64. Henri
Chapter 64
Henri
“Good morning.”
The fear that had been filtering in through my sleep is banished with his voice and the feeling of his hand coming to rest on my hip. The touch melts the uncertainty of where I was sleeping and waking alone.
“We’re here. I am pretty sure Deanie and Emerson are here too. We’ll have to be social for a little bit, but if he’s good at one thing, it’s knowing when it’s time to leave.”
“Good afternoon.” I yawn and stretch out. “It’ll be nice to meet him.”
Deacon helps me out of my blanket and then down to the ground, his hand cool against my warm skin. I just want to wrap myself around him to cool off.
“I’m going to apologize in advance for the ‘hilariousness’”—Deacon’s use of air quotes piques my curiosity—“that Emerson thinks he is. He’s eccentric and will literally give you the shirt off his back, but sometimes he’s a little loud and too friendly. ”
“Quit worrying.” I can’t resist and wrap myself around him in a tight hug.
After a second, he fully embraces me, holding me against him and drawing me close, then we both melt, relaxing into the affection. After several long, slow breaths, Deacon lets me go and leads the way along a crushed earth footpath up to the quirky little rental property.
A man with chestnut hair and tanned skin, wearing blue jeans and a dress shirt, stands on the deck enjoying the sun while he looks at his phone. His eyes pull up to us, and he tucks the device into his back pocket.
He claps his hands together and then shoots finger guns at Deacon. “Deacon! My man!”
In true Deacon form, he plays along with the antics, slamming one hand against his heart. “Ems, you’ve been up to no good?”
“Never. I thought I told you to drive it like you stole it. You know, all slow and inconspicuous like. You got here early.” Emerson taps his watch in emphasis.
The screen door opens behind him, and a beautiful woman comes out of the house, green dress flowing around her ankles and her hair catching a coppery gold tone in the sun. Her hips sway back and forth in a very lanky and catlike walk. A walk that is heavily influenced by the fact that she is quite obviously pregnant.
“Well, as I live and breathe. It is Deacon, and he does, in fact, have a woman with him.” Her voice is sweet and thick like honey, a different Southern drawl pulling at each syllable.
“Deanie, it is good to see you.” Deacon offers his hand out to her, but she pushes it aside to pull him in for a hug.
My wolf doesn’t like it. She eyes them suspiciously, and a protective need comes over me, creeping up my spine.
“I was just telling him how you don’t come around anywhere near enough now that you’re all over television and the news. We used to see you at least once every other month. And now... I’m starting to think you are baby-phobic.” She runs her hand across the top of her belly.
“Nah. It’s that someone”—he gestures to me from head to toe—“seems to believe I’m charismatic and kind and that humans like me.”
“They do.” I defend with a huff. Obviously. Because I can do my job.
“Everyone loves Deacon.” Emerson comes to my defense. “The trick is getting Deacon to love them.”
“He says he loves me all the time,” I muse, looking at the cute house.
Only heartbeats after it comes out do I realize what I just said.
Deacon saves me a half a breath later. “Well, anyway, we’re thick in big cat country and shouldn’t have any issues, right?”
“I put out a group text to the range. And for any strays... Well, Deanie and I did a little walkabout, so you should be well covered.” Emerson nods, looking at me.
Deacon wraps an arm around me protectively, almost putting himself between us.
Deanie leans over and smacks Emerson on the stomach with the back of her hand. “Come on, you owe me ice cream.”
“Oh. That’s who you are. You’re Henri Greene. The adorable woman who told Cade to quit being such a dick to me.” Emerson lights up with a laugh. “Don’t worry about me and old TL. He and I ain’t never gonna see eye to eye. Gotta fight like cats and dogs, so to speak. But as long as his pack and my range stay friendly, it’ll all be peachy keen.”
Deanie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Come on, Emerson. Deacon, I love you, babe.”
A whine escapes my lips .
My eyes widen, and I slap my hand over my mouth, murmuring behind it. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Taking a healthy step back, Deanie holds one hand up and keeps a large distance between us. “Text more. Oh, and to ease your mind, all that drama we had with the grizzlies a couple months back is over. Seems their funding ran out. Without all that big, city-slicker money, they had to pack up and go somewhere else.”
“Strange how that works.” Deacon gives her his ‘guilty’ and ‘hiding something’ shrug that I’ve seen him give Cade.
Emerson pulls him into a quick hug before wrapping an arm around Deanie, and the pair steps around us, farthest away from me and toward their SUV.
Emerson calls back from behind us. “Door code is on the counter. Text me if you need anything or when you leave, whichever happens first. Place isn’t booked for another nineteen days, so you’ve got time.”
“Come on, Hen, let’s get you inside.” Deacon coaxes me toward the door.
“Henri.” Deacon runs his hand back through my hair.
I’m sitting on a soft dining room chair, and I don’t remember getting here. A minute ago, we were coming in from outside.
“What are you feeling, Hen?”
“Hot,” I whine, pulling at the collar of my shirt, trying to get it to be looser.
My wolf pants.
Deacon kneels before me and grabs the hem of my shirt. He pulls it over the top of my head, exposing me to the ambient temperature of the room .
“Too hot,” I complain, fanning myself. I pull my hair up, holding it off the base of my neck.
Without wasting a second, Deacon stands and walks to the kitchen. I didn’t notice how long his legs were until I see the amount of ground he covers in just a few steps. He’s back in no time, holding a flexible ice pack.
