44. Lyla
Chapter forty-four
Lyla
“Merry Christmas, Lyla.”
“Merry Christmas, Deacon,” I said, laughing.
It was midnight, and we had spent the last hour talking about places we wanted to go, favorite college memories, and all of the other nauseating nonsense couples talked about in a rom-com. We still hadn’t decided on a movie, so Deacon also spent the last hour aimlessly browsing Netflix. I needed a murder movie to reset the tone, but suggesting a Saw marathon on Christmas seemed a bit dark—even for me.
I dragged my hands down my face. “Just turn it off. They never have anything new anyways.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Deacon leaned over me and placed the remote in the side pocket of the bed frame. He hovered for a second, and I did my best to ignore how incredible he smelled after a day of entertaining the family.
I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it. Deacon was deep in thought, contemplating something as he looked up at the ceiling. I hated myself for thinking it, but he was so . . . pretty . He was one of the most gorgeous guys I had ever seen. It was true the morning I met him, and it was true now.
His light brown eyes always had a glow to them even when he was down about something. He had an amazing set of lips, and the more I stared at them, the more I wondered what else his mouth could do besides drop lines that made me want to drop my panties.
Deacon was smart and funny even when he didn’t mean to be. He was gentle and patient and took his time to explain things when I felt differently than he did. I wanted to believe Deacon when he said he’d always be there, but my track record supported me. People were predictable and disappointing, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up that Deacon would be any different. This plan would work, and he would get back together with Cassie. They would run off, get married, and buy a massive house in Minnesota with their fancy doctor salaries.
I’d use my trust fund to open my bookstore in Chicago with my mom. Charlie would probably end up staying in the loft above the store, and I’d support all three of us as we tried to navigate life in the city. It would be like a new Sex and the City series, only much more realistic.
Deacon and I would get the life we always wanted, and maybe we would text randomly about the time we fake-dated in college. Maybe I would receive an invitation to their wedding and have to find an excuse not to go. Maybe he’d come to visit Chicago for a weekend. No one ever bet on a bunch of maybes.
I sighed, forgetting I was in bed with the man I’d be regretfully declining in a few years because he didn’t visit me at Brooks Books.
“What’s up, Brooks?”
“What’s up with me?” I turned on my side to face him. “You’re the one having a stare-off with the ceiling.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I really do. Please share. ”
He exhaled through his nose, biting anxiously on his bottom lip. “I’m just horny, sweetheart, that’s all,” he admitted shamelessly. “There. I said it.”
“I hear that. How long has it been for you?”
We didn’t talk about sex often, but when we did, it was always an enjoyable topic. I loved hearing Deacon’s perspective and seeing what I was wrong and right about. I lost count of how many times I pictured what he would be like. What his hands felt like and if he preferred slow or fast strokes—
“September.” He winced, letting out a hollow chuckle. “ Early September.”
I felt his pain. “October.”
“Brady Blue Eyes?”
“Yep. Who knew a fake relationship could get in the way of sex?” I said sarcastically. As much as I loved having Deacon around, it did make it harder to take a guy home at the end of the night. Whenever I found a possible prospect, returning to Deacon’s place always sounded like a better idea.
“It’s just too much.”
“What is?”
“It’s too much to juggle.” He chuckled and turned to face me. “I couldn’t imagine talking to Cassie, dating you, and finding someone to hook up with. It’s too much.”
I rolled my eyes. “Add in school too. I barely had time for Mr. October.”
“So tell me.” His voice dropped, and I knew we were heading in a different direction. “Mr. October—were you satisfied or not?”
I wasn’t mad about the lane change. I preferred this lane, actually. “It was okay. Maybe that’s why it was just one time.”
Deacon looked like he was about to lecture me for the third time today. “I’m telling you, Lyla, anyone can— ”
“I know, I know,” I whined, running my fingers along his forearm. This man’s touch was becoming an addiction I didn’t want to quit. I wanted it even when I didn’t know I needed it. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
I held his gaze. This was a completely normal conversation between friends. It felt so normal that I couldn’t stop talking. “How did you make sure Cassie was satisfied? I’ve tried to picture it. Just tell me so I don’t have to guess anymore.”
