18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Phoebe
Deacon had a couch. The rest of the furniture he’d purchased was on back order, but at least he had somewhere to sit besides a camp chair. I liked seeing him allow himself to have nice things, even if I’d had to push him to do it. I was coming to realize he didn’t believe he deserved to spend the money he’d worked hard to earn. Not on himself, anyway.
He stood over me as I sank into the soft cushions, his mouth curving into a grin.
“It was worth the shopping trip, seeing you comfortable in my place,” he stated.
“It was worth it because it’s a nice couch and looks good in here.” I patted the cushion beside me. “Sit with me. Try it out.”
He sank down, propping his feet on the matching ottoman. Pulling my leg up, I twisted to face him and patted his stomach.
“What do you think?”
He caught my hand and tugged me closer until I was almost splayed across his chest. His other hand came up to cup the back of my head.
“I like it.” He tipped his face closer to mine, our noses brushing. Then, with a tilt, our lips met. He kissed me softly, a whisper of contact. “Anywhere I can have you in my arms is a place I want to be.”
Free fall.
What was happening to my stomach had to be what skydivers felt in the moments between jumping and releasing their parachutes. Deacon had a tendency to say the sweetest things out of nowhere, and he did it so earnestly I didn’t doubt he meant them.
This was why I was falling hard and fast for this man.
“Deacon,” I murmured.
“Sugar,” he murmured back, dipping in again to taste my lips. “Just like sugar.”
“That’s probably from the mango sorbet I had at my parents’.”
I’d had dinner with them tonight. Deacon had been invited, but I hadn’t been surprised when he’d declined. Disappointed but not surprised. We were new, and he was still unsure—of himself, this town, us . Probably my family too. He’d find out eventually they’d accept him so long as he treated me right. But we weren’t there yet, so I didn’t push.
I’d come straight to his apartment afterward, though. Oh, I was hooked.
His tongue dragged along my bottom lip, and he hummed. “No, that sweetness is all you.”
“The things you say.” I sighed against his lips. “Are you sure you haven’t had lots of girlfriends? You’re good at this.”
“I haven’t. You’re my only girl.” He nudged my chin with his knuckle, drawing my eyes to his. “If I’m good at anything, it’s because of you. You make me feel like I’m free to say what I’m thinking. I’ve never had that with a woman.”
My insides went so soft they were barely solid. Being told I made him feel free after he’d been locked up was too big of an honor to put into words. I would have to remember that. And be careful with it. I never wanted him to second-guess his choice to be fully open with me, especially when that was a huge part of what I wanted in a partner.
“You can always tell me what’s on your mind. I want to hear it.”
“It’s a whole lotta you these days.” He took my jaw in his hand. “Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“Like something about you. Did you go to college?”
“No. College wasn’t my thing. I went to culinary school.” I shifted slightly so my arm was draped over his stomach and my shoulder was tucked under his arm. “I did a two-year program at a school in California then spent six months in France doing a pastry course.”
He blinked hard. “I didn’t know you’d left Wyoming.”
“I did. I always knew I’d be back, but I had to see more of the world for myself before I settled here.”
“You went all by yourself? To California and France?”
“Well…I went alone to California, but I had friends from school I moved to France with. They’d done their damnedest to talk me out of coming home. As much as I’d loved that experience, that hadn’t been an option. I love to travel, but my roots are here.” I moved my hand over his stomach, tracing the ridge of muscles beneath his T-shirt. They tensed, and I leaned my head back to see his face, mine mirroring the frown he wore. “What’s that about?”
“What?”
I touched the downturned corners of his mouth. “You look unhappy.”
“I’m not. Just thinking. I don’t have a passport.”
“Oh. Well…it’s not hard to get one. Is there somewhere you’d like to go if you had one?”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t get my meaning. I’m not allowed to have one. I’ve got a year of parole left, and after that, from what I hear, getting a passport and leaving the country as a felon isn’t always cut and dry. Don’t know if I’ll ever have one, and I’m not wasting time dreaming of places I might not ever be able to go.” His gaze leveled on mine. “It’s too soon to talk about this kind of future, but you should know what you’re getting into with me. I may never be able to go with you to all the places you wanna go.”
I swallowed down this information. It was too soon, but I wasn’t dating for the sake of dating. I wanted someone to share my life with. I never would have considered Deacon’s past could follow him for a long, long time. That record would stay with him and, if we lasted, with us.
