Deacon

  “So you see a future with this man?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  “Does this man have a name?”

  I closed my eyes tight as the only darkness on a horizon that included Deacon blackened my mood. “John Priest.”

  “Strong name,” she remarked.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  I liked Deacon better.

  “I’m happy for you,” Mom continued, now her voice was quiet. “I’m happy because you sound happy. And I hope this works out for you, too, honey, so I’ll get to meet him, but so you’ll have someone to share your time with amongst the glory of Glacier Lily.”

  I grinned in the phone. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you a whole lot more, angelface.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “Let’s not debate it, because knowing my daughter, that could take ten years and I don’t have that time. Dinner’s nearly done and I need to feed your father.”

  “Right, I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay, Cassie, talk to you later, see you soon, and again, so happy you found someone you like who likes you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “’Bye, Cassidy.”

  “’Bye.”

  We hung up and when we did, I took my phone from my ear and stared at it. Then I set it aside, took in a deep breath, and walked out of the kitchen.

  I didn’t go to my chair.

  I went to Deacon’s.

  His head tipped back when I did and he put his beer on the arm of the chair when I put a knee into the seat by his hip. I swung my other leg over and settled astride him.

  He rested his hands on my ass, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “She wants something,” he muttered like he was talking to himself.

  “Just got off the phone with my mom,” I shared.

  He made no response, not verbally, not physically, just continued to look at me, waiting for me to go on.

  I took this as good. He could have shut down. He could have tensed. He could have given some indication that whatever it was I was going to share about my family that included me getting close was something he wasn’t ready to be a part of.

  “They’re coming out in August. Everyone. Mom, Dad, my sister and her family, my brother and his wife. My aunts and uncle.”

  “Right,” he prompted when I said no more.

  I got closer, my heart squeezing as I gave it to him.

  “I’d really like it if you worked it out with your jobs so you could be here when they are.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll be.”

  I sat motionless atop him, staring in his handsome face, shocked but filled with glee that that wasn’t only his answer, but it also came quickly.

  “You’re not…” I shook my head. “That doesn’t freak you?”

  “They come with you?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  The skin around his eyes softened and his fingers dug in my ass.

  “I think I’ve made it pretty clear I want you, woman. They come with you, I want that too.”

  Oh God. I was so falling in love with this man.

  “Dad’ll like you,” I whispered.

  “Yeah. I had a daughter in the middle of nowhere, states away, and a guy worked on her roof in the heat so it wouldn’t eventually cave in, I’d like him too.”

  I smiled, tamping down the idea of Deacon having a daughter.

  And how he would get one.

  “Though,” he kept going, “that would only be until I was reminded he was sleepin’ with her. Then I’d go back to wantin’ to shoot him.”

  That was when I burst out laughing.

  While I was doing it, Deacon slid a hand up my spine until he had it curved around the back of my neck.

  And when I quit laughing, I noticed that he was not sharing in my amusement.

  When he spoke, I’d know why.

  “Means a lot, baby, you want me to meet your family.”

  I leaned closer to him. “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “You give me the dates, I’ll make sure I’m free.”

  “Okay.”

  He slid his hand to the side of my neck, the tips of his fingers in my hair, his eyes moving over my face.

  I let him. He had these moments occasionally, when he was feeling something, something beautiful and big, something about me, and since it was that, I wanted him to have them.

  When he shifted his thumb so it swept my lower lip, I knew it was leaving him so I said, “I need to get down to frying the chops.”

  His eyes went from my lips to mine. “You need a grill.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Can you grill?”

  “Do I have a dick?”

  I smiled again.

  “We’ll fight about who’s payin’ for that tomorrow, on the way back from gettin’ the dog.”

  I kept smiling. “You’re on.”

  His eyes crinkled.

  I leaned in and kissed him. It was meant to be a touch but his hand at my neck tightened, his other arm lifted to round me, and it became a whole lot more.

  This meant I was breathing heavily when I climbed off him and went into the kitchen to start the chops.

  * * * * *

  Hours later, after dinner (I was not wrong, Deacon loved the casserole; he even said that, of a sort, while forking it into his mouth, “This shit’s the shit, Cassidy,”) and cuddling on the couch watching a movie, Deacon turned on the news.

  I tilted my chin to catch his eyes.

  He felt mine and looked down at me.

  “I’m turning in.”

  “Gonna watch the top of the newscast then I’ll be up.”

  “Okay.”

  He bent his head to touch his mouth to mine and let me go.

  I rolled off the couch and went upstairs.

  When I got to my bedroom, I closed the door, leaned against it, sucked in a massive breath, and took in the room.

  After I had the bathroom remodeled, this was the first room I’d refinished.

  The wood floors were gleaming. The threadbare rugs had been removed and a large, thick, attractive one in soft beige with muted pastel green, blue, yellow, and pink swirls on it was under the bed. The two dressers were a mish-mosh I’d located for a deal at an antique store, the wood light and battered but they burnished in way that I thought was pretty. Matching iron nightstands with drawers that had mismatching but lovely lights on them. There were old, framed pieces of faded, but awesome embroidered flowers I’d bought for five bucks each on the walls. Walls that I’d painted a warm, soft oyster.