If I had scissors to cut through the tension in the room, I’d toss them out the fucking window. Deacon looked at me with something I hadn’t seen before. Sure, there was a shock factor to what I just said, but there was something else.
“You’ve pictured it?” He flashed a cocky grin and shifted closer to me. He didn’t think I’d notice, but I did. I was very aware of how close he was. “Have you tried picturing me having sex, Lyla?”
My ability to string together consonants and vowels failed me again, so I nodded.
His grin was gone, and my stomach sank. “If you were anyone else, this would be weird. But okay.”
“Just your best friend , remember?” I emphasized through a laugh. “Now tell me.”
He licked the center of his top lip, and his voice turned soft again. “I learned quickly that Cassie loved soft touches. There was a spot on the inside of her thigh that worked like a switch. If I snuck a few strokes around that spot, I knew in seconds if she wanted to go further.”
My eyes narrowed. “The inside of the thigh? That’s it?”
I felt his hand on my leg and realized what he was doing. Deacon Scott was giving me a demonstration. I was already dangling by a thread. Where were those fucking scissors ?
Deacon’s hand was inches away from the heat pooling between my legs, growing stronger the longer his hand remained on my thigh. The touch was gentle; the sensation caused by a feather or a new blanket. He made mindless shapes and lines, and I didn’t notice he stopped until he spoke again.
“This spot right here,” he teased, his voice a bit raspy. “Is this okay?”
“What else?” I prompted, finding it hard to breathe. My heartbeat pounded against my eardrums. I had never wanted someone to touch me as badly as I wanted Deacon to.
“I’d kiss her. Slow at first, but then I’d get a little rougher—remind her what my mouth can do. But I’d make her wait. I wanted to make sure she was ready for me.”
His fingers slid further over my thigh, trailing sparks along my skin as he moved closer to my throbbing clit. Just when I thought he would go all the way, he removed his hand and all of my hope with it.
“But that went a long way,” he said, his tone returning to normal. “It’s all push and pull. Making her wait but knowing how to tease her.”
I let out a shaky breath and swallowed. When my mouth refused to close, I stared at Deacon’s.
“We don’t lie, Lyla.”
“Right.” We don’t lie, and I want you. I inhaled sharply, getting lost in my headspace. “Wait, what?”
He stared at me with such intensity that a soft moan vibrated through my chest. “I have a question for you, and remember, we don’t lie.”
I forced myself to speak. “Shoot.”
“When you’ve pictured me having sex, who is it with? ”
“Cassie,” I answered quickly. That wasn’t a lie. I tried to picture how that girl managed to land this man dozens of times.
He sensed my half-assed answer. “And?”
I covered my face with my hands. “Deacon—”
He gently pried my hands away, forcing me to look at him. He was waiting for me to say it, but I needed to hear it from him first. My pulse quickened, and there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in what he admitted next.
“I’ve pictured it, sweetheart. I know your rules, but—”
“Fine.” I giggled but had no idea why. I flipped through the reel in my head of all the things I wanted to do to Deacon, all of the things I craved for him to do to me. Every item on my checklist since he came to my apartment to pick up Andre.
“I’ve pictured it,” I said, only this time there was no humor. “When I imagine you having sex, it’s me you’re fucking. No one else.”
Deacon moved closer, his sexy smirk centimeters away from my mouth. “Damn. You’re so sweet, and then you say I’m fucking you.”
I stifled a grin to keep my nerves at bay. Why the fuck was I nervous to have him so close? “Gotta keep it interesting.”
“Yeah.” He returned his hand to my thigh and pulled my hips to his. He was hard under his shorts, and I cursed myself for wearing so many layers to bed. “Can I kiss you?
I dropped my hand between us and felt him through the thick fabric. I’ve wanted this man’s dick in my hand since Halloween. I pumped him slowly, and when a hoarse groan drifted from his chest, I stopped so he would look at me. “We don’ t . . . have to kiss.”
He cupped my chin, tracing my cheek with his thumb. “Oh, I’m gonna kiss you, Lyla, and I’ll do more if you let me. But if I’m crossing the line, just—”
I kissed him so words couldn’t get in the way. I wanted Deacon. I needed Deacon, and now that I knew we were both in the same lane, there was no turning back.