He lined himself up and pushed inside, slow, and the world went white.
It was overwhelming—not just the heat or the grip of her body, but the sound she made, the way her whole body flexed to take him in. She clenched and shuddered, every muscle tensing, but instead of resisting, she just kept giving, letting him take more of her. He thrust slow at first, then faster, and her cries got louder, more desperate, the tie straining with every surge. He held her hips and rammed in, hard, and she shattered around him, the orgasm ripping through her as her entire body shook.
Deacon nearly lost himself right then, his own need cresting so high it was almost pain, so he forced himself to slow, to keep her perched on the edge with shallow, teasing thrusts. He pulled out and flipped her again, untied her wrists, and pinned them above her head with his ownhands, lacing his fingers through hers. He kissed her, swallowing her moans, and then entered her again, watching her face as he filled her. The second time was even more intense—every nerve ending was a live wire, every movement sent shockwaves through both of them. He fucked her like he was trying to memorize her, to etch her shape so deep in his body he’d never forget.
He felt his own climax building and tried to fight it, but she locked her legs around his waist, dragging him in even deeper, at the same time she sank her teeth into his neck. That it was over. He came so hard his vision whited out, his whole body seized, his back arched and his hands gripping hers so tight he was afraid he’d break her fingers. It was the best fucking orgasm of his life, and when he finally came back to himself, she was soft and boneless beneath him, her hands tangled in his hair.
He didn’t move for a full minute, just let the sweat cool and the sound of her breath slow from panting to something quieter, more even. Then, carefully, he rolled off her, kissing her cheek, her hair, her shoulder, anything to keep touching her even once the deed was done. He massaged her wrists, checking for any sign he’d hurt her, but all he saw was satisfaction and the faintest, happiest smile.
He went into her bathroom, cleaned himself up, and returned with a damp washcloth, which he planned to use to gently wipe her thighs, her belly, and her breasts, as if she were the rarest thing and needed to be handled with reverence.
When he walked back into the room, he found her sitting up on the edge of the bed, wearing a white t-shirt, hair in a messy bun, staring at her phone with a look on her face that made his entire body run cold.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You have to go. Now.”
“What?”
“Blake texted me, and she’s Facetiming. You need to get out! Go!” She waved her arm as her phone started ringing, and she backed up against her pillows holding the phone in front of her on a Facetime call.
Deacon quickly grabbed his clothes off the chair and ducked back into the bathroom as she answered the call.
“Hey, Peanut.”
“Oh my god Mom I saw the video of that assho?—”
“Blake, where’s Tabitha?”
“In bed, Mom, she’s been in bed for an hour, it’s like nine o’clock. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, see. I’m home, I’m fine.”
Deacon couldn’t see what she was doing, but he assumed she was showing Blake her room.
“Did Deacon kill that guy? He looked like he was going to?—”
“No, no one was murdered. I don’t know what video you saw, but it wasn’t a big deal, sweetie I’m fine.”
“Who was that guy? Who was that lady you were with? She’s amazing! She was like, not today, Assho?—”
“I’m sure it looks worse than it was. It was nothing, really. The guy was just some rich guy. The woman is the CEO of St. Claire Global, her name is Mikayla. Yes, she is amazing.”
“She’ssopretty. She looks like Lauren London.”
“She does, yeah. I thought that, too.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Did I tell her she was pretty?”
“No, did you tell her she looks like Lauren London?”
“Oh, no I didn’t.”
“I bet people tell her all time. Mom, that guy was so creepy. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
