His breathing grew more gravelly, groans that meant he was with her completely. God, she loved that sound. She nipped at his Adam’s apple. “Then I’d draw you inside until you filled my mouth, easing slowly down my throat.”
The tips of his fingers teased the underside of her breast as he looked out at the bar. When he hissed out a dark groan, she gripped him tighter. “Squeezing the base of this thick cock as I take the rest. I love the way you taste. Like the ocean and heat. Always so hot.”
“Freaking shit. Lawless, you’re killing me here.”
“We could go outside. Around back. There’s no one around today.”
“Harper.” His groan broke off as she palmed him.
“Let me.”
“Here we go, kids.”
Deacon’s hand went flat on the table as DJ seemed to materialize in front of them. She dropped a huge plate of fries in front of them. She glanced down at him then back up to their faces. “Honeymoon on hold, ya randy pair.”
Harper sat up. She missed his heat already. So hot and hard. She cleared her throat. “Just killing time.”
DJ looked from her to him. “Do you have a brother?”
Deacon laughed. “Sorry.”
Okay, so maybe his laugh sounded a little strangled. But then again, he was sporting a pretty fierce hard-on.
“Of course you don’t.” DJ sighed and stole ketchup from another table. “Eat first. Then you can go back to your sex shack.”
Harper cleared her throat and snagged a fry from under the melted cheese, bacon, and chives. She dunked it into the cup of Ranch. “Eating,” she said and popped it into her mouth.
She sighed, then sat back, chewing quickly. The fry was perfectly crisp with the fluffy potato insides she loved, but what was up with the bacon?
And the Ranch for that matter.
Deacon licked his fingers, his mouth full. That was her husband, quick to change gears to his stomach.
“Does it taste okay to you?”
He flicked his tongue over his thumb to get the last of a dab of Ranch. “You’re kidding, right? These are awesome.”
“I guess you’re getting my bacon.”
He frowned. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I mean a little murky from the tequila, but I’ve felt a ton worse before.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Not warm.”
She grinned up at him. “Did you just pull a mom temperature gauge?”
“Don’t knock it.”
She sat back and picked at the fries. The cheese and fries tasted okay. It was just the bacon. She tried the Ranch again, but held it up to Deacon. “Ranch too.”
He closed his teeth around her fry. “The Ranch is perfect.”
“What the hell did the tequila do to my tastebuds?”
“I don’t know. Wonder if you’ll hate other things?” His gaze went to his lap.
“Now that would be a true sacrilege.”
“No shit,” he muttered.
She elbowed him. He smiled around another fry, the jerk. She ate a few more before leaning back into her seat.
“Not hungry?”
She shook her head. “I guess not.”
“Do you want to order something else?”
Harper rested her hand on her belly. It didn’t feel upset, but she also didn’t feel hungry. She slid the plate in front of Deacon. “No. I’m good.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m gonna hit the restroom.”
His eyebrows lowered. “Sick?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She patted his cheek. “Relax. I’ll be right back.” She skirted the table and headed to the back of the bar to the restrooms. Once inside, she went to the sink to splash water on her wrists and finally her face. She patted her cheeks with a paper towel, peering into the mirror.
She didn’t look any different. A little pale, but that was to be expected with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before. Then why did she feel off? She didn’t even feel that hungover now that she’d had two glasses of DJ’s lemonade concoction. Dehydration was long behind her.
Was it a vitamin deficiency? Maybe she’d look up her symptoms on Web MD. When another woman came into the bathroom, she gave her a polite smile and headed back into the bar.
Deacon was finished with their fries and he had a bowl of ice cream waiting for her. She smiled and scooted in next to him. “Chocolate ice cream? You must feel bad for me.”
“Hey, I like chocolate too.”
She brushed her lips over his. “You like strawberry better.”
He shrugged and scooped out a spoonful and held it out to her. “You’re the chocoholic. This may not be your favorite Scharffen Berger chips, but I’m sure it will hit the spot.”
She opened her mouth, letting the icy treat slide across her tongue before she closed her lips around the stem of the spoon. Inferior chocolate to be sure, but ice cream was ice cream.
She frowned when it slid down her throat with a weird aftertaste. It didn’t look freezer burned. Seriously? Ice cream tasted crappy too? Where was the justice?
Unwilling to listen to Deacon worry about her, she scooped up another spoonful. Melting whipped cream and a lonely cherry slid down the sundae glass. She popped the Maraschino cherry into her mouth and forced herself not to grimace.
What the hell?