Page 87 of Deacon

The expression I saw in his eyes the other night flickers. It didn’t disappear. It laid in wait, like a beast in the shadows. Deep inside, I wanted it back.

His hand comes up and cradles my face. “You’re a desperate whore when you want it,” he says.

The bottom falls out of my stomach, and at the same time, my body is flooded with arousal so strong, I want to whimper.

“What…did you call me?” I whisper.

He digs his fingers into my hair. “Whore. My whore.”

Quick as a flash, I whirl and make for the stairs. One moment, I was peaceful by the fire. The next, my head is spinning, and shame washes over me in a wave at my body’s response to that word. Deacon’s footfalls follow me as I move down the hall and disappear into his room.

I don’t know what the plan is. Maybe lock myself in the bathroom until I can get my breath?

He follows me, forehead creased, eyes unreadable.

“What’s that word to you?” His voice is hushed.

We’re on either side of the bed. For the first time, we’re at odds. I’m alone with him, and I can’t tell what he’s feeling. But instead of wanting to run, I want something else I don’t have a name for. It’s violent but hot and exciting.

It centers in the pit of my belly, right below where I feel him when I’m on top. He takes a step closer. I take a step back.

My heart thumps.

Is this part of a game?

If it is, the ache in me wants to play it. He cocks his head, studying me closely. I shift to the side, coming around the corner of the bed, pausing to study him.

“You like being my whore?” he asks quietly.

I wet my lips. “I don’t know,” I manage.

He takes a step closer. I snap, making a dash for the door. His arm comes out, and I slam into it, the wind knocking from my lungs. The ground falls away as he picks me up and I hit the bed on my stomach. There’s a sharp tearing sound. Cold air hits my skin as he strips me naked.

“Open your fucking legs,” he orders, “you pretty, filthy whore.”

Arousal is so much stronger than shame this time. I hesitate, trying to turn my head, but he grips my hair and holds it facing away. His zipper hisses. I hear the groan he always releases when he lets his cock out of his pants.

“Deacon,” I gasp.

He drags my head up, leaning over to look at my face. “You sayredif you want it to stop. That’s your safeword for now. Understood?”

The same lust that flooded me before our first time is back. This is a game and, deep down, I want to play it. Maybe I don’t understand very much about it, but he’s giving me a safety lever I can pull if I want. That’s all the permission I need.

“Yes,” I gasp.

His mouth drops to my temple, hot, insistent. His hard cock drags over the backs of my thighs.

“What is it about being called a whore?” he murmurs. “You like it? Or hate it?”

“It’s what he calls me,” I whisper, face burning.

He tenses. “Who?”

“Aiden.”

The word gasps out. My lashes are wet, but I don’t want to stop this game. There’s a raw, hungry ache deeper than I’ve ever known in me, between my thighs and in my chest. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to hide for safety.

I want to be known. Deeply. I want him to know how that makes me feel.

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