Page 110 of Deacon

My sense are wide awake. The heat of the fire is calming. The dull pain from the way he ravages me is a drug, burning me, tearing at my seams.

He takes, I give.

I see his lips move. I think he calls me his.

He pulls from me, pressing me onto my back, his inked body moving over me. The scent of our desire, mixed, is heady and raw. It makes my head spin.

One hand braces above me, the other reaching down to grip his length. I gasp, eyes darting down his tensed abdominals, down the trimmed hair above his groin to the hard cock in his hand. He jerks himself, his jaw gritted. There’s something shocking about seeing such a powerful man so desperate.

“Say it,” he groans. “Say you’re mine.”

I try to, but my mouth is so dry. I wet my lips.

“I’m yours,” I whisper.

It’s the first time I’ve given those words real thought.

Am I Deacon Ryder’s woman?

His body tenses, his hips riding against his hand. Warmth hits my cheek, my breasts. The dip of my navel. He moans like he’s satisfied but not satisfied at all. My eyes fly open and lock on his, glittering with sweat and lust.

“Deacon,” I whisper.

I think I know what this is.

He bends over my helpless body, and his tongue drags over my navel, licking his cum up and shifting down. His rough fingers push apart the tender skin of my sex. My eyes roll back. I hear him spit his cum, hard. Then, those fingers are in me, plunging brutally, pushing his release deep into my body.

His teeth graze the inside of my thigh.

He’s working his way back up. I moan, writhing. His strong, hot tongue curls in the pooled cum between my breasts. Then, he shoves my jaw with his hard head, forcing me to face him. His fingers push my mouth open, and he spits his cum onto my tongue.

My hips lift. Salt and Deacon.

“Swallow it,” he orders.

Obediently, I swallow him. His eyes glint with satisfaction. He uses the tips of his fingers to rub the rest of his cum into my skin, into my neck, my face. His touch is harsh at first, but then it grows gentle, like the Deacon I know.

He picks me up, unclipping the rod keeping my legs apart. He tugs something behind my back, and the leather sheath falls to the bed. I flex my stiff shoulders and arms.

“Alright, sweetheart?”

He’s back. I let him sit back against the headboard and set me in his lap, facing him. We’re both breathing hard. The metal harness around my hips is still there, although it’s warm and pliable enough that I barely notice it.

“Are you?” I whisper.

“I can handle my shit,” he says. “Answer me.”

I nod. “I’m alright, just shaken up.”

He doesn’t answer. His cock is still hard. I feel life thrum through him, beating against the underbelly of my thigh.

“Put my cock back inside,” he says hoarsely.

I falter, but he gives me a look. Wincing, I take him by the base and push his cock back into my pussy. My body is learning his, all the ridges, the veins, and it welcomes him. He groans softly, fingerstracing my stomach. My brain buzzes with the pleasure of his skin on mine.

My body craves him. My fear is gone, dissipated. I wonder if this is what it feels like to hunt down a great beast like a wolf. The pulse racing pursuit. The clash. Then, the big warm body beneath mine felled to the ground.

Maybe it was me who got the best of him tonight.

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