Playing Fate (Endgame Series Book 1) (16 page)

“Not in front of Julie,” Avery snaps. “We’re gonna go. Sorry, Deacon.”

“It isn’t your fault, Avery.” I’m still in a stare down with Emberlee, and she averts her eyes with a huff. “Lee Lee, be careful and don’t get involved with things in the past. She made her choice, and I’m better off for it. Don’t take your bullshit out on Saylor.” She looks at me but seems to look right through me as she rolls her eyes and flips the switch for the entitled attitude I’ve seen too often from her friend. “Don’t make choices you can’t take back.” I hope she takes what I’m telling her to heart because I will do what’s best for Julie and myself—always. If that includes cutting her out of our life, I’ll do it.

Every inch is shaved and buffed to a shine. Perfume at pulse points. I’m wearing my red lace thong and matching bra. I don’t know why I’m nervous; we’ve done this before. It’s different this time—we’re a couple, and I’m anxious.

And horny. I pull up my skirt and slip on shoes so I can walk over to his house. I walk out of my room into his chest. “What the hell?”

“I came to get you.” He kisses me. I pull his head tighter, and he pushes back. “No way. I won’t stop, and I need to feed you.”

“You live like two hundred yards away; I think I’d be okay on my own,” I tease him.

“Woman, you’d argue with me if I said the sky was blue.”

“Actually it’s a shade . . .” His mouth cuts the rest of my statement off, and I chuckle in his mouth. I’m glad he did that because I had nothing. The sky is fucking blue. His tongue dips in my mouth, giving me a taste before he pulls back and grabs my hand.

“Dinner will be there in five. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t cook for me?”

“Did you want corn dogs and box macaroni and cheese?”

“There are lots of things I could practice with a corn dog.” Winking at him, I watch him adjust his dick. He throws me over his shoulder, smacking my ass as he carries me to his house. “Wait, my bag.” I’d thrown some necessities in a bag.

“No clothes necessary.”

“I’m not doing the walk of shame in the same outfit.”

“You can steal another shirt.” He slaps my ass again, which gains him the silence he wanted. He carries me across all the yards, and I can’t complain because it puts me at eye level with his ass. I don’t know what baseball players do in terms of workouts but wow—dat ass. I wouldn’t dare admit this to anyone but Caden . . . squatting in his position as catcher has given him the best ass. Mason has drool-worthy arms. Deacon—he’s the whole package, but has a chest and legs that make me stupid.

He deposits me inside the front door, and I take it all in. All the lights are dimmed with candles flanking every surface. I can see into the kitchen, the table is set, roses in the center surrounded by pillar candles. “What did you do, Deacon?”

“Nothing you don’t deserve, baby. I’m treating you the way you make me feel.” He turns my head towards him. “You make me crazy. You challenge me. I never know what you’re going to throw me. I want to do this. All of it.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I’m surprised by the emotions flooding through me. Fear, heat, tranquility.

“Say yes. Tell me you want to try this . . . with both feet grounded. I don’t want you looking for a chance to flee.”

“I can’t say no. I can’t say this doesn’t scare me, but despite my fear, I gravitate to you. It’s you I want to talk to, touch, share my experiences with. I want all of it, but I don’t know how to do this.”

His smile roots me to the spot. I can’t take a full breath. “One day at a time. One situation at a time. Together. We do this together.”

“Together…” I repeat in a whisper. His lips pressed to mine, we make a silent promise. The doorbell rings and interrupts us.

“Dinner,” he sighs. My stomach rumbles, and he chuckles. “Just in time. I need to feed you.”

He answers and grabs the bags from the delivery guy. “Is that so?”

“You aren’t going to get any sleep, so the least I can do is give you food.”

I silently cheer. I follow him to the kitchen while he sets everything up. Knolla’s Pizza and it’s Chicago Style Pizza. “How’d you know I love this place?”

“I did some recon. Your friends aren’t good at keeping secrets.” He winks at me.

“
Your
friends,” I grumble.

“Sit.” He plates the food and carries it over. “No onions.” Kissing my head, he sits next to me.

“Thanks.” I dig in, no shame in my game where beef is concerned.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing.”

“You aren’t going home?” I shake my head, chewing a mouthful of burger. “You’re coming home with me.”

I stare at him. “I’m not doing any such thing. That’s family time.”

“I won’t be there all week, I’m staying here. I meant you could come for dinner. It’s usually an all day affair with everyone.”

“Nope.” I pop a garlic knot in my mouth.

“Yep.” He imitates me.

“Not happening.”

“We’ll see.”

“We will.” I continue eating. He does the same all while studying me. “Stop staring at me.”

He shakes his head. “Challenging. Stubborn.”

“Pain in my ass.”

“Beautiful. Sexy.”

“Hot. Sex god.” He pushes back and pulls me from my chair.