  A year ago, I’d bought a new mattress. On it was a down comforter with a feminine paisley cover that had a cream background and subdued green, yellow, and blue design. Matching shams. Cream sheets. But minimal toss pillows since they finished the look of the bed but were a pain in the patoot to arrange every day.

  And my bed had a slatted head and footboard.

  Staring at it, I bit my lower lip.

  Then I did what I decided I’d do during the movie.

  I went to the nightstands and turned on both lights. After that, I went to the closet, got the ropes, took them to the bed, and dropped them in the middle. That done, I went to my drawer and pulled out one of only three sexy nighties that I owned. A skintight red number made entirely of lace. I also snatched out the matching satin panties.

  I took them to the bathroom, changed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, put the toilet seat down, and sat on it, trying not to hyperventilate.

  And there I sat.

  Waiting.

  And just like me, I did it hoping.

  But (maybe for the first time in my life), I didn’t have to hope.

  Because I had a strong feeling that what I wanted so badly was about to be given to me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Give the Gratitude

  I heard the bedroom door open and my body strung tight.

  I waited.

  I waited some more.


  Then I sucked in a huge breath, got up, and walked to the door.

  I opened it, walked out, and stopped, my eyes glued to Deacon.

  He was standing by the bed, his eyes to me, and it was a wonder they didn’t incinerate me on the spot.

  “Nightie’s sweet,” he said quietly. “I’ll enjoy it another time. Now, take it off, baby.”

  He’d seen the ropes.

  My heart skipped in my chest and I held his gaze as I took two steps to the bed, stopped, and put my hands to the hem of the nightie. Continuing to hold his eyes, I lifted my arms, pulling it off.

  “Panties,” he ordered, his voice getting rough. Just that sound doing good things to my body, I hooked my thumbs in the sides of the panties and pushed them down until they fell to the floor.

  I stepped out of them.

  “Here,” he demanded, voice now gruff.

  I didn’t hesitate and I didn’t backtalk.

  I went to him.

  He also didn’t hesitate. He put both hands to my hips and slid them back to my ass, leaning in to me to do it.

  “You sure you’re ready?” he asked, tone still gruff, but now also sweet.

  “Yes,” I answered, and I was. I also wasn’t. There was fear. But there was mostly excited anticipation.

  “I play with you, you talk to me. Do not allow shit you don’t want because you think I want it. We go somewhere you don’t like, you say, it ends. Immediately.”

  That was what I needed—just what I needed—to beat back the fear.

  I leaned in to him, putting my hands on his chest. “Okay, baby.”

  “Climb in bed, Cassie. I tie you down first then I play.”

  Oh God.

  I immediately got wet.

  Yeah, no more fear.

  I climbed into bed.

  Surprising me, Deacon didn’t delay in tying me down. By that I meant he didn’t take his clothes off before he did it.

  That said, he did it slow. There were caresses, like when he lifted my arm high and wide, he ran his fingertips up the inside, a ticklish, soft touch that was nevertheless effective.

  And then he tied my wrist to the headboard.

  To the other side, where he ran his lips up the inside of my arm. No tickle but the touch was definitely effective.

  And then he tied that wrist to the headboard.

  I had my legs closed, bent, my hips turned slightly to the side, and he ran a hand down my chest, my belly, and up to my hip where he put mild pressure but didn’t force me to move.

  He looked from my hip to my face. “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then spread for me, Cassie.”

  I held his gaze, dropped my hip, uncurled my legs, and spread for him.

  He looked down at my body and the word, “Fuck,” came, sounding torn from him.

  That was effective too.

  His hand slid from my hip, down and in, his fingertips drifting through the wet between my legs, and his eyes sliced back to mine.

  “Wet,” he growled.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  He slid a finger in and I closed my eyes, my back slightly arching.

  “My Cassie,” he whispered, gliding the finger out.

  I felt his hand trail down the inside of my thigh, further down, and the bed moved so I looked to see him at the end. He lifted my leg and kissed the inside of my ankle. A shiver ran through me and it became a quiver when he put my leg back to the bed then wound the rope around my ankle.

  He tied it to the footboard.

  I was trembling, feeling weird, turned on, vulnerable, exposed, certain yet uncertain, trusting and scared, excited, wanting, and anxious when Deacon finished with my other ankle.

  He got off the bed and I watched him take off his clothes, his eyes not on my body. They were staring into mine. My eyes moved but only to take in his big man cock that was as beautiful as the rest of him, thick, long, and right then, very hard.

  I got wetter.

  “You know what this means to me?” he asked, and I looked back to his face.

  “I think so,” I mumbled shakily.

  “You trustin’ me like this, think about it. I was tied to that bed for you, how would that make you feel?”

  My insides melted a different way, tenderness toward him and titillation at the very idea of Deacon doing that for me.

