8. Brynlee
The stars light up the dark summer sky and reflect off the even darker water, bathing us both in a silvery, ethereal glow. I trail my fingers along Deacon’s strong shoulders as he drags the thick head of his cock through my core. Goosebumps break out over my heated skin as the cool water laps at us.
It’s all too much, and yet not nearly enough.
“Deacon . . .” I whisper with bated breath, desperate . . . needy.
For this . . . For him.
The gentle crashing of the waterfalls behind us works in unison with the shadow of the dock to keep us in darkness, hidden in our own world.
Deacon’s hand wraps around the back of my head, his thumb caressing my jaw as he stares at me. “You are so fucking pretty, Brynn.”
His words are growled against my skin as he slides himself through my sex.
Watching my every breath. Pushing in the tiniest bit before pulling out again.
Teasing me until I tug his hair, ready to scream.
But before I can find words, callused fingers grip my jaw, holding me still. His thumb presses against my lower lip before he covers my mouth with his. Firm lips own me as I surrender to him. Each wicked stroke of his tongue takes me higher until I’m teetering on the edge of lucidity, unsure how much more I can take. My body is strung tight like a bow ready to snap until he finally pushes his cock inside me—filling me to the point of pain, overwhelming my senses until I can’t focus on anything but this moment and this man—and I gasp. Agony and ecstasy fight for control while I feel like I’m being ripped in half in the most sinfully decadent way I’ve ever imagined.
“Deacon, oh God,” I cry out against his lips.
“Fuck... Brynn. Your pretty cunt is taking my cock like such a good girl.” He worships me with his mouth, whispering filthy words that stoke the already-building inferno within me.
With each achingly slow stroke of his cock, my muscles contract around him.
Stretching to take him deeper. Clawing to get closer.
And when he finally fills me completely, my body explodes. Every nerve catches fire. Lighting up like the sky on the Fourth of July.
I’m utterly consumed by him.
“Deacon? . . .”
His tongue slips down the length of my throat, sucking on my thrumming pulse. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”
His head dips back down to take my aching nipple in his mouth, and I gasp, “So fucking good.”
“Fuck, Brynlee.” He pulls out slowly, then sets a punishing rhythm with every hard snap of his hips. His big body dominates mine, all hard planes pressing decadently against soft curves in the most delicious ways.
I tighten my legs around his hips as the water sloshes between us, and I take everything he gives me.
Deacon’s foot slips, and he wraps both arms around me, moving us away from the dock.
Fucking me harder and harder.
Fanning the flames higher and higher until I’m completely overwhelmed.
Destroying me.
“So close,” I whisper as I drop my head to his neck and suck his salty, sweet skin.
The connection between us is more intense than anything I’ve ever imagined.
“You gonna come on my cock, Brynn?” he growls. Actually growls. And I moan incoherently as if his words were what I was waiting for, and my orgasm is ripped from my body.
Deacon’s lips capture mine, swallowing my screams as my entire body vibrates, and my walls clamp down on his cock. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes as warmth washes over me, and he fills me completely, coming with my name on his lips like a sacred prayer.
Breaking me in ways I never knew possible and may never recover from.
He holds me against him until a chill skirts down my skin.
“Shit, red. We don’t even have towels.”
I lift my face to his, unable to comprehend the look in his eyes.
It’s guilt. But why?
“Deacon—” I start before he cuts me off.
“Damn it. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t you dare.” I place a gentle finger over his lips as he bends his knees and drops us both under the water. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
I ghost my lips over his. “A little water never hurt anyone.”
An incredibly sexy smile spreads over his handsome face. “Where the hell have you been all my life?”
He cups my face, and I lean my cheek into his hand. “Right here, waiting for you to notice me.”
Deacon laughs and presses his lips to my forehead. “Pretty sure you’ve never gone for lack of notice, Brynlee.”
I close my eyes and soak it all in.
The moon . . . The stars . . . The night . . . The man.
Sometime after the sun has already risen, I lay naked and splayed across Deacon’s chest, having traded in the lake for a king-sized bed with 1500 thread count sheets. Neither of us has slept a wink... again, and Deacon’s hand is making its hundredth pass up and down my spine when I rest my chin on his chest and tilt my face to his. “What are you going to do?”
“About what?” he murmurs in a rough, sleep-deprived voice, exhaustion catching up with both of us.
“Kennedy,” I answer softly and trace the tip of my finger over his pec. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what I can do, yet.” He looks over at the clock on the nightstand and groans. “I’m meeting with management at nine to sign my contract. I guess I’ll figure Isla out after that.”
“Oh yeah?” I drag out and press my lips to his chest. “I’ll be there with Gracie tomorrow.”
“Gracie?” he asks as he flips me over to my back and presses his lips to my collarbone.
I hold his face in my hands and enjoy the calm before the storm. “Grace Sinclair. She’s one of my best friends. We all lived together in college and for a while after college. Gracie is a ballerina in London, but she’s hurt, and she’s home, staying with me while I help her rehab.”
