Deacon
Page 43
Apparently, Deacon was done drinking in floral splendor at Glacier Lily.
Well, at least he walked down with me and shared his approval. That was something Grant wouldn’t do in a million years.
These were my thoughts as I felt my hand tugged again, taking me off my path toward the house and on the path that led up to cabin eleven.
My eyes lifted to Deacon, who was walking a pace in front of me so I only saw his profile, but his gaze was fixed to the cabin that had been “home” to him for six years.
I had a funny feeling about this.
Funny as in good.
“Deacon—” I started.
He cut me off, “Quiet, Cassie.”
I fell silent.
Deacon walked us up the steps, across the porch, and to the door. There, he let my hand go to dig in his pocket and pull out the key to cabin eleven, something he’d clearly purloined since I left him to the gutters. He opened the door, grabbed my hand again, pulled me in, and closed the door behind us, locking it.
He shoved the key in his pocket as he hauled me through the living room area into the short hall then into the front bedroom.
My heart was beating hard as he kept moving, straight to the bed. A bed I knew, since I’d cleaned that cabin after he left, was the bed he used when he’d stayed.
He sat on the side of the bed, using his hand in mine to move me so I was standing between his spread legs.
That was when my breath started catching.
It didn’t get any better when he let my hand go and watched his hands span my hips over my jeans.
I stood motionless, arms at my sides, heart beating fast, breath coming erratic, eyes on him as he seemed lost in this for long moments, his hands and eyes at my hips.
Finally, he lifted his gaze to mine.
“Six years,” he whispered.
Oh God.
My insides melted.
“Deacon—” I began but he interrupted me again.
“Wanted you right here.”
I loved that because I’d wanted the same. Though, I’d wanted him at my house, but same thing.
I put my hand to his jaw and leaned down to him. “Well, here I am.”
He stared into my eyes, his speaking, words and feelings pouring out of those tawny depths, washing over my skin, and I wondered how I could ever think this man was done with me.
He wasn’t done with me.
He wanted to be sitting next to me in an Adirondack chair when he was eighty.
I loved that best of all.
I slid a thumb along his stubbled cheek and said softly, “Baby.”
“Gonna fuck you here, Cassie.”
“Okay,” I agreed readily, tingles sliding up my inner thighs.
“The rest of the day, you naked in this bed with me.”
Sex-a-thon it was, just one day early.
“Okay,” I repeated, lifting my other hand to curl it around the side of his neck.
“You’re gonna sleep beside me in this bed tonight.”
My legs now trembling, I had to concentrate on standing, so I just nodded.
“Here,” he ordered.
I was already there.
I got more there by leaning in deeper. He fell back and I fell on him at the precise moment I pressed my lips to his. His opened, my tongue slid inside, and he rolled me.
Then we kissed. Hands roaming, tongues dancing, lips drinking, bodies pressing, fingers gliding through hair, making out like that was all we were ever going to get and that was okay for the both of us.
Until it was no longer okay for Deacon. I knew this when he slid his fingers into my tee and started pulling it up.
I lifted my arms. He rolled off me and pulled the tee free.
He didn’t bend back to me.
Or not my mouth.
He bent to my chest.
And it began.
It wasn’t fucking.
No.
Far from it.
It was worshiping.
Me worshiping Deacon, but more, Deacon worshiping me. Divesting me of my clothes like he was unwrapping a gift he knew was precious and wanted to prolong the anticipation. Touching me everywhere. Tasting me everywhere. Trailing, brushing, licking, grazing…all over.
And giving, giving with the sensations he caused and the feeling behind them, and giving with offering me the opportunity to do the same.
By the time he rolled me to my back, spread my legs, and his hips fell in between, I needed him with a need that was like your need for food. Oxygen. Warmth in winter. Water in the desert.
And Deacon kept giving, blazing eyes to mine, showing he felt that same need, hand gliding into my hair, all this as he slid his cock inside me slow and sure, right to the root, filling me.
“Baby,” I breathed, lifting my knees and taking more of him, wanting it all, all I could get from Deacon, needing it.
“You’re here,” he whispered.
God, he’d wanted that, and if it could be believed, he’d wanted it more than me.
“I’m here,” I whispered back.
“I’m inside.”
Oh yes, he’d wanted this.
Badly.
I lifted my hand to his jaw, different but still vital emotions surging through me, and nodded. “You’re inside, honey.”
He dipped his head so his face was close, starting to move in and out slowly, and he did this speaking.
“I’m away, Cassie, do not ever doubt this is precisely where I’d rather be.”
He didn’t want me to worry.
He didn’t want me to hurt.
He wanted me to know he wanted this, had wanted it for six years, and was happy he had it.
God.
I was right about taking a chance on Deacon and knowing that felt great.
I lifted my knees higher, slid my hand from his jaw into his hair, and replied, “Okay, Deacon.”
He kept moving, slow and steady, giving it to me but keeping it from me, still speaking.
“Seated deep inside you, listenin’ to you yammer while you pick plants, sittin’ beside you on a porch, however it comes from you, that’s where I want to be.”
I liked that…a lot, but the need we’d built was growing with his movements, pushing everything else away but the demand to slake it.
“Faster, baby,” I panted, swinging my calves in at his back.
He went faster, not much, still steady.
“You hear me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I gasped as he went even faster, his hand gliding down to curl around my breast, thumb circling the nipple. My hips jerked and my lips begged, “Faster, honey.”
“Fuck, you like my dick,” he growled approvingly.
“Yeah,” I whimpered, my other hand gliding down his spine to clench his tight ass. “I like all of you.”
“Fuck,” he growled again, the sound coming from his gut, rumbling into my sex, and a moan slid up my throat.
