Chapter 19 #3
He kissed her thighs, alternately gentle and rough, leaving faint marks that would fade but for now made her moan his name, and then finally, finally, he slipped his tongue between her legs.
She bucked, almost sobbing with relief, and he spread her wider, hooking her knees over his shoulders so he could reach from every conceivable angle.
He licked her the way he’d imagined in every idle fantasy, in every sleepless night since the first night they’d spent together, tasting her, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves until she was shivering close to the edge once again, clutching at the tie, causing the headboard to shake against the wall.
But he didn’t let her go over that edge, not even when she started to beg.
He took her to it once, then twice, but then pulled back to tease her, to kiss her softly, and to breathe hot air over her sex so she had to writhe and plead and offer herself up even more completely.
He’d never felt so completely in control, or so completely out of his depth, because the way she responded to him wasn’t like any other woman.
Every sound, every tremor, felt so real and unguarded it was almost terrifying, and he realized that what he was doing wasn’t just fucking her, it was undoing her, unmaking her, and simultaneously making her his. But he still wanted more.
As she panted, her voice whimpering, pleading, he flipped her over, so she was laying on her front, her wrists still bound above her head.
He worked down her legs, kissing the backs of her knees, and up her calves, trailing his tongue up the strong sweep of her thigh, licking and biting as he climbed.
He moved up to her neck, her shoulders, then down her back till he got to her lower back. There, just above the tailbone, was a faint shimmer he recognized instantly. “I found it,” he said, pressing a kiss just above the faintest scent, like a secret only he knew.
“What?” she asked in labored pants.
“The perfume, it’s on the small of your back.”
“Oh, yeah.” He couldn’t see her face, but he heard her smile. “I forgot.”
“I didn’t.”
Knowing she’d followed his instruction. That she’d sprayed the perfume he got her on her lower back just for him to find made him feel a surge of possessiveness.
His hands gripped her ass, squeezing her firm, round cheeks.
A groan ripped from his chest as he spread her apart, exposing her and tilting her hips up so he could taste her from behind.
She arched up into him, desperate and shameless, and he devoured her. She pushed her hips back against his mouth, seeking her pleasure as he licked her and drove his tongue inside of her.
He could feel her body clenching around his tongue, but he didn’t want her to come like this.
So again, he took her to the brink and then backed away, licking the crevice between her ass cheeks, paying special attention to her puckered hole.
Her body instantly tensed when his tongue flicked over that sensitive area, and she gasped.
With one hand holding her hips in place, keeping her tilted up, exposed to him, he used the other to slide between her upper thighs.
He ran his fingers up and down her seam, massaging her sex, teasing her clit as his tongue licked her most forbidden place.
Her arousal coated his fingers with each pass of his touch as her sex pulsed against him.
She writhed beneath him, her entire body trembling as she buried her face into the pillow, begging for release.
He knew she was close, and his own body was taut and trembling with anticipation, his arousal undeniable.
Not able to deny either of them any longer, he stood and retrieved a condom, sheathing himself with trembling hands.
As he did, she looked back at him, tied and utterly at his mercy, and all he saw was trust and need and hunger.
He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself behind her, and ran his hands up the back of her thighs, her ass, her waist, up to the tie to remind her that she could pull free at point. “Okay?” he asked, his voice shredded.
She didn’t speak, just nodded, face pressed into the pillow. He kissed her neck, and she twisted beneath him, trying to get even closer, and he was done pretending he could control himself.
He lined himself up and pushed inside, slow, and the world went white.
It was overwhelming—not just the heat or the grip of her body, but the sound she made, the way her whole body flexed to take him in.
She clenched and shuddered, every muscle tensing, but instead of resisting, she just kept giving, letting him take more of her.
He thrust slow at first, then faster, and her cries got louder, more desperate, the tie straining with every surge.
He held her hips and rammed in, hard, and she shattered around him, the orgasm ripping through her as her entire body shook.
Deacon nearly lost himself right then, his own need cresting so high it was almost pain, so he forced himself to slow, to keep her perched on the edge with shallow, teasing thrusts.
He pulled out and flipped her again, untied her wrists, and pinned them above her head with his own hands, lacing his fingers through hers.
He kissed her, swallowing her moans, and then entered her again, watching her face as he filled her.
The second time was even more intense—every nerve ending was a live wire, every movement sent shockwaves through both of them.
He fucked her like he was trying to memorize her, to etch her shape so deep in his body he’d never forget.
He felt his own climax building and tried to fight it, but she locked her legs around his waist, dragging him in even deeper, at the same time she sank her teeth into his neck.
