Page 59 of Deacon

Sweet, potent. God, that makes me feral.

My dick presses against my zipper, my head empty. I’ve held back. I’ve been patient. Tonight, I’m getting what’s mine.

Deftly, I rise and flip her so she’s bent over the table and pull her hands behind her back. Before she can speak, I grip her shirt and tear the buttons open with my free hand. It slides down her arms, and I let it fall around her ankles.

Her naked body writhes, spine arching. Her curves are breathtaking in the half-orange light. I release her hands and gather her hair, pinning it against the nape of her neck and pushing her cheek against the table.

“I’m going to eat you out, sweetheart,” I say.

She jerks, trying to turn her head, but she doesn’t tell me no. Entranced, I run my palm down her spine, over the curves of her ass, down to the little wet valley between her legs, until I find what I’ve spent the last several months jerking myself off to—the soft heat of her cunt.

I love giving oral, more than anything. I’d do anything to lay back and let her fuck my face until she soaks it. It’s killing me that I haven’t tasted her yet.

That ends tonight.

My heart pounds. I flip her around, lifting her into my arms. Her legs curl, and I grip her thigh, falling back against the wall.

Our mouths meet, and she moans on my tongue. My hand slides between her legs and my fingers delve into her pussy, hard enough that she cries out against my mouth. I break away, breathless.

“Take it,” I urge, fucking hard with my hand.

Her eyes roll back. She has the sweetest expression when I’m ruining her, a mix of pleasure and pain. Her full mouth parts, flashing the pink of her tongue. Her throat bends, exposing her soft skin.

“Deacon,” she whimpers.

Bracing her on the table, I take her by the throat with my free hand and fuck her pussy with my fingers. Our eyes meet. All I see is clear innocence. Pale blue like the sky, big, thick lashes. God, she’s something else.

“Yeah?” I grit out, still fucking her on my hand. “You got something to say?”

Her throat bobs as she shakes her head.

“Good,” I say, releasing the last bit of my conscience. “Because I’m eating your cunt, and you’re gonna wrap those legs around my head and come on my face.”

Ruthlessly, I draw my fingers free and flip her onto her back on the table. She squirms, and I gather her wrists, holding her down. Our eyes lock. She bites her lip, brows creasing. I’m walking a fine line, I know that. I have to remember that if she can’t trust me, she can’t trust anyone.

But she hasn’t said no.

I bend in, kissing her mouth hard. Her breasts heave as I trail those kisses down her breasts, her stomach, to the soft, naked mound over her cunt. That scent hits me again. It feels like snorting something. My veins open, blood pouring to my groin. I’m not the same as I was when I fell asleep. She does things to me. She makes me better and so much worse.

I bury my face between her legs, drowning in her taste, in the sweet wetness in her cunt.

Distantly, she gives a little cry and pulls against my grip. I find her clit and run my tongue over it, sucking it into my mouth and working it with rhythmic pulses. Her body fights me, and it triggers something deep inside that makes me want more.

I’m so fucked up. I hoped she wouldn’t see this side, but God, I want to chase her, to drag her down and fuck her on the stone floor. I want her to beg me to stop while she comes around my cock.

I never meant to be aggressive with her, but I can’t help myself.

She clearly can’t help herself either, because she gives a defeated wail and shudders. My cock aches somewhere below. I shove my face against her cunt, pushing my tongue inside her wet opening so she can come on it. And it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt—softness pulsing strong on my mouth.

I’m in a heaven I don’t deserve.

The moment her orgasm ebbs, I pick her up and carry her panting body to the forge. By the window, her skin was cold. I lay her over the anvil, letting her torso hang upside down. All that hair falls to the stone ground. Balancing her thigh in my grip, I start to unzip my pants with the other hand.

“Deacon,” she gasps.

“It’s just my cock, sweetheart. You know how to take it,” I say.

My eyes fall on something else, the fence spike I was halfway finished with when she arrived. It’s sharpened on one end, the steel blunt on the other side. I haven’t pounded it down, so it’s still round. It looks a lot like the stake I put in Henderson that night.

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