Deacon(31)

I wrapped my legs around his ass and whispered, “Faster, Deacon.”

He went faster but no less gentle. No less sweet.

I roamed his back with my hands, held him tight with my legs, and tipped up my hips to get more of him, gently panting against his lips.

He went faster.

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching him harder with my legs, one hand gliding up his back and into his hair.

He slid his tongue out and tasted my lips.

I tried to capture it in my mouth but he took it away.

“Deacon.” His name came out as a plea.

He made no reply. Just brushed my nose with his before he buried his face in my neck and went faster, harder, driving deep, his breathing going uneven, the sound and feel of it further tipping my excitement, thrilling through me.

I’d loved what he’d been giving me before but I needed what he was giving me now. So much, I turned my head and my gentle pants became ragged breaths rasping against the skin of his neck. My hand stopped roaming so I could curve my arm around him and hold on as my fingers in his hair fisted, holding him to me.

His hand suddenly left my breast, smoothing down my skin, and then his thumb was at my clit as he started thrusting harder, faster, the power taking me with it, the bed shuddering beneath us.

He lifted his head and I saw what I’d missed last night. Not blank. No mask. He was giving it all to me. His face dark, his eyes heated, his focus entirely on me, what he was taking, what he was giving, what I was giving, how he felt about it, all written in his expression.

“Fuck, I’m f*ckin’ beauty,” he growled.

Oh God, I liked that.

“Deacon.”

He rammed in, stayed in, and ground in as his thumb at my clit put on pressure.

So freaking amazing.

“Buried inside beauty,” he grunted.

“Baby.”

I got the word out then he took my mouth in a rough, wet kiss and I took his cock driving fast, hard, and deep.

He gave it to me before he took it, and he might have taken it hard, but what he gave me was sweet.

After we came down he astonished me by nuzzling me, stroking me.

Loving me.

Deacon. This new man I’d known for years was nuzzling me. Stroking me.

Loving me.

I had no choice but to return the favor.

It wasn’t a hardship.

It was early evening. I’d made Deacon and I a sandwich, and after we’d eaten them, while he moved his stuff from cabin eleven to my place at my request, I went down to cabin six to get the comforters and tell Milagros cabin eleven needed cleaned and that I needed her to stop by and check in on things tomorrow while I was away for a few hours. I also told her I had something going so I couldn’t have a cup of coffee with her when she was done.

I didn’t tell her about Deacon. Mostly because there wasn’t yet anything to say. But also because I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to tell her about Deacon.

I had to admit, this troubled me, but not enough to deter me from the choice I’d made.

We were changed. That was all I needed.

For now.

We’d find out how it was going to go.

Luckily, I often had something going so Milagros didn’t blink that I couldn’t have a cup of coffee. She also didn’t mind popping by tomorrow to make sure all was well at Glacier Lily while Deacon and I went to put a deposit down on a puppy.

I dealt with the laundry and when I got back, Deacon told me he had something to deal with. He didn’t tell me what. He also didn’t tell me that whatever it was required his complete attention, as in, his presence. I found that out after he cupped my jaw and told me he had something to deal with and then he walked out of my house.

He came back for dinner, something I had ready in hopes he’d be back.

We ate it with not a lot of muss and fuss, time taken, or conversation.

He helped me do the dishes just like he had at Christmas (this being surprising, then and now, but I’d had a lot of surprises that day so I rolled with it).

Then he took my hand again and led me upstairs.

Which brought me to now, lying naked in my bed with a naked Deacon on top of me, still inside me, nuzzling me and stroking me after sex.

He was mellow. I was mellow. The decision was made by the both of us.

We were beginning.

Thus I decided it was time to take a chance.

So I asked, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

His answer seared through me in a happy way, getting it and the ease with which in came.

He lifted his head and looked down at me. “You?”

“Thirty.”

He grinned.

I saw it and stilled.

Completely.

Taking in his magnificence, I wondered how I ever could have been frightened of this man.

“Just a baby,” he said softly.

“No, I’m not,” I disagreed.

“Yeah, you are,” he disagreed with me.

“You’re barely older than me.”

He lifted a hand, framed the side of my face, and started stroking my cheekbone with his thumb, but he made no reply.

I slid a hand up his chest, encountering dips and swells, firm and supple, and the tickle of the sprinkling of dark hair along his pectorals that was scattered to perfection.

“What’s your last name?” I asked quietly.