me.”
Yeah. He only had to touch her, look at her, and her body ached for him. He circled her entrance, teased and tormented her until her breathing was choppy and she thrust her hips into his touch. Finally, he pushed two fingers inside her. His other arm came around, underneath her, and he massaged her breast, playing with her nipple, tugging gently.
She could feel his cock digging into her ass; he rubbed up against her, hard and restless, urgent. She pushed back against him, telling him without words that she wanted him
to put that impressive erection to good use, like now.
He didn’t. He kept up his beautiful torture. Playing her like the weak-willed instrument she was.
It took only minutes for her to become a trembling, screaming mess, coming hard around his thick, thrusting fingers.
That magnificent cock was still pressed into her back, but he didn’t roll her over and screw her into the mattress like she desperately wanted him to. He gave her a quick kiss on the neck and climbed out of bed, heading to the bathroom, where he shut himself in.