Well, at least he walked down with me and shared his approval. That was something Grant wouldn’t do in a million years.
These were my thoughts as I felt my hand tugged again, taking me off my path toward the house and on the path that led up to cabin eleven.
My eyes lifted to Deacon, who was walking a pace in front of me so I only saw his profile, but his gaze was fixed to the cabin that had been “home” to him for six years.
I had a funny feeling about this.
Funny as in good.
“Deacon—” I started.
He cut me off, “Quiet, Cassie.”
I fell silent.
Deacon walked us up the steps, across the porch, and to the door. There, he let my hand go to dig in his pocket and pull out the key to cabin eleven, something he’d clearly purloined since I left him to the gutters. He opened the door, grabbed my hand again, pulled me in, and closed the door behind us, locking it.
He shoved the key in his pocket as he hauled me through the living room area into the short hall then into the front bedroom.
My heart was beating hard as he kept moving, straight to the bed. A bed I knew, since I’d cleaned that cabin after he left, was the bed he used when he’d stayed.
He sat on the side of the bed, using his hand in mine to move me so I was standing between his spread legs.
That was when my breath started catching.
It didn’t get any better when he let my hand go and watched his hands span my hips over my jeans.
I stood motionless, arms at my sides, heart beating fast, breath coming erratic, eyes on him as he seemed lost in this for long moments, his hands and eyes at my hips.
Finally, he lifted his gaze to mine.
“Six years,” he whispered.
Oh God.
My insides melted.
“Deacon—” I began but he interrupted me again.
“Wanted you right here.”
I loved that because I’d wanted the same. Though, I’d wanted him at my house, but same thing.
I put my hand to his jaw and leaned down to him. “Well, here I am.”
He stared into my eyes, his speaking, words and feelings pouring out of those tawny depths, washing over my skin, and I wondered how I could ever think this man was done with me.
He wasn’t done with me.
He wanted to be sitting next to me in an Adirondack chair when he was eighty.
I loved that best of all.
I slid a thumb along his stubbled cheek and said softly, “Baby.”
“Gonna fuck you here, Cassie.”
“Okay,” I agreed readily, tingles sliding up my inner thighs.
“The rest of the day, you naked in this bed with me.”
Sex-a-thon it was, just one day early.
“Okay,” I repeated, lifting my other hand to curl it around the side of his neck.
“You’re gonna sleep beside me in this bed tonight.”
My legs now trembling, I had to concentrate on standing, so I just nodded.
“Here,” he ordered.
I was already there.
I got more there by leaning in deeper. He fell back and I fell on him at the precise moment I pressed my lips to his. His opened, my tongue slid inside, and he rolled me.
Then we kissed. Hands roaming, tongues dancing, lips drinking, bodies pressing, fingers gliding through hair, making out like that was all we were ever going to get and that was okay for the both of us.
Until it was no longer okay for Deacon. I knew this when he slid his fingers into my tee and started pulling it up.
I lifted my arms. He rolled off me and pulled the tee free.
He didn’t bend back to me.
Or not my mouth.
He bent to my chest.
And it began.
It wasn’t fucking.
No.
Far from it.
It was worshiping.
Me worshiping Deacon, but more, Deacon worshiping me. Divesting me of my clothes like he was unwrapping a gift he knew was precious and wanted to prolong the anticipation. Touching me everywhere. Tasting me everywhere. Trailing, brushing, licking, grazing…all over.
And giving, giving with the sensations he caused and the feeling behind them, and giving with offering me the opportunity to do the same.
By the time he rolled me to my back, spread my legs, and his hips fell in between, I needed him with a need that was like your need for food. Oxygen. Warmth in winter. Water in the desert.
And Deacon kept giving, blazing eyes to mine, showing he felt that same need, hand gliding into my hair, all this as he slid his cock inside me slow and sure, right to the root, filling me.
“Baby,” I breathed, lifting my knees and taking more of him, wanting it all, all I could get from Deacon, needing it.
“You’re here,” he whispered.
God, he’d wanted that, and if it could be believed, he’d wanted it more than me.
“I’m here,” I whispered back.
“I’m inside.”
Oh yes, he’d wanted this.
Badly.
I lifted my hand to his jaw, different but still vital emotions surging through me, and nodded. “You’re inside, honey.”
He dipped his head so his face was close, starting to move in and out slowly, and he did this speaking.
“I’m away, Cassie, do not ever doubt this is precisely where I’d rather be.”
He didn’t want me to worry.
He didn’t want me to hurt.
He wanted me to know he wanted this, had wanted it for six years, and was happy he had it.
God.
I was right about taking a chance on Deacon and knowing that felt great.
I lifted my knees higher, slid my hand from his jaw into his hair, and replied, “Okay, Deacon.”
He kept moving, slow and steady, giving it to me but keeping it from me, still speaking.
“Seated deep inside you, listenin’ to you yammer while you pick plants, sittin’ beside you on a porch, however it comes from you, that’s where I want to be.”
I liked that…a lot, but the need we’d built was growing with his movements, pushing everything else away but the demand to slake it.
“Faster, baby,” I panted, swinging my calves in at his back.
He went faster, not much, still steady.
“You hear me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I gasped as he went even faster, his hand gliding down to curl around my breast, thumb circling the nipple. My hips jerked and my lips begged, “Faster, honey.”
“Fuck, you like my dick,” he growled approvingly.
“Yeah,” I whimpered, my other hand gliding down his spine to clench his tight ass. “I like all of you.”
“Fuck,” he growled again, the sound coming from his gut, rumbling into my sex, and a moan slid up my throat.