“You can’t say sex and expect me to keep my hands off you.” His mouth slams on mine. Our tongues swirl; our breathing becomes synchronized. I feel him hoist me up and start walking. Our lips are glued to one another; neither of us wants to break this connection. My back hits the wall inside his bedroom. “This is going to be quick. I’ll take my time next round.”

“Sounds good,” I mumble as he takes my mouth with his. His hands remove my shirt as he presses his hips against me, holding me in place. My bra is next, and his mouth drops to my chest as he molds my breasts with his hands. Nibbling and sucking my nipples, I clench my thighs against his waist, looking for friction on my pussy. I’m on fire, heat pulsating to my core, and I cry out in want. He’s devouring me, and I grip his shoulders as he pulls my nipples, nipping my neck and jaw. His hands leave my body to unbutton his pants and shove them down. Grabbing the hem of my skirt, I pull it to my waist, and I feel his hard length against my stomach.

I drop my legs and squirm until he puts my feet on the floor. I drop to my knees and take his dick in my hands, rubbing up and down. His head falls to watch my every movement, biting his lip, his eyes smoldering as they take me in. I guide him in my mouth as I lean against the wall. His hands push my hair back, becoming tangled, tugging the strands. I slowly move his dick as far as I can to the back of my throat, upset I can’t take all of him in. His hands caress my head, my face, as I suck him hard. “Fuck, Saylor.” He groans as I continue sucking. I allow my teeth to rake down his cock, and he begins shallow thrusts. “Stop, baby. I’m going to come.” He pulls back, and my tongue licks the head and catches a drop of salty essence.

He lifts me under my arms, and we’re back in the position we started. Kissing me long and hard, he’s making me gasp for air, my lungs feel like they’re seizing. His hands snap my panties, and they drop to the floor as he moves his arms under my legs pushing me further up the wall, aligning my pussy with his mouth.
That skillful mouth.
I’m completely exposed and at his mercy. His hands press into the back of my knees as his head dives between my legs into my soaking folds. My nails dig into his head holding him still, silently begging him to continue. His ministrations on my body are something I’ll crave until the day I die. His mouth makes love to me; my heart pounds, my legs shake, and my hips push into him. He’s become an addiction I’ve been craving since our first time, and I don’t know how much I can take before my orgasm shatters me. He slows down, moving his tongue in and out of me at a languid pace, his nose pressing my clit with the right amount of pressure. I feel my body tense, and it spurs him to flick his tongue against my tongue, and I explode. My body is no match for his mouth. He lowers my body down, still holding me wide open and enters me in one push. He stills and drops his forehead to my shoulder. “Shit. Condom.”

“I’m on the pill.” Those words seem to unleash a beast in him. I know he’s clean. And I’m concluding that he’s mine as I’m his. His dick fills me, pounding into me relentlessly. My back is pressed against the door, and there is no escaping his assault on my body—I’d be crazy to try.

“So tight. So wet. Fuck, baby.” His mouth is pressed against my neck as he licks and bites with each thrust. My body starts trembling, and he pushes in faster, harder working me through my second release. I’ll give him whatever he wants to take from my body. Sweat is glistening on his forehead, each thrust is stealing the air from my lungs, his fingers grip my thighs tight. The pain spurs me to move with him.

I squeeze my core, and his body tenses, his lips find mine, and slowly he pushes into me once, twice, gasping as his release takes hold, and I feel him empty inside me. His lips don’t still, his body presses against me tighter, his heart as erratic as mine. “You’re going to be the death of me.” His lips still glide over mine.

“We’ll just have to do this over and over so it doesn’t shock your body,” I whisper back into his mouth. His smile through our kiss is the perfect answer. I feel void as he pulls out and drops me on his bed. Disappearing for a few seconds into the bathroom, he comes back with a washcloth, and I let him tend to me. I feel him climb in bed and pull me close, burying his face into my neck.

“I can’t agree to five nights. I need at least six with you.” I giggle as his hands roam and lull me to sleep.

I look in his dresser for a shirt to wear—I need caffeine. I pull the first one I come across, and it hangs to mid-thigh. It’s black with yellow writing . . . I hope he doesn’t care I’m wearing it as I realize it’s his baseball shirt. #44 is under Wichita State on the front and centered in the back with ‘Douglas’ above it. I yawn as I stumble in the kitchen in search of a Coke. He’s at the counter drinking some protein drink, and his eyes take in my appearance. He caps his drink and puts it in the refrigerator. Handing me a can, I open it and sip. “Drink what you want.” His tone is husky and laced with sex.

“What?”

“You can’t walk in here with my shirt, my fucking name across you, and not expect me to haul your ass to bed.”

“Holy shit.” I’m clenching my thighs.

“You done?” I gulp and swallow.

“Uh-huh.” He takes the can and tosses it into the sink, swooping me up in his arms, and I’m tossed on his bed with him following, covering my body. He flips me over. “Up on your knees. I want to see you wearing my name as I pound your sweet pussy.” His voice, his demands . . . it’s like he has a potion called insta-wet that shoots straight to my core.