Bounty (Page 146)

He filtered his fingers out of her hair and lifted his head slightly, tracking his lips to her other ear.

He sunk his teeth lightly in her earlobe, tasting the metal of her earring, before he released her and whispered, “Love my gypsy.”

The shiver that got was bigger, inside and out, forcing him to press his hips into her ass, deepening the connection they were losing as the hard went out of his cock.

“Love you too, honey,” she whispered back, finding his hand, covering the back of it with hers, lacing her fingers through his.

Deke moved minutely to kiss the skin where her shoulder met her neck, before he settled in behind her, face in her hair, holding her close, doing that until he naturally slid out of her wet, glazed in him, glazed in her, in them.

And he still held her.

It was Jussy who moved first, but only to turn in his arms, look into his face and do what she did a lot.

She scrutinized it, her attention acute, but as usual, it didn’t last very long before whatever she found there settled her. She melted into him and lifted a hand to dig her fingers lightly into his beard where she left them.

Post-fucking, holding her, their quiet, her peace, he didn’t want to leave that bed. It was the Saturday after Jussy’s house got done. The client Max had him working for didn’t want overtime. So they had the whole weekend.

They also didn’t since she didn’t waste any time asking everyone over for a housewarming party, no gifts allowed, and she was making a vat of Steph’s chicken.

Not to mention, he knew his girl. Sex helped shear off the edge of her morning mood. But it didn’t eradicate it.

“You want coffee?” he asked.

“Yeah, baby,” she answered.

“You want pancakes?” he went on.

Her eyebrows lifted. “You can make pancakes?”

“Babe, you bought Bisquick, along with everything else the market had on offer. Add eggs, milk, stir, pour, cook, eat. Not hard.”

She grinned. “Then yes, I want pancakes.”

He grinned back, dipped in, brushed his mouth to hers and pulled away. “Then I’m on coffee and pancakes. You get cleaned up.”

“Right, Deke.”

He gave her a squeeze then dipped in again, this time the touch of their mouths lasted a lot longer and included a healthy taste of his gypsy.

When he finished it, he rolled, careful to keep the covers over Jussy. He hauled his ass out of bed, twitching them higher on her, knowing she’d laze, not for hours but as long as she needed.

He bent, grabbed his fleece sweatpants he’d taken off in order to fuck his woman and tugged them on. He then grabbed the band Jussy always pulled out when they fucked before sleep from the nightstand and used it to secure his hair.

On the way to the door, he twisted to catch sight of her, the jumbled mess of dark curls all over the bed and pillow behind her, her eyes on him, her look lazy and cute.

She hitched up one side of her mouth.

He shot back the same, turned to face where he was going and walked out of the room.

Moving into her living space, Deke looked to his right and saw what Jussy had created with her designer.

She might have had the help of a designer, but what she made was straight-up Jussy.

Two full couches flanking the fireplace parallel to the house, both covered in soft faded denim, four chairs in distressed brown leather with brass buttons marking their edges, two with their backs to the front door, two across with backs to the kitchen.

In the corner by the front windows at an angle, another big couch, slouchy, in a dark brown, one red armchair to one side, a bright blue one to the other side, matching ottomans, but switched, blue in front of the red chair, red in front of the blue. Large square coffee table. More tables between chairs and couches. Standing lamps around so nothing got in the way of setting down a bottle of beer, a glass of bourbon or a finished plate of food.

She had another seventy-inch TV fixed on a kickass mount that pulled out, angled up, down and sideways. That was Deke’s suggestion, giving her the opportunity to push the TV flush to the wall so it could be seen from the seating at the fireplace, or angled where it was closer to the corner space and watched from there, or again angled so it could be seen from the kitchen.

The doors to her music room were open, that room painted black and he could see her guitar on the stand in there, the curvy couch covered in some hide that was dark-chocolate-colored and had a sheen. She also had curved chairs in there with cream backing, zebra print on the front. There was a big rug in a muted red design. Plus there were dark wood cases of different sizes holding a top-of-the-line stereo and speakers she’d set up as well as her CD collection, which her stepmom had mailed, something that was expansive. And last, a feminine, almost delicate desk with a leopard print chair where she’d put her laptop.

He moved to the kitchen and looked into the opened doors of her dining room. One side of that room was curved and she’d gone with a massive, round table surrounded by twelve chairs. Some had arms, oval backs, and were covered in tiger print. Others had high backs, inwardly sloping at the top, covered in wine red velvet. The last, again with high backs, these curled back, the deep purple velvet upholstery buttoned.

The chandeliers, light fixtures and other lighting she chose were made of branches or iron, large statement pieces that, along with all the rest, drew the eye so you didn’t know where to look, but it all was such the shit, you wanted to take everything in at once. Including the four dangling pendants over the island that ended in large, flawed, oblong globes that looked almost like drops, the glass blown so bubbles were trapped inside.