8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
FREYA
I know Deacon is aware my head is still stirring with thoughts all through dinner. He eats with his hand on my thigh under the table, like he’s trying to settle me. Then, he helps get the kitchen cleaned up and does chores with the boys. I go upstairs to shower and sink down at my vanity to braid my hair.
My eyes fall on the little things laid out on the vanity. My face cream, my hair ties, my silver comb Deacon bought me in Billings years ago. Someday, maybe Slate’s great granddaughter will hold that comb and wonder who I was, what I was like. She’ll know her past, her present, her future in a way I never did. Maybe my picture will be in their family album, the one of Deacon and I on our wedding day, standing in front of the fireplace.
Maybe that picture we have of me standing in front of the café will be there too.
Something clicks into place deep inside.
No matter how scary change can be, I want to be brave enough to face it head on and say my life was well lived. On my terms.
Freya Hatfield Ryder. That’s a name I hope my great-great granddaughters will be proud of in a distant future I won’t see, a future I laid the foundation for.
I clear my throat. Why am I feeling sad? This is one of the happiest times of my life.
The front door opens and shuts. Deacon’s steps move up the stairs, and he’s here, filling the room with his virile presence. I don’t turn around, I just listen to him take his boots off. He sinks down to a crouch beside me, reaching for my hand.
“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks.
I keep my eyes ahead. “I’m going to do it. You’re right—it’s time for a change. The boys are independent already.”
His fingers, rough from work, tighten in mine. “Good.”
“You’re sure you can manage with me being gone at work most days?”
“We’ll be just fine,” he assures me. “All the little details and shit, we’ll figure those out.”
I smile, and for a second, I look like a portrait, framed by the mirror. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. Then, his mouth moves up a little higher, and he nips me gently. I glance over, blushing. The immense relief of having made a decision has me feeling like air.
“A little horny?” I tease.
He looks up at me, midnight gaze glittering. “Maybe I like the thought of fucking the boss of one of Knifely’s biggest businesses.”
I laugh, shaking my head. His mouth moves up my arm, then he rises, and he’s behind me. All thoughts of anything but us, here in this room, melt away as he kisses my shoulder.
“You want to be a good girl for me tonight?” he murmurs, breath hot on my skin.
“Yes, daddy.” The words are a little breath, barely audible.
We’ve said those words thousands of times to each other before, and they never lose their meaning. My bare toes curl against the floor. My lids flicker as his mouth brushes the nape of my neck. He’s playing with my curls, rough fingers touching them absently. Heat stirs, like he flicked a lighter deep inside.
He strokes down the top of my spine, down to the strap of my slip under my dressing gown. I can’t help the way my spine unfurls as he flicks the silk aside. My head lolls to the side, exposing the bend of my neck. His lips brush it, his fingers sliding the shoulder of my dress down.
My breath hitches. He shifts the chair away from the mirror and circles to kneel in front of me.
Our eyes meet. God, I love those soft, dark eyes.
My heart thumps in my mouth. The rough palm of his hand cradles my calf as he lifts it and presses a kiss to the inside of my ankle. Oh my God, I’m about to melt. My toes curl, my fingers grip the edges of the chair. He looks up at me, kissing the curve of my foot where I’m most sensitive.
“Deacon,” I gasp.
“You don’t need to say anything, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just take your panties down and put those legs on my shoulders.”
My hands obediently go up my skirt and work my panties down around my ankles. He’s got me so well trained, it never occurs to me to disobey. He watches through heavy lidded eyes as I hitch up my skirt to reveal the thin chains of my chastity belt on my hips.
He grips my thighs and tugs me forward, making me prop myself up in the chair. My knees rest on his shoulders. His head dips between my thighs, and my eyes roll back as his hot tongue slides over my pussy, licking over the seam, dipping in to touch my clit.
“You’ve got such a pretty cunt, sweetheart,” he says. “I love how you tighten up when I lick it.”
I stroke the shadow of his hair. “Don’t be too loud,” I breathe.
He pauses to nip the inside of my thigh. Then, he goes right back to licking my clit, back and forth over the highest point. He’s still in his dusty gray t-shirt, collar eaten with sweat. I trace down the side of his jaw, over his tattoos. I love how firm and rough he is, how the muscles move under his warm skin.