Deacon kisses his way down my chest and over my stomach, then stops and stares when my body revolts from the lack of food I had yesterday, growling so loudly, he’s probably scared an alien is about to break free.
“Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands, and Deacon hops up from the bed. “What are you doing?” I ask, mortified.
“Ordering breakfast. I plan to keep you busy for at least another hour, so you’re going to need some carbs. Waffles sound good?”
He looks at me as he lifts the phone, and I nod, not used to being taken care of.
I tend to be the caretaker.
“Yes, this is Deacon Kane in 210. I’d like to order Belgium waffles with whipped cream.” He looks at me as he stands there, naked and oh, so impressive. “We’re going to need extra whipped cream. And can you bring a plate of cherries and a bowl of oatmeal with a banana.” He covers the phone with his hand. “Anything else?”
“Coffee,” I tell him.
“Yes, and two cups of coffee and a carafe of orange juice. Twenty minutes. Got it. Thanks.” He hangs up, then leans down and throws me over his shoulder like he’s throwing around a ten-pound bag of potatoes instead of an actual person. Deacon smacks my bare ass as he walks us into the bathroom, and I’ve gotta say, I’ve never been manhandled before, but holy hell, it’s hot.
He sits me on the counter and turns the warm water on, adjusting the temperature until he’s satisfied, then scoops me back up. “Oh my God, Deacon. I can walk,” I giggle as he walks us both into the massive shower.
Have I mentioned how much I love this hotel?
Because right about now, as the two showerheads rain down over us and this man gently sets me on my feet, I’m fairly certain this steam shower may have just surpassed the luxury sheets in the what I’m grateful for department.
However, that all fades to black as Deacon drops to his knees and drapes one of my legs over his shoulder.
Ileave Deacon in the shower to wash his hair and grab one of the fluffy robes hanging from the bathroom door and don’t even bother to check out what kind of hot mess I must look like before I run to the door. “I’m coming,” I call out right before I open the door, expecting room service. Only instead of a friendly hotel employee greeting me, an incredibly beautiful woman with shiny, short dark hair stands across from me with a questioning look.
“Oh,” she laughs. “I didn’t know Deacon had company.” She walks right by me like I invited her in, and I’m left staring at her like I should know who she is.
I close the door and tie my robe a little tighter, my fight-or-flight instinct starting to kick in, leaving me unsure which instinct is currently winning.
“I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Isla. It’s wonderful to meet you. Deacon didn’t tell me he was seeing someone. This is great news.”
I stand there silent, having no clue what I’m supposed to say when another knock on the door comes, followed by Deacon’s voice. “I’ll be right out, red.”
“You might want to hurry,” I yell back as I open the door. Blessedly, this time, it is room service. “Thanks,” I tell him and let him wheel the little cart in, happy for any distraction from the strange smiling ex-wife, who’s standing on the other side of the room that’s growing smaller by the minute.
What the fuck is she smiling about?
I don’t do extrovert in the morning before I’ve had at least one strong cup of coffee.
Deacon walks out of the bathroom the same way he opened the door for me last night, though now I know from personal inspection exactly what he’s hiding behind that towel. He ignores the food and stalks toward me instead, wrapping a hand around my head before I press both palms against his chest, stopping him.
“You, okay?” he asks, confused, and I nod toward Isla, who looks like she’s about to start clapping any minute.
“Hi.” She waves at Deacon, and I swear this woman is way too happy for this early in the morning.
Happy, peaceful Deacon, who spent an entire night worshipping my body, disappears in one single heartbeat. His brows pull tight, and his body tenses. “Is Kennedy okay?”
“Of course. She’s fine. I would have called you if she wasn’t,” Isla assures him before glancing back to me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, but her focus stays solely on me. “I thought you were staying at the beach through Friday.”
“You know what? I should go.” I turn, but Deacon grabs the robe’s sash and tugs.
“Stay,” he says softly. And I consider it for a moment.
“Yes, stay. If you’re in Deacon’s life, then you’re in Kennedy’s life, and I should get to know you.” Isla tells me, before she finally does it.
She actually claps her hands together once, then clasps them in front of herself.
I look from him to her with an almost unbearable nervous energy and fight the urge to say peace out. Because I’m for sure, peacing the fuck out of this situation. One night, with absolutely no promises or any discussions of where we stand, because—hello, it was one night—doesn’t mean I need to be involved in a conversation between Deacon and the mother of his child slash ex-wife, who’s probably spent hundreds of hours worshipping the body I was just?—
Okay. Time to cut off that train of thought. STAT.
“This sounds like a conversation better had between the two of you.” I tug the sash away from him and watch as disappointment spreads over his chiseled face. I’ll see you later, I mouth silently before grabbing my clothes and changing in the bathroom.
This just became the strangest walk of shame I’ve ever done.
Deacon
My ex-wife sits primly on the couch, apparently much more well rested than I am, staring at me as I watch the hotel room door shut with a deafening click behind the woman who just blew my fucking mind.