“God, that sucks, but I get it.” I flattened my hand on his stomach. “Thanks for telling me, honey. I’ll think about it, but just saying, there are lots of places I haven’t seen and want to go to in the US.”
“I don’t ever want to hold you back.”
“I don’t want that either. Not for either of us. If we stick long term, we’ll figure out how things’ll work for us. We’re two smart people. I think we can handle it.”
He curled his arm around me, bringing me close, his face in my hair, mine in his neck. He was warm and so tender my heart ached. This man wasn’t built for the harsh life he’d been handed. If I started thinking what he might’ve been like if he’d grown up with a family like mine, I’d become unbearably sad, so I focused on his soapy scent and the goodness of being wrapped up in him.
“For the record, I earned an associate’s degree while I was on the inside,” he said as he sifted his fingers through my hair.
“Oh yeah? What’s your degree in?”
“Business accounting. Thought it’d help me to manage my books if I ever got my business off the ground again.”
“See? Like I said, smart.” I touched my lips to his thrumming pulse. “I love that you spent your time that way, thinking ahead. And I really have no doubt your business will pick up. Actually, I can see if the ranch needs—”
He tapped my lips, cutting me off. “No, Phoebe. Let’s not mix this with anything else, all right? I appreciate it. Love that you want to help me, but I don’t want this to turn into you trying to rehab me. Just be my girl. That’s all I need from you.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hadn’t thought that was what I’d been doing, but I had to stop and consider if I was. Of course I wanted more for Deacon. He was insanely talented and deserved recognition. But would I have made that same offer to another man, one who hadn’t been dealt the short end of the stick from birth, this early into our relationship? I couldn’t say with any certainty I would have.
I brought my head out of his neck, finding his eyes again. “When I graduated and moved back to Sugar Brush, my parents assumed I was going to work at the ranch’s restaurant as a pastry chef. Technically, I wouldn’t have been working for them since neither has anything to do with managing the restaurant, but it’s still theirs. They own it. I hadn’t been sure what I wanted to do, but I’d known working for my family wasn’t it.”
Deacon listened intently, a furrow between his brows as he nodded along.
“Back then, I hadn’t been able to put a name as to why I’d been so viscerally against it, but I think I finally can. They’re my parents. I don’t want them as bosses. It would change things. So, I worked at a couple different bakeries in Laramie until I figured out what I wanted to do. That happened to coincide with a storefront opening on Main Street, and the rest is history.”
He raised his hand to cup my cheek, his thumb pressing on my bottom lip. “So you understand me then?”
I nodded. “I can just be your girl, honey.”
We melted into the couch until we lay together, Deke on his back, me on my side, wedged between him and the back cushions. We’d put a podcast on, but I was only half listening, my attention more on his hand resting on my waist and the kisses he kept planting on my forehead.
Antsy, I moved my legs so one draped over his, my foot hooking beneath his calf. He lowered his chin to his chest, watching me shift around.
“Comfortable?”
“Getting there.”
“C’mere,” he demanded softly. “Give me your mouth.”
I scooted up his body, putting us face to face. Once he had me there, he didn’t hesitate to slide his lips over mine and coax them open. I parted, allowing him entry, and he clutched my head, kissing me long, wet, and deep. Tongue dancing with mine, I was lit from head to toe. Turned on and ignited. Cozy and languid. In no rush to take things further, I bunched his shirt in my fist, letting this kiss consume me.
Deacon didn’t move quickly, and I liked that. If all he wanted to do was make out on his new couch, I was game. It was different, but so was he. I couldn’t remember ever being this into a man. Excited to see him, talk to him, know him.
I drew my leg up higher and twisted, aligning my core with his thigh. I rocked, and it wasn’t intentional, just my heated body seeking his, but he felt it.
Oh, had he felt it.
Pulling away from my mouth, he looked down, then flicked his eyes back to mine.
“ Sugar ,” he drawled. “What’re you doing?”
“Feeling you.” I slid my palm from his stomach to his chest then curved my fingers around the side of his neck. “I love the way you kiss me.”
He shook his head. Close enough, his nose brushed mine. “Can’t get enough of your mouth.”