  He read me. I knew it when he said, “Yeah. That’s what I’m feelin’ right now, except more,” he put a knee to the bed, his hand splayed at my belly, his face in mine, “because you’re right there, givin’ it all up for me.”

  “Honey.”

  His lips dropped to mine as his hand slid down.

  “Now, I give back.”

  I trembled.

  His hand slid in, fingers grazing tight over my clit so my hips jerked. Two thrust in.

  My limbs tensed against the restraints, my eyes closed, and I dug my head into the pillows as that sang through me.

  He left his fingers buried deep and put pressure on my clit with his thumb, but neither moved. “You good?”

  I opened my eyes and dipped my chin to look at him.

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Totally.”

  I saw his eyes smile.

  Then he disappeared because he put his lips to my throat.

  And Deacon commenced in giving back, way, way more than what I was giving to him.

  Absolutely.

  He kissed. He licked. He sucked. He nipped. He finger fucked me. He worked my clit.

  All through this I squirmed. I strained. My body tightened, and if his fingers were inside, my sex clutched them deeper. Every time that happened I’d get his growl of approval, each one scoring right through me.

  Each pull of the ropes sent heat shafting everywhere when my automatic response was thwarted, reminding me I was his to do with as he pleased and I had nothing to give but it all, he had everything to take, and everything to give to me.

  It was simple beauty.

  And I was loving every second.

  Finally, he moved fully between my legs and clamped his mouth down on me, sucking deep.

  “God!” I cried, surging up as far as I could, exhilaration sweeping through me when I was pulled back against my bonds, the pleasure heightened indescribably because I couldn’t lift my knees high, throw them over his shoulders. I could only lie there and take what he was giving me.

  He ate and he sucked and he fucked me with his tongue. When I was writhing on the bed, straining against the ropes, this close to exploding, he took his mouth from me, drove two fingers in, and my entire body bucked, the bed moving with it.

  I lifted my head to see him still between my legs. “Baby,” I begged.

  He slid his fingers out and down, and wet with me, circled one at my anus.

  My frame tensed tight, my knees involuntarily trying to cock and stilling when my motion was denied, the bed jerking again as all my limbs tightened, and I did what I could to press into his finger.

  “Yes,” I breathed and watched hazily as Deacon’s face grew even darker.

  He surged over me but left his finger where it was.

  “Please,” I breathed.

  He slid his finger inside.

  I turned my head to the side, my body trembling, waiting, anticipating.

  Deacon put his lips to my ear.

  “Next job, I’m goin’ shopping on the way back,” he whispered there, gently moving his finger in small circles inside me and my legs pulled tight against the ropes, reflexively trying to open further for him. “Get my girl some toys. Come back to her, plug her ass, eat her pussy while she’s tied down with my cock in her mouth.”

  I jerked my head around, my sex pulsing deep with need. He lifted his head when I did and I caught his eyes.

  “Fuck me.”

  “You need my cock, baby?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He slid his thumb rough through my wet and pressed hard at my clit.
>
  My body surged tight against my ropes.

  “Ask sweet,” he ordered.

  Oh God, this was hot. This was great. This was fucking amazing.

  “Please, baby,” I begged. “Please, fuck me.”

  “Want it hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to fuck your mouth first?”

  Yes I did.

  But right then I needed him inside and not inside my mouth.

  “Yes, but no,” I panted, his thumb at my clit, finger still up my ass torturing me in a good way. “Need you inside. Now, Deacon.”

  “That wasn’t sweet, baby.”

  “Please,” I pleaded immediately.

  “You gonna take your plug when I bring it?”

  Oh God.

  So fucking hot.

  “Yes,” I said and that one syllable came out sharing I’d take it right then if he had it.

  He read it. Deacon could have dementia and still read me.

  “Fill your ass, eat your pussy.”

  “I’ll suck your cock,” I gasped.

  “No, sweet Cassie. You’ll be tied down, won’t be able to move your head. You just hold it in your mouth.”

  He was killing me.

  I strained toward him, nearly coming undone when I couldn’t complete that action.

  “Deacon, please.”

  Even with his eyes hot and hungry, his lips smiled. “Had enough?”

  “Yes,” I nearly shouted.

  “Then prepare for me to ride you, baby.”

  I was prepared. I couldn’t get more prepared. The only thing I was worried about was that the orgasm I was about to have would kill me.

  He slid his finger out of my ass, his thumb away from my clit, and positioned.

  Hand in the bed, arm straight, holding him above me, I felt him move the tip of his cock through my wet as I tried and failed to get more of him.

  “Baby, please.”

  He surged inside.

  My back arched from the bed, my head digging in the pillows, all four limbs jerking against the ropes.

  Then he fucked me, hard, rough, holding his body away from mine. I dipped my chin, saw his eyes on me, and whimpered.

  He liked this. Fucking me barely touching me, just his cock driving deep and fast, watching me take his thrusts, my body jerking with each one, my ropes tight, making me immobile.

  It could have been bad. It could have felt distant. Like being used. Like nothing but a wet pussy, a vessel to receive his seed.