Deacon

  I didn’t get into that. I stuck with the matter at hand.

  “You do when you take off in a store that’s as big as three warehouses and I don’t know where you are.”

  His head tipped slightly to the side and his brows drew slightly together before he asked, “Are we havin’ this conversation?”

  In other words, this conversation was a conversation he felt was ridiculous.

  I didn’t agree.

  I lifted my hands and dropped them, saying, “Deacon, you took off and I didn’t know where you went.”

  “Did it occur to you that I’d be back?” he returned.

  “Not really,” I shot back, and I knew he got me because suddenly his face changed.

  “Cassie,” he said softly.

  “Okay,” I said briskly in order to cover the vulnerability I’d just exposed. “I’m the woman in your life, not your mother, so I’ll say this won’t happen often. But right now, it’s gonna happen.”

  The softness in his expression changed, his lips twitched, and I wasn’t real fond of that (well, I was, just not right then) but I carried on anyway.

  “It’s sweet, you drove hell bent to get to me but don’t ever do that again. You need to sleep and eat,” I bossed and kept going so he wouldn’t say anything that might tip my precarious mood, something I knew could happen because his lips were still twitching and now his eyes were dancing. “Second, if we’re at a store—a gigantic one, an average one, a fruit stand on the side of the road—you don’t take off without telling me where you’re going.”

  “A fruit stand?” he asked and there it was. That sound I liked so much. The thread of humor reverberating in his tone.

  “Don’t tease me when I’m borderline pissed.”

  “Thank fuck it’s only borderline,” he muttered, still teasing.

  “Just saying, I go back to my trolley and one single pansy I selected has been taken by another customer, borderline will be a memory.”

  “Can you do that without me at your side so I can get a ladder?”

  I knew he was still teasing, I could tell by the glint in his eye that made him almost cute, if that could be believed.

  I still didn’t like it (well, I did, just not right then).

  “Are you gonna shove a woman who spent three weeks thinking that we were finished, and not liking it much, over the edge in a home improvement store?” I demanded to know, slamming my hands on my hips.

  Half a second later, my hands were not on my hips. They were on Deacon’s flat abs because he moved, leaning in to me, hooking me at the back of my head, and yanking me into him so I had to throw my hands out to brace against impact.

  My head tipped back and his came down, so close, the side of his nose brushed mine, his eyes were all I could see, and I could feel his breath against my lips.

  “No,” he whispered.

  That was it.

  No.

  No, he was not going to shove me over the edge in a home improvement store after I’d spent three weeks hurting because I thought we were over. No, he was not going to do that because Deacon just wouldn’t do that, but also because he regretted that I spent that time hurting. And no, he was not going to do that because he didn’t want us to be over either and he’d thought we were and he’d spent that time hurting.

  He said that all through his no.

  But mostly he said it through pulling me to him the way he did to whisper that one word to me.

  Therefore, I leaned in to him to share how this made me feel and I did it without even giving him a word.

  I figured he got me because I was learning Deacon was good at that.

  He kept whispering. “This goes bad, Cassie, we’ll talk it out. I will not leave you wondering and I will never leave you hanging.”

  “Okay,” I whispered back.

  “You gonna return that favor?”

  “I hope this doesn’t go bad,” I replied and saw his eyes fire, showing me he hoped that too, something I liked even better than standing close to him in the aisle of a home improvement store, which said a lot. “But if it does, I’ll definitely return that favor, honey.”

  He held me close, looking into my eyes for several moments, before he murmured, “Good,” brushed his mouth against mine and let me go.

  I teetered slightly when he did, and by the time I had myself steady, his attention was back to the ladders.

  I watched Deacon studying the ladders. I looked to the ladders to see there were a goodly number of them, but only two tall enough to reach my gutters.

  I looked back to him and asked, “How long is picking a ladder gonna take?”

  He looked to me. “It’s gonna take as long as it takes.”

  My brows went up. “I only have to grab some potting soil and plant food. In other words, I’m almost done. Can you give me a more accurate estimate?”

  “You laid it out, woman, so I will too,” he stated. “You’re a woman who worries about her man eatin’ and sleepin’ and wants him to give her a heads up when he’s got somethin’ on his mind that he has to do and doin’ it means leavin’ her. You’ve also just become a woman who gives her man the time it takes to pick a ladder, whatever that time might be.”

  I felt my own lips twitching and tried to hide it by lifting a hand and giving him a salute before saying smartly, “Aye, aye, captain.”

  This got me the grooves around his mouth and the crinkles around his eyes before he said, “And you do it without bein’ a smartass or the next time your man has your ass bare, he’ll smack it.”

  That made me bite my lip, not doing it because that idea didn’t appeal to me, doing it because it did. A lot. A whole lot.

  Deacon’s eyes dropped to my mouth and I knew he knew what I was feeling when his gaze heated before it lifted to mine, the heat cleared, and he grinned.

