Chapter 27 #2
“I want to go to sleep smelling your shampoo, knowing I washed your hair, and wake up with you wrapped around me. I want to make you breakfast and eat you for lunch when time allows. I want you to pick me up at the employee entrance, not around the corner. I want to spend whatever time you and I have off doing all the shit I didn’t get to do, because I was focused on being the best at a sport, and for you to experience all the things you didn’t get to with Savannah, because you both deserve that.
I want to take pictures so you’ll have them forever, and so I can stare at them and remember how happy you were at that very moment.
I want to see not just your eyes light up, but you to smile when you see me, because you can admit you want all that too, and you want it with me. “
“You know these aren’t just words to get into your pretty little panties, and you will, you’ll know I could do all those things for a lifetime with you.
I want that as long as you are willing to give it to me, regardless of how my heart would feel ripped to shreds if you decided you no longer did.
And what I really want is to be Paul’s age and have you slipping a blue pill in my hand so we can still go at it like you and I both want to right now, even after my hips need to be replaced because I’ve done this for far too long. ”
“Shut up.” She moves faster than any man I’ve met on the ice, and her lips crash against mine.
I love when she does this, her tongue fighting mine as her hands grip my biceps as if to check if I’m strong enough to carry the things she doesn’t need me to but deserves to have someone who wants to. Not someone, me.
“Deacon,” she moans my name.
“Yeah, beautiful?” I ask as she pulls me toward her and lies back on the couch.
Her lips slide up the side of my face as she whispers in my ear, “I'm not ready for all of that, not now, and maybe never. It's too much too soon.”
I kiss, slowly down the side of her soft skin, “I can wait you out. I’m not going anywhere.” I slide my hand under her sweatshirt and decide to make an amendment. “I’m only asking one thing.”
She takes my hand and moves it lower to where she wants it. “Me too.”
That almost makes me smile, almost. “No one else makes you come, ever, when I’m doing so.”
“Same,” she whimpers as I cup her center and press my palm firmly against her. “Deacon.”
“Love when you moan my name,” I groan. “More than you want me to admit.”
My finger glides over her heat, a light, barely-there brush over her clit, and her hips buck.
She wants my fingers, wants my tongue, wants to be filled, cored out, consumed.
I salivate, jaw clenched, trying to hold back, just enough to make her think of all I just said, but the combination of need and mine crush my reserve.
I keep my mouth at her neck, alternately licking and biting in the soft crook where her shoulder meets her throat, while my hand snakes low, palming her through the thin cotton of her sweats.
I find the elastic and tug, but she’s already a step ahead—raises her hips, arches her back, and lets me peel them slow, dragging the waistband around her rounded ass, over the curve of her thigh, down to her knees.
She moans. “You’re going to freeze me out.”
“Nah,” I say, letting my breath heat the shell of her ear, “I’ll keep you warm.
” My hand finds the seam of her panties, a nothing scrap of silk that’s already soaked through.
I drag my knuckle along the damp heat, then wedge two fingers underneath, sliding into her with purpose.
She’s tight, wet, and already throbbing, her legs trembling.
The taste of her lingers on my tongue; I’m starving, but I force myself to slow down, to mark the way she closes around my hand, the way her thighs clamp my wrist, greedy and demanding.
When I pull my fingers away, she lets out a noise of pure frustration, reaching for my hand with both of hers. “Don’t tease,” she says, and she brings my fingers to her mouth, sucking herself from me, eyes locked—smoldering, wild, desperate.
Fuck me.
I drop to the floor, knees to wood as I pull her hips to the edge of the seat. She smells like clean laundry and sex, a potent mix that makes my hands tremble. I hook her thighs over my shoulders, spread her open, and kiss her clit with an open mouth, tongue wide and flat.
I don’t fuck around with tracing her edges, don’t bother with the delicate stage-play of gentle licks.
I drive my tongue deep, flatten it against her, gnaw just a little at the swollen seam, and then circle, circle, circle her clit until she’s half-sobbing, the sound a muffled whimper against her own bunched-up fist. Every time I think she’s about to come, I pull back, kiss her thighs, bite the inside of her knee, then dive in again, relentless.
She grabs my hair—hard. Fists it at the root, tugs me up, then pushes me down, like she’s steering this, and I let her have that control that she needs, while I taste her pussy filling my need.
Her body shudders, and her voice is high and urgent: “Yes. Yes, yes, don’t stop.” She’s not even trying to whisper, not trying to be quiet, and the raw honesty of it makes my cock weep.
Not yet, I think. I’m greedy, too. I want every possible second of this, want her shaking, wrung out, demolished, so that later, when she thinks about me and worries set in, she’ll have to face the fact that I am all about her.
I slow, let my tongue idle, and take her clit between my lips, alternating pressure and flicks. She tenses, her whole body arching, then collapses, trembling, as I back off.
“You’re being an ass,” she says, but she’s smiling, rubbing her foot along my hip, wordless permission to keep going.
I bury myself in her, savoring the way she melts, the taste and the heat and the sharp spike of her nails in my shoulder when I slide two fingers into her again, crooked just right. She’s so wet she’s dripping, and I lap it all up, greedy, gluttonous, and I know that will never change.
“I’m gonna—” she gasps, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I’m—don’t stop, please—”
I dig my fingers harder, tongue working in tight circles, and I can feel the exact moment she loses control: her thighs clamp my head, her hips jerk, and then she’s coming, mouth wide in a silent O, hands scrabbling for purchase on the back of my neck.
I ease her down slow, keep licking, savor each aftershock.
She goes limp, breathing hard, shaking slightly. I look up at her, chin wet, lips numb, and she grins, lazy and mean. “You’re really good at that.” She says with a satisfied smile.
I kiss her knee, then the inside of her thigh, not ready to climb up yet, wanting to stay in the orbit of her heat and scent and taste.
She sits up, grabs a handful of my hair again, and pulls my face to hers, kissing me messy, tongue greedy, not caring that she can taste herself on my mouth.
“Your turn,” she says, breathless, and pushes me back on the floor, climbing onto my lap with a confidence. She snakes her hand down, finds me hard under my sweats, and fucking smirks.
“You’ll win, Claudia,” I groan as she sinks down on me. “Every time.”
After we eat, we both end up in her bed.
Turns out, she likes to cuddle. She was still asleep when Savannah began fussing a little.
I knew she was hungry because I’ve been listening to audiobooks about children’s first years.
So, I carefully picked her up and held her while rubbing her back.
She never woke up fully; she burped and fell into a much more sound sleep.
I could have put her down, but there’s something about holding a baby, well, not every baby, but Savannah, while she sleeps against my chest. I could stay like this forever.
“You’ll never remember this,” I whisper, “but I will.”
Savannah stirs, her lips forming a tiny “O,” like she’s dreaming of something extraordinary. “This is our beginning,” I tell her. “You’re mommy’s, and you’re mine.”