Deckard

1.

His Weakness

Lying in the grand double bed with the white sheets tangled between our naked bodies, I sigh into the well sculptured chest of my husband- Deckard Shaw. His strong arms around my body holding me close as I rest my head on his chest and play with his fingers dreamily on his stomach whilst his other calloused hand trails pattern across the tanned skin of my back as we bask in each other's comfort.

Casting my fawn brown eyes up from our intertwined hands, I smile like a high schooler as he leans down and captures my plump lips possessively.  Kissing him back I let his tongue swipe over my bottom lip as I denied him entrance which made him bite my soft lip.  Smirking at him I smoothly twist in his arms so that I now straddle his well defined body between my own powerful legs. Pulling away from the kiss I run my hands over his strong shoulders and arms before trailing my fingertips across his stomach. Groaning deeply at my touch, he snatches my hands up in his making my eyes dart to his mesmerising ones. 

"Don't play with me, Darling," He spoke hoarsely as he leans into my body and trails hot kisses down my neck. 

"Oh, come on Black Ops," I tease as I pull my wrists from his grasp as slide out of the warm embrace onto the cool floor where I pick up his discarded white shirt from last night and slip it on teasingly,

"You don't want to play, Dexy?" I pout,  my British accent making it even more patronising. 

I giggle childishly as he launches from the bed and dives for me, fast as lightning. He easily has me pulled into his chest and spinning us around so my back rests against his chest and my legs kicking gracefully so he's pushed off balance and we land in a heap on the floor. My body flush atop his and my deep brown locks of hair framing his rough featured face.

Looking at me as if I'm the most prised possession in the universe he tucks some strands gently behind my ear, as he leans up slowly to kiss me gently. Swiftly he has us standing once again as he pulls away.

"Get some clothes on," he chuckles as he slaps my ass. Squeaking, I dash in the opposite direction of the wardrobe and instead head down the open planned stairs to the grand kitchen. The spacious, white and black décor that is smooth and sleek throughout, calls to me as I make a fresh grind of coffee for my husband and a tea for myself.

I'm leaning on my elbows against the cool counter top with the mug of tea in my hands, resting at my lips, when Deckard makes his way down the stairs with a black top and grey sweats that hang dangerously low- tease.  The smirk on his sharp face has my suspicions confirmed, he purposefully did that. 

Rolling my fawn eyes at useless antics, I stand and turn from him, grabbing a Canary melon from the fruit bowl in the centre of the island before snatching a knife from its holder at the back of the bench. Sliding up beside me, Deckard grabs his coffee and his file on his next target before pecking a sweet kiss against my cheek as a thanks before taking his perch at the bar stool behind me. 

I'm about to cut into the still whole melon when my phone rings. Sighing angrily at the shrieking noise that has disturbed our lovely Sunday leisure, I snatch the untraceable phone from it's charger and answer, putting it on speaker beside me as I begin slicing into the fruit. 

"Yes," I sigh as I make the first slice elegantly,

"I have a proposition," The tired sounding man grunted. 

Another slice into the flesh of the yellow melon.

"A client of mine owes me something he doesn't have," his American accent annoying me slightly as his voice grinds on like sandpaper rubbing together. Los Angeles the number was from- sloppy. 

I heard Deckard sigh behind me as I take another slice into the melon, harsher this time. 

"Twenty thousand dollars," he croaks as I slam the knife down through the melon once again and make the steel blade crack against the granite countertop as I grit my teeth. 

"Who do you think I am?" I question deadly calm, "Some tramp, D grade bounty hunter?" I take a deep breath as Deckard puts his coffee and file down and takes me in his embrace from behind as I rest my arms on the counter in front of me. 

"Just one man," he tries to counteract

"Seventy my lowest," I nearly spit but instead i make my tone .bored,

"Forty," he tries to negotiate

"Goodbye-" I say sweetly as I go to hang up,

"Forty-Five thousand!" He begs,

"You're not taking me seriously sir, I'm not an amateur- you want my reputation, you pay my prices," I try not to smile as Deckard rubs soothing circles against the skin on my hips to calm me down,
"Seventy is my minimum for your ignorance," I try one last time

"Okay, sixty." he sighs, "but I want it done by the end of the week," he pushes. I stay silent as I melt into my husbands embrace as he begins trailing hot, teasing, kisses across my neck and shoulder that he's slipped the shirt from. 

"Sixty-Five," He spits as I finally smile. This man is terrible at bargaining.

"Deal," I gasp, Deckard nipping and biting at my tanned skin. 

He tells me the rest of the information about the target seeming rather uncomfortable as he listens to my gasps and cries as my husband begins to devour my body aginst and now on the counter-breakfast and the phone call forgotten about. 

Deckard hangs up the phone once he's heard enough, "I don't want another man hearing my wife scream for me," he grunts as he begins rolling his pelvis and my nails dig deeply into the skin on his back as my legs wrap tightly around his waist.