“Holy shit, Deacon Kane. That woman’s got you bad. Deacon, the bachelor, is done. I can see it in your eyes.”
I open my mouth to stop her, but Isla steamrolls over me like she always does. “I can’t even tell you how happy that makes me. I mean, it changes things... sort of.” She hops up on her white sandals, beaming like I just handed her the world, and I’m not really following.
A night of non-stop mind-blowing sex and no sleep will definitely slow response time.
I may have left my higher-level reasoning in that lake.
I smirk to myself... Or maybe it’s on the shower floor.
“Deacon . . . Are you listening to me?”
I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. “We’re divorced, Isla. I don’t have to listen to you anymore. That’s Shaun’s job now.”
She rolls her eyes the exact same way Kennedy does, and it makes me smile until I remember yesterday’s call. “What are you doing here, Isla?”
“Shaun and I talked last night, and as much as the thought absolutely kills me, I think Kennedy should stay with you. We’ll be gone a minimum of one year, but it could possibly be two. I don’t think dragging our already-anxious daughter to a country where she doesn’t know the language or the customs is fair to her. But I owe this to my husband. He’s been working toward this position for years and already turned it down once before because he didn’t want to put me in this position. He told me again last night that we don’t have to do this, but he’s lying to himself. He has to do this. If they pass him over again, he’ll never get another chance. I’ll try to come home as much as I can, but I don’t know how often that will be.”
I lean back against the dresser, unsure what I’m supposed to say.
“Isla . . .”
“Don’t, Deacon. I cried so much last night, I shouldn’t have any tears left to cry. But they’re right there, sitting behind my eyes, waiting for me to crack. It’s why I forced Shaun to come home early. I needed to talk to you face-to-face. And I can’t even tell you how happy I am to know that you have someone in your life. Will she be able to help you when you’re on the road?”
She asks the question with so much hope that I take the coward’s way out and nod.
I hadn’t given that any thought because I took the job before Isla told me they were moving, and until now, I had no idea I’d become her primary parent.
I don’t bother telling her I’m not sure what Brynlee and I are because I know what I want us to be. “She works for the hockey team now.”
“Oh? In the office?” She stands and pours herself a cup of coffee, then adds a spoonful of whipped cream.
Fuck.I had plans for that whipped cream.
“No. She’s the team’s physical therapist. But she just gave her notice. Her father is a former MMA world champion. He runs a gym now, and she’s going to work for him.”
She crinkles her brow. “Was that... Are you in love with a Kingston?” She gasps, excitedly, and I groan in frustration.
“Boundaries, Isla.”
“Fine. But that’s her, right? Her mom runs the football team? The Kroydon Kronicles loves to write about her and her friends.”
“Isla—”
“Deacon . . .”
“She’s a St. James,” I tell her even though Brynlee is every bit Kingston, even if it’s not her last name.
She mimes zipping her lips.
“Do you need to figure out whether you can do this, Deacon? We’re talking about our baby. If you’re not sure whether you’re up to it?—”
“I don’t need time. I’m her father, and this is what’s best for our daughter. Thank you for trusting me, Isla.” Her lip quivers, and she puts down her coffee and walks into my arms. We hug like the friends we are until she starts laughing and steps away.
“Two things.”
I wait, not knowing where she’s going with this.
“One, I want to do a dinner this weekend with all of us and your new Kingston.”
“Her name is Brynlee...” I tell her and watch her smile at me. Sometimes I wonder how we ever thought getting married for the sake of her being pregnant was a good idea. We were always better as friends.
“Fine. I want to do dinner with Brynlee so I can see Kennedy and her together.”
“I’m going back up to Boston later today. Dinner has to wait until I come back. Do you know when you’re leaving for Japan?” I ask, not sure I’m ready for her answer.
“They want us there in a month, but I think Shaun pushed back for two months. I think they’re going to meet somewhere in the middle with five or six weeks.” She picks up her purse and points it at me. “Now put on some damn clothes. This whole McSteamy thing you’ve got going on is a bit much, Deacon.” She kisses my cheek and crosses the room. “Let me know when you figure out when you’ll be back, I want to do dinner, Deacon. I want to see our daughter meet your woman. And, let me know if you need help with Kennedy’s room.”
She walks over to the door and turns with her hand on the knob. “She’s going to have to stay with you for a bit before the official move. We’ll need to get her comfortable with it before it actually happens,” she tells me, but it almost feels like a mental checklist she’s going through for herself.
“Isla...” I call out until she finally stops and looks at me. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“You’re a good father, Deacon. And I’m a good mother. This is what’s best for Kennedy. But you better get really good at FaceTime and have a spare room for me. Because I plan on flying home as much as I can. I’ve never been apart from her for more than the month you get her each summer, and I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
I shake my head, and she laughs. “Tell Brynlee I’m sorry for interrupting whatever I interrupted this morning.”
“Yeah. I probably won’t be mentioning that.”
She shrugs and walks out, and I’m left standing in the middle of this hotel room, wondering how my world just tilted on its axis for the second time in twelve hours.