He delves his tongue in deeper, breeching my pussy. My spine rises, and I shift so I can lean back against my vanity and spread my thighs wider. He says something I can’t hear into my pussy, but it sounds dirty as he pushes his tongue halfway inside me.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, spine arching.
His hand comes up, wrapping around my throat and pinning me against the vanity. A muscle flexes in his forearm under the ink. It’s that little detail that sends me over the edge. My stomach tightens. My legs lock around his head. My pussy clamps down on his tongue as I come hard, hot pleasure moving through my hips in a whirlwind.
It goes and goes, spilling out for him.
He drags his tongue from me when my legs finally ease up. His eyes are burning coal, heat simmering beneath the blackness. He picks me up, shredding the rest of my clothes onto the floor, and drops me onto the bed. The air whooshes from my lungs. He flips me onto my belly and pushes a pillow beneath my hips.
I’m loose, delirious. I don’t move until I hear the bedside drawer open, and something cold and wet hits my skin.
“Deacon, I didn’t—”
“Hush. I don’t care,” he says, voice thick. “I need you like this. Say yes.”
My lips tremble. “Yes, daddy.”
His zipper hisses, and he lets out a groan. His fingertips brush over my asshole, working lube into it. In the fractured mirror inlaid in my headboard, I see a dozen different angles of him bent over me, knee braced on the bed. I called him a gentle, brutal beast once, and I hold to that. Big, gentle, and so, so hungry when it’s just us.
“Take it for me,” he whispers.
I feel the press of the head of his cock and wince at the slight burn. My hips are relaxed. We’ve done this so many times before that I know I can fit him, though there’s still a little bit of pain when his four piercings slip inside me.
We both take a beat to let me adjust. His fingertips trace down my spine. Then he pushes, just a little. The pleasure, so different than when I take him in my pussy, blossoms. It’s a sensation of fullness but more intense, almost more satisfying because my pussy is aching and dripping onto the sheets as he works himself in.
“More, please,” I gasp, my cheek against the bed.
He groans as he obliges, pressing in until his groin is against my ass. His fingers skim over the chastity belt briefly before sliding up my waist, ending in my hair. Grip tight, he pushes me deeper into the bed.
“Fuck,” he grits out, giving me the first slow thrust.
My eyes shut. Even though I just came, my clit is pressing against the pillow. It’s a slight pressure, but it’s building me back up as he pushes all the way in and grinds lightly. His hot breath spills over my neck. With my hair in his fist, he draws my head to the side, exposing my neck. His teeth graze my shoulder, nipping me.
I yelp. I can’t help it.
His hand leaves my hair and clamps over my mouth. His other arm loops around my body, lifting me so he’s sitting on the bed and I’m in his lap, my back against his chest. His cock is still inside me, and he’s still fucking my ass with short strokes. His hand stays over my mouth, using it to keep me quiet and steady.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes into my ear. “You’re taking it so well, every inch for me.”
Pleasure throbs in my clit. I moan, and he starts fucking in earnest. My body is adjusted, and he’s sliding in and out with ease. We’re both panting, biting our tongues to keep quiet. My second orgasm of the night blossoms, flooding through my hips and making me clamp down on him.
He groans, body shuddering. “Take my cum in that perfect little ass, sweetheart. Take every drop.”
He punctuates his thrusts with each word, pushing his cum deep inside. We both go limp, although he props himself on his elbow so he doesn’t crush me.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Fuck, I love your orgasms. They’re so sweet.”
He pulls his cock from me and slaps my ass lightly. I roll to my back, laying in the warm euphoria of being with him. He catches his breath before disappearing into the bathroom, and I’m left thinking about how lucky I am that he showed up that day in the rainstorm. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now.
Our love isn’t conventional, but it’s so real.
I hear the shower run, and then he appears to carry me to it. We wash each other in silence, enjoying the post-sex glow. I trace every familiar line of his body, and he does the same to mine. He watches me, eyes heavy. We’re both exhausted from the day.
“Are you happy, sweetheart?” he asks.
I glance up, smiling. “With you? Of course.”
He shakes his head. “With your life changing.”
I think about it for a second. Then, the smile I give him feels confident.
“Yes,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him and resting my chin on his chest. “I’m so happy.”
He strokes my wet hair, cradling my head in his palm. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way.”