  “Go get your potting soil, baby,” he ordered gently.

  “Okay, honey,” I replied quietly.

  I waited a second for him to move in to me, touch me, dip his head down and brush his mouth against mine again, but he didn’t.

  His attention went back to the ladders.

  So I moved, doing it deciding, even if he wasn’t into public displays of affection, I was. Thus, when I moved, I moved in to him, put a hand to his biceps, got up on my toes, and touched my lips to the hinge of his jaw.

  As I was rolling back to my feet, his neck twisted, his eyes came down to mine, and I saw he didn’t much mind public displays of affection.

  I noted that for the future.

  Then I smiled at him before I went to get my potting soil and found, luckily, not a pansy had been claimed in my absence.

  * * * * *

  I stood in the middle of the vast, graveled parking area around the cabins and looked around.

  It was brand-new, but the floral beauty I’d given Glacier Lily looked kick-ass.

  I grinned to myself as I decided this beauty needed to be shared. Thus I turned and moved quickly up the lane to the house where Deacon was working on the gutters.

  Suffice it to say, Deacon wasn’t lazy. This being demonstrated not only by the fact that he was at that moment cleaning the gutters, but also when he shouldered me out of the way in order to load the makings of floral beauty into his Suburban before he tied the ladder to the top. Not to mention, he again shouldered me out of the way in order to unload the floral beauty down at the cabins when we got home.

  It was now mid-afternoon. We’d both been at it all day, taking a short lunch break to refuel. Now, after he looked at the splendor I’d created at the cabins, I could help him finish up the gutters, though I had no idea how I’d do that, I just knew I would.

  When I got to the house, I went in to wash my hands before going back out to find him on whatever side of the house he was working on. But I found him in the kitchen washing his hands.

  “Hey,” I called, walking into the kitchen and getting his eyes when I did. “You done?”

  “Need new gutters, woman.”


  I stopped, my splendor-joy taking a hit at this news. “Like, everywhere?”

  He turned off the taps and grabbed a dishtowel. “No. Though the ten percent that’s still good isn’t worth keepin’, mostly ’cause it’s ten percent and would be a bitch to work around.”

  “Crap,” I muttered, moving in to him to get to the tap, Deacon moving out of my way when I did.

  “Got ’em clean but they’ll leak because the bottoms are corroded,” he stated as I washed my hands. “I’ll go back to the store and get replacements tomorrow.”

  So much for us having downtime, this being my plans for tomorrow I had not shared with him. Plans that would include his choice of going somewhere to hike (should badasses hike), going to Gnaw Bone to poke around the shops and have lunch (in the unlikely event badasses shopped, though I knew they had lunch), or staying home and having a sex-a-thon (something I figured badasses would do, which was good since this was my top choice).

  “I’ll go with you,” I said, turning off the tap, taking the dishtowel he was offering, and deciding to focus on happy things, not the hit my bank account would take from buying new gutters. I looked up into his handsome face. “Wanna see the floral splendor I’ve created at the cabins?”

  His eyes crinkled and he replied, “Sure.”

  I grinned at him, threw the dishtowel on the counter, and reached out a hand to grab his.

  I didn’t let go even after we were out of the house and on the lane. We made the short journey silently but did it holding hands so it was a journey I enjoyed more than usual.

  I stopped him in the middle of the parking area.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “Looks great, Cassie,” he answered, his head turning, taking it all in.

  I did the same.

  He was right. It did look great. I was getting good at this stuff. A month, two, the window boxes and planters would be a riot of color and greenery.

  I squeezed his hand and looked up to him, seeing him tip his chin to look down at me.

  “This is the most awesome place in the universe,” I whispered when I caught his eyes.

  His hand in mine tugged slightly so I’d move closer to him, something I did. But when he got me there, that was it. He didn’t dip down to kiss me. He didn’t drop my hand to slide his arm around my shoulders.

  He just agreed, “Yeah, it is.”

  I’d take that, especially since his eyes were telling me he really meant it.

  I leaned in to him, resting some of my weight against his arm.

  “You done?” he asked my earlier question.

  “Yep,” I answered, because I was, for then. I usually did the flowers for the house after I got the cabins done.

  “Good,” he muttered and moved. Pulling at my hand to move me with him, he headed us toward the lane.

  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. br />
  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.

  “Harder, Deacon.”

  His lips came to mine. “You got it, Cassie.”

  Then he kissed me and gave it to me harder, faster, slamming into me until I cried my orgasm against his tongue. He released my mouth and let me ride it as he rode me, face now pressed in my neck until his head snapped back, his cock ground in, and he grunted his release as I watched with hazy, satisfied fascination as it moved over his beautiful, hard, striking features.

  I lost that beauty when he dropped his head to press his forehead to my neck but I held him close as we both settled, taking our time, staying connected, as we let it drift away.