Page 3 of With You

Here and now.

Him and me.

JULIAN

Our hold on one another tightens and our kiss morphs from connection to desperation very quickly. Whatever was bothering Deacon is no longer at the forefront of his mind.

I can feel myself harden behind my pants as his tongue snakes out to meet mine, tasting and taking.

“Deacon,” I breathe out. “We need to stop.”

He presses his own length against mine. “You should’ve thought about that before you came in here. What did you expect to happen?”

“I missed you,” I confess. “It was a dumb idea.”

His mouth trails kisses across my jaw and down my neck while his hand slips between us and cups my erection. “We could’ve taken care of this before the day even started.” He squeezes, and I groan. “More than once.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time,” he balks, rearing his head back, moving his lips away from mine. “Do you plan on doing this again?”

“Only with you,” I answer before recklessly kissing him again. “Five years. Ten. Twenty. Fifty.”

“If you don’t walk out of this room right now, we’re going to be late to our own wedding,” he warns as I rock my hips into his hand. “And I won’t be even a little bit sorry.”

Groaning, I place my hands on his chest and push myself off of him. The distance between us already making me ache.

We stare at one another, for the first time finally allowing ourselves to truly look at each other. Taking in the magnitude of what we’re both wearing and what we’re about to finally do. Deacon is dressed in a navy blue suit, with black lapels and a black bow tie. I thought there was nothing better than my fiancé, the mechanic, coming home covered in oil and grease, with a white t-shirt stretched over his beautifully defined chest, but this might just be the winner.

Because this is all for me.

“You look breathtaking,” I admit.

“You like?” he teases.

“I love.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” he teases, stepping toward me.

“Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “My self-control is non-existent right now.”

Smirking, Deacon bats my hand away and stands in front of me, reaching for my bowtie. “Don’t worry,” he says, untying it and tying it back up. “I’ll make tonight worth the wait.”

When he unties it a second time, I raise a brow at him. “What are you doing? I thought I did it right.”

“It was perfect. I’m just finding ways to be close to you.”

His admission is soft, and his touch tender as his fingers graze my neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, bringing the conversation back to whatever was bothering him when I walked into the room.

“I think he’d be happy for us,” he says, completely throwing me off my axis.

Emotion lodges itself in the back of my throat, words failing me. Instead, my eyes fill with tears, easy to form and quick to fall.

We don’t talk about Rhett much. Not in reference to our relationship, but rather as a separate entity. A brother, a boyfriend, a best friend. But he very much exists in everything we do and every choice we make.

The guilt ebbs and flows, for both of us, but our love for one another always overrides it.

“I know he would,” I assure him, keeping my voice steady. “He wanted nothing more than for us to be happy.”

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