Page 32 of Deacon

Something catches my eye above the fireplace. I lean in—it’s a series of the same panels from his bedroom but different scenes. This time, the woman is wading into the water, almost to the other side. The bear nips at her heels.

I shudder, sliding back so I don’t have to look at it.

It’s probably nothing. A collectible.

My mind drifts tohim downstairs. He sat at the head of the table, knees spread, body relaxed. Everything he does is big but not overwhelming. He takes up so much space, but he stays out of mine.

There’s a dark side to him. Something came out when he said he’d kill Aiden. Maybe it was a joke, but something flickered in his eyes that made me feel like…maybe it was serious.

He would protect me?

My head fills with him. Bits and pieces of his body. The stretch of his t-shirt over his broad chest and shoulders. The tattoos over his forearms that ripple when he clenches his hand on his coffee mug.

His lean fingers and broad palms…. Shame moves through me at the feeling gathering between my thighs.

I shouldn’t. I rarely do this.

But God, he makes me want to.

Quietly, as if he could hear me all the way down the hall, I slip my hand under my flannel. My pussy is wet, and I dip my finger inside.

My eyelids flutter.

I wonder what the tip of his finger would feel like inside me. Bigger than mine, the perfect amount of roughness. Touch wet, I bring it back to my clit and start circling. A little spark of heat starts deep in my hips.

The floor creaks.

I snap back to reality. There’s a single word in my head as I pull my hand up and flip to my side.

Whore.

Shame creeps over me like a shadow. I shouldn’t want men like him. They’re the kind who have made my life hell from the start—inked up, brutal, trigger-happy. They consume until there’s nothing left but dust and bruises.

And yet, when he looked at me like that from across the table, he seemed…different.

Undomesticated, yes. Like a gentle beast capable of damage but doesn’t commit it. The idea is alluring—strength without destruction.

I close my eyes. I’m alone, so it’s alright to let my feelings show, but too many years of stuffing them down makes that hard. I just laythere until my body relaxes. I’ve fallen asleep terrified and sad so many times. Falling asleep well-fed in a house with an unknown man isn’t as hard as I thought.

For the first time since leaving Kentucky, I’m anchored.

My eyes flutter and shut. My body releases all the tension it’s carrying, and I find myself melting into soft flannel. The comforter over me is heavy. My breathing slows, and the last thing I remember is giving in.

I’m on my back in the forest. The river rushes by a few feet to my right. It’s night, the moon caught in the tangled branches overhead. My body is so heavy, I can’t move an inch.

There’s something between my thighs. My hands slide down my body and slip through short hair. There’s a man down there, face buried in my pussy.

With effort, I lift my head.

Deacon Ryder.

My body jolts me wide awake, sending me gasping, upright in bed.

It’s lighter than I expected outside. The digital clock says it’s two. Heart thudding, mouth parched, I slide from bed and go to the window.

The storm has let up, and the sky's ablaze with northern lights. Shades of pink, blue, and green waver over the horizon. Down in the yard, his arms crossed and his feet planted, is Deacon. He wears his hat, but I can tell he’s watching the sky, soaking it all in.

I’ve never seen the northern lights before. It might be the most beautiful sight I’ve ever witnessed.

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