44. Henri
Chapter 44
Henri
I take Deacon’s hand when I step over the mound of pillows. Excitement pulses through me, and I can feel how wet I am.
Yet I struggle to sink down next to him.
He isn’t going to hurt us. My wolf reassures me. Her gentle nudging to go to Deacon is genuinely helpful. He called us his mate.
Down on my knees in the little blanket and pillow pile on the ground, I put the knife flat on his sternum before lying next to him.
I know Deacon isn’t afraid of the knife. It’s a tool to make me feel better. A placebo effect. But fuck if it doesn’t make me feel like I’ve got control.
I push myself up, holding my weight with one hand while the other goes to the knife resting on his sternum.
His breathing is ragged, and tension radiates from him. The laid-back man I’m used to is damn near rigid. His wolf rises in his eyes, and it feels warm and welcoming... like we’re connecting for the first time.
Sure, at the rave, there was an undeniable spark that drew me to Deacon. But it’s only brightened and lit all the pathways leading to this moment.
I kiss him deeply, pushing my tongue into his mouth, and while Deacon kisses me back, he doesn’t move to touch me.
It’s amazing. Deacon doesn’t push or demand more. He barely even breathes when I move the knife from his chest, rising up to climb on top of him.
But then the panic sets in.
I don’t know what to do. My brain goes blank.
I want him. With every fiber of my being, I want him, but I don’t know how to move. I don’t know how to do this.
Deacon shifts beneath me. He brings a hand up to my face and brushes his fingers against my cheek. “You look so perfect like this.”
Because I’m awkward as fuck, I nod.
“Stop focusing on what you think you should be doing,” Deacon advises, brushing the soft pad of his thumb against my bottom lip. “Focus on what you’re feeling and how to make yourself feel good.”
I’ve never asked, but now I wonder if mind reading is part of his gift.
Or he’s just that dialed into us, my wolf smugly suggests.
He leans up and kisses me, barely moving his hand out of the way. Tender kisses fuel the fire inside me, and his encouragement to toss the match and let myself feel works.
I lean forward, deepening the kiss until he lies back.
With his head resting on a pillow, Deacon watches me, and his cock throbs when I push back. I raise my hips and slide myself lower. His cock presses against my warm center, and the ragged breath he takes is encouragement.
I’ve got Deacon completely at my mercy, but it’s not a dark or heavy feeling. My fingers wrap tighter around the handle of the knife, which is between us, keeping me upright rather than coming to rest chest to chest where I could kiss him more.
“Henri, if this is too much—”
A snarl comes from me, and I didn’t know I had it in me to make those noises.
“Fuck.” Deacon blows out a breath. “Raised by humans but damn, Henri. You and that wolf might be scarier than Thalia.”
He respects us. My wolf relishes in the way Deacon’s wolf is forward, looking at us.
I feel so seen.
Holding Deacon’s gaze, I rock backward until his cock enters me.
He draws a sharp inhale, holding himself almost perfectly still. The throbbing of his cock and clenching of his abdominals are completely involuntary, and I shudder at the feeling of fullness and the connection between us.
Closing my eyes, I embrace this wildness that’s overtaking me. Rather than thinking, I just let my body do.
I grind down and slowly move on and off Deacon’s cock. The movements take every bit of my fear away. Every time I grind down, my arousal heightens. Slack jawed, I roll my head back, feeling so close to the edge. Never have I felt this free.
“That’s it, Hen,” Deacon praises. “You’re close. Just let go.”
And he’s right.
My pussy locks around Deacon’s cock, and I almost double over from the force of the orgasm. It’s exhilarating. My movements falter, and Deacon gently keeps me rocking forward and back with his hands on my hips, maintaining the stimulation just like I had been doing until I’m nearly falling over.
Apparently, I do fall over because Deacon’s stroking my hair, our chests pressed together .
He whispers in my ear, “You did so good. I’m so proud of you.”
His praise cloaks me in an intimate warmth. And then a physical warmth covers me as Deacon curls us up with a blanket into a cozy burrito inside the nest-like fort he built.
“I left him,” I whisper. “If it matters. He didn’t break up with me. I left him.”
Deacon is quiet, but he rubs the tip of his nose against mine. I take it to mean ‘no, it doesn’t matter,’ and it feels like ‘as long as you’re safe, I’m happy,’ which makes so much sense.
“You were right. Cade was right.” I sigh and curl up closer to Deacon, and he tightens his arms around me. “I can’t believe I couldn’t see or face it. I just lived that way and accepted it. Deep down, I had suspicions he was cheating. But you really think he killed his last girlfriend?”
“I wasn’t lying to you, Henri. I spoke to her.” His words are whisper soft, and he tips his head to plant a kiss to my forehead. “I really wish it wasn’t true. She was probably an amazing woman. Strong like you. It’s unfortunate that vermin like Nathan have a way of weaseling themselves in where they don’t belong and gnawing away at all the good parts of life until you’re isolated with one shitty tether to the world.”
Deacon’s words resonate with that wounded part of my soul. He so easily defines the isolation I felt but couldn’t name, nor did I see it until I was drowning in it.
“I wouldn’t normally press. But the last time we talked, before I was a completely selfish asshole, you were dead set on staying with him.” Deacon pauses, glossing over the self-deprecation. “What changed? I’m not believing it was the outburst at Lunar New Year.”
My body freezes before I can convince it not to act suspiciously. I was too relaxed after a mind-blowing orgasm, otherwise I could have seen this coming. He doesn’t have to know everything. I don’t have to tell him now. We’ll talk about it later. It’ll be fine.
Embarrassment warms my face, and I dance around it carefully. “I was never human enough. He was so adamant that I go into heat so he could prove that being a wolf didn’t make me different or special.”
“It doesn’t.” Deacon shocks me. “What makes you different and special is how you approach the world. Experiencing heat with you is something he would have to prove himself worthy of, not that it’s right.”
“But it’s over now.” I kiss his nose, trying to change the subject. “He doesn’t control me anymore. I can get on with my life. If I can figure out how.”
I don’t recognize those words from the thoughts I’ve had. The hope in them is foreign, feeling as weird as an invasion from outer space.