Page 44 of Deacon

My mind fills with images of last night—up close, glaring snippets of sweat, gasps, the sound he made when he came.

I clear my throat. “That didn’t stop you, sir.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, and I glance over just in time to see him adjust himself.

“I just turned forty,” he says.

Oh.

All the tattoos and scars make more sense now. He’s lived my lifetime almost twice over. This isn’t his first rodeo. I should’ve guessed that from last night.

I swallow past my dry throat. My eyes swing around and fix out the window. He tightens his grip on my thigh.

“That scare you, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice a soft rumble.

“Do you usually go after women like me?” I burst out.

There’s a long silence.

“No,” he says finally. “You’re the first woman I’ve slept with who wasn’t my own age. I usually go for…more experience.”

Maybe I should be offended that he’s calling me inexperienced, but I’m just relieved he’s not going after me because he thinks I’m young enough to be manipulated.

I clear my throat again, wishing I’d had more than coffee to drink this morning. We keep going until we’re around the other side of the property, at the end of the long driveway that leads to Aiden’s house. It’s newly hewn and the gravel is still fresh gray.

Deacon parks but leaves the engine running. He leans over, one hand on the back of my neck, and kisses me deeply. He tastes like coffee and…Deacon Ryder.

When we break apart, his eyes are heavy.

“I won’t tell anybody,” he says, his voice all low and husky.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

His dark eyes are captivating. I look up and fall over the edge. He kisses me one more time but doesn’t pull back right away.

“Open,” he breathes against my lips.

I part them. His tongue flicks out, touching past my teeth and grazing my tongue. My nipples prickle against my bra. Boldly, I slide my hand over the thigh of his worn work pants to his groin. He’s hard underneath, pushing against the zipper.

His breath catches. I pull back.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, head dipping.

The way he says that word, low and raspy in his chest, turns me on more than anything else.

“I got something.” He leans across the seat to the glove box. I watch as he takes out a flat box and puts it in my lap. It's about the size of my hand.

“Found that early this morning,” he says. “For your collection.”

My heart starts pattering. I can’t bite back my smile as I lift the lid and gasp. It’s a fully intact Polyphemus Moth, the brown shades almost luminescent. The two eyes on its spread wings are brilliant.

“Found it by the barn,” he says. “I guess the cold got it.”

“Thank you,” I say breathlessly.

He leans in and kisses me again. I climb out, giving him one last look, and start up the drive. He sits there in his truck until I’m out of sight. Then, I hear the engine fade away.

My feet are heavy as I climb up the front porch. It looks like Ryland’s truck is in the driveway, but Bittern’s is gone. I don’t mind Bittern. He’s not too mean to me, but Ryland is just awful some days.

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