He rolled into me, letting me feel just how much I affected him. The thick ridge of his cock pressed into the soft give of my stomach as his fingers dug into my sides and hips like he was trying to gather me up. Then he roamed lower, slowly, tentatively, until he reached my ass.
“This all right?” he asked thickly.
“More than,” I assured him. If he was a little less careful with me, that would have been all right too.
Perfectly, delightfully, ecstatically all right.
I took my own journey of his body, tracing my fingers along the length of his back to his backside. I tucked my hand into his pocket, curving my palm around his tight, round ass, and pulled him even closer, though he was already flush against me.
Grunting, he kneaded my bottom, roving from side to center. Then he squeezed, his fingers delving in as far as the seam of my jeans would allow. Not far enough, if his frustrated groan was anything to go by.
“Deacon,” I moaned, latching onto his lips.
Hot and swollen at my core, my nipples beaded and tingling, I was breathless, swirling with him in this in-between place of pleasure we’d yet to explore.
I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth. He tasted so good I wasn’t able to resist rocking my hips into him.
Then I was on my back, and Deacon was over me, his face buried in my neck, hips snug between my thighs. He nipped at my throat, teeth, lips, tongue, making me quiver. My knees tightened at his flanks, bringing his cock in line with my clit. I felt him, even through two layers of denim, and my body arched on instinct.
His groan vibrated my throat. “You feel so good.” His lips trailed along my jaw to meet mine once more.
“Stay there,” I said into his mouth. “Right there.”
He rolled his hips into mine. Right where I needed him. “Here?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Do you like that?”
“Don’t ask me that,” he gritted out, dragging his cock along my clit. “Your voice, I can’t—”
Oh, he liked it.
I smashed my lips to his, riding the wave our bodies were on. Colliding, retreating, coming back together. Friction and desire heating our cores to the tipping point. His weight on me, his hands all over me, rubbing me where I needed. Tension stretched taut in my belly, yanking and curling, in and out, until it was almost unbearable.
I pressed my heels to the backs of his thighs, raising to meet his steady, impatient thrusts. My body bloomed, opening for him. Even through too many layers of fabric, I felt him like we were almost skin to skin.
I writhed, overheated from the fire building within me, and grappled with his shirt. I found my way beneath it, and the moment my hands met his rippling back, he released a desperate groan I felt all the way down to my bones.
My head tipped back, eyes startling open. He was there, over me, watching as I fell apart without warning. Pleasure barreled over me, lifting my hips into his, aching to take him inside. Warmth spread across my skin and through my veins, as something within me ripped to pieces.
Deacon cried out, gripping the cushion on either side of me with savage strength. He thrust wildly, slapping against me hard and fast. My already tender clit was a live wire, sparking with each pass of his covered erection.
“Phoebe,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck.”
He let go of the cushion to grip my jaw, his eyes locking onto mine. Then, it was me watching him find his pleasure and slip into it. A shudder started at his shoulders, traveling down until he was one shaking mass. He held my gaze as long as he could, but he couldn’t stop his head from jerking back as his body stilled, pressed so tight to mine, I felt him pulsing.
“Yes,” I urged, lifting my head to kiss wherever I could land my lips. “That’s right, honey. That’s exactly right.”
Another broken groan, and he collapsed on me, rolling us to our sides. He held me tight, huffing into my hair. I tucked my face in his throat, clinging to him just as fiercely.
“What the hell was that?” he uttered hoarsely. “I’m—fuck. I hadn’t expected that.”
I giggled, happy he sounded as discombobulated and shocked as I was feeling. “I don’t know, but it was so good.”
He pulled back, and I tilted my chin to look at him, unsurprised to find a worried frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. I leaned in, kissing each side of his lips then the center.
“You…came?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I smiled at him. “Really hard.”
He closed his eyes, exhaling heavily through his nose. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Most beautiful too.”
“Same, Deacon. I loved watching you come.”
His eyes flashed open, intent on my mouth then my eyes. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I couldn’t stop it. You’re just...god, I don’t have words.”
“I think we’re on the same page.”
He hesitated, then dropped his forehead to mine. “Blows my mind.”
“Mine too,” I whispered. “I’m really glad you bought this couch.”
A long beat, then he chuckled, low and warm. “I promise you, nobody’s more glad than me, sugar.”
I wasn’t sure how that could possibly be true, but I wasn’t going to argue with him.