Page 131 of Deacon

When we’re done eating, she gets up to clear off the table. I get up to help, but she puts a hand on my chest and pushes me firmly into the seat. Her eyes flash. It takes a second to realize she’s playing with me a little. I curl my forearm around her waist, pulling her against my side.

“Are you happier than you were?” I ask.

She nods, biting her lip.

“You can talk, sweetheart,” I say gently.

“I know,” she says.

“But you don’t have to. I hear what you mean to say, even when you don’t talk.”

Her smile is so brilliant, all I can do is stare. I love this girl. She’s not ready to hear it, but I would marry her tomorrow. I pick up her hand. Absently, I run my touch over her ring finger, wondering how soon is too soon for me to tell her I want to make this forever.

Maybe I should hold off until I figure out where I stand with her family and my land. It’s been far too quiet since I took her from Aiden. I know men like him; he won’t take this lying down.

He’s going to hit back, and when he does, I have to take that hit and come back swinging.

Nobody will ever threaten her again.

It makes my chest ache to think about everything she’s been through. She’s so starved for love, and that’s all Aiden fuckingHatfield’s fault. Next chance I get, I’m going to beat him into a bloody pulp for what he’s done, for what he’s planning to do.

He shouldn’t have fucked around with me or my woman. Fuck what my lawyer has to say about it. He can’t get to me until the snow’s melted and I don’t have to answer his calls.

I’m about to be Aiden’s worst nightmare.

“Deacon?”

I blink, her face coming into focus. “I thought you were supposed to call me daddy, sweetheart,” I say.

“Daddy, then,” she says, her drawl husky.

She’s looking at me, like she’s expecting me to say something.

“Are you going to be working all day?” she asks.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I run a ranch. Wish I could be with you, though.”

A crease appears between her brows. I cup her face, stroking her cheek with my thumb. It travels down, running back and forth over her soft, full lower lip. Arousal thrums in my groin.

“You sure you’re alright after last night?” I ask.

She blushes and nods. “Yes, it was intense. But I liked it. A lot.”

“You’re not a whore,” I say abruptly. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not?” Her eyes are slightly unfocused.

“No, you’re my whore,” I say, reaching out to cup the back of her head. “Daddy’s whore—it’s a good thing, sweetheart. And it’s different.”

She swallows, eyes glittering. I take a moment to pull her into my arms, kissing her the way I did the first time we made out in the truck—slow, letting her know how badly I want every part of her. When we break apart, she’s panting, some of the glassiness gone from her eyes.

“I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

I leave her there, breathless. I think I got my point across.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

FREYA

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