Page 60 of Deacon

It looks a lot like the worst thing I’ve ever done.

One handed, I take it up, wrapping the fingers soaked in her arousal around it. She’s helpless at this angle. The anvil is below her lower back, her upper body hangs helplessly. Her thighs are spread, inches from my groin.

“You want fucked?” I breathe.

“Yes,” she whimpers.

Arousal slips out, glittering in the forge light. Deftly, I flip the stake around to the blunt end and spit on it. I touch it to her clit, and she jerks, moaning.

“What…is that?” her voice cracks.

I want to see this thing that’s haunted me slip into the soft heat of her cunt. The worst and best things in the world, intertwined. Slowly, I drag it down to her opening and press it in. Her body responds, shuddering, but keeping still. There’s nowhere for her to go at this angle. I have all the power.

“Is that—”

“A fence stake? Yeah,” I murmur, fascinated by how she takes it.

Inch by inch. Soft, pink pussy on hard metal. She’s so wet, it slides right in. The cry that breaks from her lips sends blood pouring through my veins, pooling in my groin. Ruthlessly, I fuck her cunt with it, the wet sounds echoing in the blacksmith shop. She cries out. I push her to the limits.

Arousal drips over the ink on my knuckles. I crouch over her, pressing my mouth to her swollen clit. Her hips shake, jerking beneath me. She’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen, her curvy body bent over the anvil and her pussy taking the steel. A tremor goes through it, one I feel up my arm. And she comes again, this time squirting around the stake.

Heat shoots down my spine, erupting.

God-fucking-damnit. I meant to fuck her, but it’s too late. My cock jerks against my zipper. Pleasure throbs, and I withdraw the stake so I can lean my forehead against her thigh and let myself come in my pants. We both shudder, our breath harsh. Then, everything is still.

“Deacon,” she whimpers.

I drop the stake on the anvil block and pick her up, letting her tumble into my arms. We’re on the floor, she’s in my lap. Her lower lip is swollen with a hint of blood.

“What was that?” she whispers.

I run my lips over her forehead, pushing my face into her hair. “You.”

“What?”

My grip intensifies, digging into her soft curves. “You. You fuck me up, sweetheart.”

I pull back, brushing her hair from her face. Her pale eyes are enormous.

“You didn’t fuck me,” she whispers. “Why not?”

I can’t bite back a laugh as I press my forehead to hers. “Give me a few minutes and I can.”

She’s already flushed, but she goes red as the realization sinks in. She glances down then up again.

“Did you…come in your pants?”

“Yeah,” I say, pulling her closer. “You make me crazy, sweetheart. I’m trying not to scare you, but God, you’re fucking up my head.”

She hiccups, and I wonder if she’s going to cry. Instead, she curls up in a ball in my lap and presses her face into my shoulder. Reverently, I hold her, stroking over her tangled curls. Inside, I’m relieved.

I showed her a flash of my true colors, and she didn’t run.

“Take me back to bed,” she whispers.

I carry her all the way there. She lies still while I clean her body, while I kiss it and touch the delicate opening of her pussy to make sure I didn’t hurt her. Her eyelids are heavy. Gently, I pull her against my bare chest.

Skin on skin, better than I ever imagined it could be. I close my eyes and, for the first time, I think I see a way forward for us.

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