Page 50 of Deacon

“You hungry?”

I shake my head. I ate breakfast before I left the house. He picks his hat up off the trunk and puts it back on, winding his fingers through mine. I follow him, confused and still panting.

He leads me back out into the barn. My eyes adjust to the bright light coming from outside, and when they do, I realize there’s a wiry man with gray hair walking toward us. I tug my hand out of Deacon’s and tuck it behind my back.

The man looks up. Then, he looks at Bones, still standing with his saddle and bridle on, and at the swinging door to the tack room.

“Who’s this?” His voice is gruff but pleasant. He takes his hat off and offers his hand.

“Freya Hatfield,” Deacon says. “This is Andy.”

I shake his hand, giving him a shy smile.

“You’re one of Aiden Hatfield’s kids?” Andy asks, eyes narrowing but a smile still on his face.

“He’s my stepfather,” I say.

“Huh,” says Andy. “Well, I see.”

Deacon’s hand settles on my lower back, like he’s saying something without words.

“You mind if I take Bones out to check that gate? He’s already saddled up,” Andy says.

“Fine by me,” says Deacon. “Take this puppy with you. When you get back, put him in a kennel in the living room.”

“Puppy?”

Deacon points to the milk crate. “Freya found a stray.”

He nods and swings on Bones. Deacon hands him the puppy, and he tucks it in his front pocket. Its front paws and head hang out, eyesbig. For a moment, I think Andy doesn’t like me, but then he gives me a grandfatherly wink as he turns Bones and heads out. Deacon’s hand tightens on my waist.

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

I turn, shaking my head. “I have to go home. Aiden will wonder where I went.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but he just nods and heads out the front side of the barn. I follow him as he heads to the truck, opening the passenger door. I can’t get in by myself, and my boot slips. He picks me up one handed and drops me into the passenger seat. The look he gives me from his heavy lidded eyes goes right to my pussy.

He gets in and the engine purrs. I forgot in the last few days how powerful his presence is—big and raw, openly sexual. My eyes are glued to his inked hand as he uses his flat palm to spin the wheel and back the truck around to head to the road.

We drive, both silent.

My entire body prickles. I swear, I can still feel him inside me. I twist my hands in my lap. I don’t know how he did it again. I came up here to give him a dog and, within minutes, he had my legs wide open.

I don't know what this is. Something real? Or another turn in the cycle of every woman before me?

The mountains rush by, the dark kind I don’t know. They aren’t the Appalachian Mountains, soft like a blanket pulled around me. It occurs to me that when I’m with him, I forget how unanchored I feel.

“I want to see you again,” he says.

I glance at him just as he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. Heat erupts and pours through my body. I can’t stop staring at it, the scarred knuckles, the ink blurred from the sun. He’s moving his middle finger in slow circles, the way he does on my clit.

“Did you take my panties?” I burst out.

The corner of his mouth goes up.

“Yeah, I did,” he drawls. “You want them back, you can come get them from my room.”

I gasp, staring straight ahead. I’m so flustered, it takes me a moment to realize he’s not heading back to my house—he’s turning off on a dirt road. He drives a few miles down, then pulls off.

---