Page 84 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

While I’d gotten undressed, while Deacon had pulled me to the bed, while the headboard had beaten against the wall and our cries had rolled over the stillness, it was clear who’d been in control.

And it wasn’t me.

But control was tipping back in my favor.

He offered it willingly.

And I didn’t know what to do.

“Angel,” he murmured my name, the sweet utterance a deep contrast to the rough growls he’d nipped into my ear a few minutes ago.

“Yes?” I croaked.

“Be my home.”

I stiffened, my mind going blank.

People said things in the throes of passion. At least, that’s what I’d told myself when Deacon declared his love for me before we lost our minds in the guestroom.

But what would he gain from doing this here, now, when it was all over?

“Be my home, Angel.” He surrounded me more securely, his arms banding around my waist, one leg thrown over my hip. “Please.”

It was a request.

My choice.

This large, imposing man had given me the key, had folded himself to fit into the palm of my hand.

I opened my mouth to answer when a phone buzzed.

Rolling over, I blindly searched the top of the dresser for my cell phone and pulled it up, only to realize that I held Deacon’s phone instead.

“Deacon,” I shifted up, and his fingers slid over my hip, “I think this is for…” My words drifted off when I saw the name blaring on the screen.

Rhia.

A hand snatched the phone away.

Deacon ended the call and set the phone on the nightstand. His eyes were alert, watching me.

I went still, a thousand emotions vying for prominence. Anger. Confusion. Regret. They hit me like a wave crashing against a jagged rock.

“I’m an idiot,” I whispered harshly. Throwing the sheets off with a theatrical thrust, I searched for my clothes.

“Angel, calm down.” Deacon grabbed my hand.

I snatched it back. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The phone started ringing again.

Unable to stay there long enough to find the clothing I’d discarded, I wrapped my body with a sheet and stood. “You should answer.”

“I won’t.”

“Why? Because you don’t want Piece Number One to know about Piece Number Two?” Nostrils flaring, I laughed darkly. “Well, it’s a little too late for that.”

“It’s not what you think.”

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