Page 68 of Deacon

I nod, unable to speak. There’s a fever coming over me, wiping my mind clean. He rubs the wetness into my sex, dipping his middle finger in briefly. Then, he braces his boot on the concrete, and the tip of his cock notches against my opening.

He pushes, giving a frustrated grunt.

“Arch your back,” he murmurs. “Like that… Good girl. Relax. Let me in.”

I’m doing my best not to clamp down on him, but it’s difficult. He pushes, and I start panting as the first inch slides in. It hits right on that sensitive spot he touches with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing,” he says under his breath.

He says these things like they’re nothing, like they don’t have my pussy fluttering around him. All I can do is moan as he presses all the way inside, deep enough that I get that sweet ache again. He thrusts, and I cry out, loud enough that he lets my hair go and covers my mouth.

“You need to adjust?”

I nod, eyes rolling back to look at him. He’s hovering over me, body pressing hard and hot against mine. With his other hand, he pushes under the front of my skirt and into my panties. His fingers find my clit, and he pulls out an inch and fucks back in.

“Better?”

I nod, unable to speak through his grip. He groans in his chest, and I know he’s hungry. I feel it in his next thrust; it’s rough, almost bruising.

“Fuck,” he groans from between his teeth. “Goddamn, that’s good.”

I shut my eyes again, just letting my body feel pleasure in waves. His fingers circle my clit fast, wet from my pussy. His cock thrusts in deep and holds for a half beat. I can feel his piercings as he drags out, teasing me deep inside.

Everything falls away.

I’m not Freya, scared and unsure. I’m beautiful, desirable, wanted so badly that I bring this man to his knees, all two hundred and fifty plus tattooed pounds of him.

That’s powerful.

Heat bursts between my thighs. My eyes fly open, and I can’t keep from crying out into his hand. He makes a rough sound in his throat. His hips speed up, taking me harshly through my orgasm.

“Good girl,” he pants. “You come on my cock, sweetheart.”

Once again, there’s no shame, just breathless pleasure throbbing where our bodies meet. I should tell him to pull out. Now, before it’s too late.

I might not have been taught much about birth control, but I know we can’t do this anymore. He needs to start wearing a condom, or come on something that isn’t the inside of my pussy. Otherwise,I’m going to be in over my head in trouble. There’s no way Aiden will let me stay if I wind up pregnant. He’s been clear on that account.

I twist my head. He lets my mouth go.

“Don’t come in me,” I gasp.

He groans through his teeth and pulls out. His knuckles go white against the brick. I press my legs together and feel him between them, jerking and spilling his cum over my naked thighs. The wind picks up, cold. The faint soapy scent of his pleasure hits my nose.

God, there’s something so raw and easy about fucking him.

I can’t let it go. It’s the complete opposite of the feeling I get when I look up at the sky and want to be anywhere else. Like being whole, like being in love with being alive and everything my body feels because of it.

I’ve never loved being alive. It’s usually just bearable.

Being alive has always consisted of just getting through the day, for me and everyone around me. But not Deacon, no. He eats up life the way he does my cooking. He lives big and confident in a way I can only dream of.

Buried beneath him, I taste the raw pleasure of living, and it makes me want to cave the next time he begs me to stay.

“Jesus, I made a mess of you, sweetheart,” he says.

He zips up and turns me around, kneeling. From his coat pocket, he takes a creased bandana and wipes my thighs. Then, he leans in, and I tense. But all he does is kiss my clit and pull my panties and tights up and my skirt down.

Oh, I’m a goner.

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