Page 89 of Deacon

That’s what I felt the first time he fucked me. Not the beauty of the northern lights—him.

His face comes into focus, the tattoos running down to his chest. I reach up with a shaking hand and run my fingertips down his throat. Over his collarbones. To his pectorals. His thrusts slow, going from short and shallow to deep and long.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs.

We can both hear it between our bodies. I nod, still breathing hard.

“Call me that again,” I beg.

He leans in, mouth just brushing mine. “What? A whore?”

I nod. He kisses me, open mouth, giving me the familiar taste of him. When he pulls back, he nips my neck. My spine arches, letting him go even deeper.

“Tell me you’re my whore,” he orders.

“I’m your whore,” I gasp.

“What do you call me?”

That gives me pause. His hips are going so slow now, just a drawling thump, a second of reprieve, then another thump that makes my stomach swoop. I swallow. His dark eyes are glowing coals, a warning in them.

“I’m your whore, daddy,” I whisper.

“Say it out loud, or I’ll put you on your knees and fuck it out of you,” he says.

He ruts his hips, and there’s a hint of cruelty in them.

“I’m your whore, daddy,” I gasp out.

“Good fucking girl.”

He pulls out and flips me on my stomach, lifting my lower body before entering me again. I gasp, rubbing my face into the bed. Pain explodes over my ass, and I hear the crack of his palm. Stars pop in my eyes. Then, I hear him spit, and it hits my lower back.

He grips my hair and starts fucking again. I’m spent, I have nothing left. He leveled on me, aimed, fired, and I’m flat on my back, completely done for tonight. At least, until I can get my head on straight in the morning.

I’m barely aware of when he comes, but I feel it hit my inner thigh.

And I’m faintly disappointed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEACON

I hold her, play with her hair, stroking her body for a long time. I tell her she’s beautiful, that she’s a good girl. She smiles up at me weakly, eyes hazy. I tore open a wound and let some of the poison drip out. Now, she needs aftercare.

I kiss her temple, breathing in vanilla.

“We never ate dinner,” I say.

She shakes her head, giving me a shaky smile. “I’m a bit hungry.”

“You shower, and I’ll find a couple trays and bring the food up,” I say, disentangling myself.

She nods, peeling herself off the bed. The last thing I see as I close the bedroom door is her naked body with my handprints on her ass disappearing into the bathroom. I can’t help but smile as I descend the stairs. I did that—that’s mine.

I bring up the food. We eat, and I think over what I want from her. It’s time to talk to her about what I’m into and what I want from a relationship with her. We need to have an open discussion.

She finishes her food. I set aside the trays, pushing myself back against the pillows.

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