That it was over. He came so hard his vision whited out, his whole body seized, his back arched and his hands gripping hers so tight he was afraid he’d break her fingers.
It was the best fucking orgasm of his life, and when he finally came back to himself, she was soft and boneless beneath him, her hands tangled in his hair.
He didn’t move for a full minute, just let the sweat cool and the sound of her breath slow from panting to something quieter, more even.
Then, carefully, he rolled off her, kissing her cheek, her hair, her shoulder, anything to keep touching her even once the deed was done.
He massaged her wrists, checking for any sign he’d hurt her, but all he saw was satisfaction and the faintest, happiest smile.
He went into her bathroom, cleaned himself up, and returned with a damp washcloth, which he planned to use to gently wipe her thighs, her belly, and her breasts, as if she were the rarest thing and needed to be handled with reverence.
When he walked back into the room, he found her sitting up on the edge of the bed, wearing a white t-shirt, hair in a messy bun, staring at her phone with a look on her face that made his entire body run cold.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You have to go. Now.”
“What?”
“Blake texted me, and she’s Facetiming. You need to get out! Go!” She waved her arm as her phone started ringing, and she backed up against her pillows holding the phone in front of her on a Facetime call.
Deacon quickly grabbed his clothes off the chair and ducked back into the bathroom as she answered the call.
“Hey, Peanut.”
“Oh my god Mom I saw the video of that assho—”
“Blake, where’s Tabitha?”
“In bed, Mom, she’s been in bed for an hour, it’s like nine o’clock. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, see. I’m home, I’m fine.”
Deacon couldn’t see what she was doing, but he assumed she was showing Blake her room.
“Did Deacon kill that guy? He looked like he was going to—”
“No, no one was murdered. I don’t know what video you saw, but it wasn’t a big deal, sweetie I’m fine.”
“Who was that guy? Who was that lady you were with? She’s amazing! She was like, not today, Assho—”
“I’m sure it looks worse than it was. It was nothing, really. The guy was just some rich guy. The woman is the CEO of St. Claire Global, her name is Mikayla. Yes, she is amazing.”
“She’s so pretty. She looks like Lauren London.”
“She does, yeah. I thought that, too.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Did I tell her she was pretty?”
“No, did you tell her she looks like Lauren London?”
“Oh, no I didn’t.”
“I bet people tell her all time. Mom, that guy was so creepy. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Mom, when Deacon came up and pulled you back—”
“Did you do your homework?”
“Mom, how are you talking about homework right now?”
“Because it’s still a school night.”
“Mom a guy tried to—”
“Did Mr. St. Claire say what time he’d be home?”
“He said not past ten.”
“Okay, well then you should really get your—”
“Noah’s calling, I gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
When Deacon heard the call end, he walked back into the room and found Jenna staring down at her phone. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“The video. Videos. Why would people take videos?”
As she said that, his phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw he’d missed several texts from Mikayla.
The first said security had to ask Vargas to leave.
He messaged back asking if she was okay.
She said she was great, she wanted to make sure Jenna was okay.
He glanced up at her and had the same question.
He looked back down at his phone and scrolled through the videos he’d been tagged in.
There was video of Mikayla and Jenna standing beside the table, Vargas grabbing Mikayla’s arm to move her to the side and him reaching around her to try and grab Jenna, then Deacon moving both women out of the way and telling the man to sit down.
The next was from a different angle. It was Mikayla handing Jenna her purse, hugging her, and then Jenna walking out of the ballroom and Deacon following her.
The next was a different angle of Deacon walking across the ballroom towards the scene, pulling both women back and inserting himself between them and telling Vargas to sit down.
He saw he had over a hundred Instagram notifications.
“How many videos are there?” he muttered to himself.
“I don’t know?” Jenna responded. “Blake just keeps sending me more.” She looked up at him. “Do you see what I mean? This is why!”
“This is why what?” he asked.
She shook her head and pointed to the bedroom door. “You need to go home now and go out the way you came, the back door, please, and the back alley.”
She’d had him park down the street and wait five minutes before he came to her house. And she had him use the back alley and come in through her back door so her neighbors didn’t see.
“Jenna?” He took a step towards her. “This has nothing to do with us. Things happen, life happens, people always talk because they’re bored but that’s—”
She lifted her hand, stopping him, both literally and figuratively. “There is no us.”
He just stood there for a second, staring at her, then turned around and walked away.
The first time he laid eyes on Jenna, she was kneeing a man in the balls.
Honestly, he'd rather have her do that than suffer the impact of the words she’d just said.
That would have hurt less. Because he’d looked into her eyes just now and he knew she meant what she said.
She believed when she said, there is no us.