I reach for it, wanting to press it against my body. “Can you live in Antarctica?”
“Roughly a thousand researchers live in Antarctica year-round,” Deacon answers as he wraps the ice pack in my T-shirt. “In the summer, when it’s milder, that number is about four thousand.” Handing it to me, he warns, “Careful with it against your skin. We don’t want to shock your system.”
“Okay.” I’ll do anything he asks if I can just cool my body off.
I press it against my abdomen, and I shudder. It’s blissful. My brain feels like it finally stops boiling.
I draw a breath, looking around the house again because the wave of heat that came over me blurred all my memories. “It’s a cute cottage.”
Deacon nods, and I know I must have said that once already. “It is. Deanie has amazing taste, and Emerson is a great carpenter. They own a ton of properties all over the West. But the Black Hills are their home base.”
“That’s cool.” I shiver and my teeth chatter.
Tenderly, Deacon tries to pry the ice pack from my fingers.
I snarl, “Mine.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “The cabin is fully stocked for us, so I don’t have to leave you unless there are specific things that’ll make this easier for you.”
“No leaving,” I say before I can think. “Probably. Most likely. I don’t know. I’ve only done this once. And I’ve already started repeating myself. You’re going to get sick of it. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” Deacon crouches down on the balls of his feet, looking at me. “If you could see yourself through my eyes and hear yourself through my ears, then you’d stop apologizing for being who you are.”
My face flushes, and it’s not because of another hot flash. I hope he can’t see it. Maybe I’m too pink still from the previous hot flash.
He rests his hand on my thigh. “You like hearing how special you are to me?”
I bite my lips together and look away from him, trying to control how obvious it is that I’m falling apart listening to him. It’s not even dirty talk. It’s not like he’s telling me how he’s going to pull me out of my pants and bend me over the table.
Fuck. That sounds good.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never met anyone who’s worth being sober for. Someone I want to be authentic with. You judge me a little bit, but the way you do it isn’t malicious. You judge me because you want to find a way to fix what’s bothering me. The way you stalk me is so pure. You never try to fix me, just fix my situation, and I think that’s probably my favorite part about you.”
If I didn’t hear the tone of his voice, I’d worry these are backhanded compliments, but Deacon means every word.
He slides his hand up my thigh, and I gasp. I draw my eyes back to him, and instinct has me checking his pupils. They’re blown wide, the darkness nearly overpowering the pupil. So hot. I don’t dare move for fear he’ll remove his hand, but the way my pussy is quickly becoming soaking wet is making wearing pants unbearable.
“The smell of how wet you are is escaping,” he tells me while rubbing his thumb up and down on the inner part of my thigh. “Do you want me to help you?”
Yes! My wolf screams. Yes, we do! Say yes! she demands.
I’m starting to feel the intense need. It’s like the first time I went into heat but worse. It’s so much worse.
My wolf is starting to drive.
Lust mixes with my fear, and the words don’t come out, but my head bobbles with a nod.
Deacon drops to his knees, and I’m positive I’ve gone completely insane because skirting right past the fear are words I don’t realize I’m thinking. “What does it say about me that I like seeing you on your knees?”
Once the words are out, I’m a little mortified. I’m not used to speaking so freely with someone. Everything for so long has been so censored. But that... damn.
“Fuck, Hen.” Deacon adjusts himself in his pants. “Do you know you’re pushing all the right buttons being so honest and open with me?”
I shake my head. “Word vomit. It’s a symptom of stress. I can’t help it, and it’s just been so much with Ansel and now this. And it’s not important because you’re telling me it’s hot. I probably shouldn’t try to tell you otherwise.” The word vomit continues, but it doesn’t discourage Deacon.
No, it makes him smile wider at me.
“The fact that you like me on my knees says you take pride in knowing I’ll worship you. That you want someone who’s actively looking out for your pleasure. I’ll humble myself to your every need, whim, and desire because you are my queen, and while I don’t answer to The Leviathan, if you asked me to, I’d do anything.” He slides his hands up my legs until his fingers are curled into my pants. “Lean back.”
I draw a ragged breath, but I follow his instructions, pushing back my shoulders until they come to rest on the chair back. Deacon pulls me forward by my waistband.
“Mmm.” I hesitate, holding my breath.
With my shoulders pressing backward and my hips being pulled forward, the change in my center of gravity is uncomfortable. Plus, there’s practically no support really on the edge of the seat.
Deacon pauses, watching me and studying. His head falls slightly to the side, and his wolf presses forward for a closer look. “You’re in charge. Say stop and I will. No need for a fancy safe word or anything. Trust me?”
His patience must know no end because he waits stock-still for my answer.
I nod. “Yes.”
He pulls my pants and underwear down, and I carefully lift my hips to help him slide them off.
Deacon runs his tongue down my leg following my pants. The warm, wet lap has me moaning. But the second my clothes slide past my feet, Deacon ascends back up my legs and tips the chair backward, bringing my legs over his shoulders. I’m steadying the chair on its two rear legs as Deacon steadies me.
I must squeak because Deacon laughs. “Trust me, Hen.”
“Do this often?” I growl as my anticipation of what he’s going to do to meshifts to fear ... to what happens if he lets me go.
“Mmmm, not with a partner,” he confesses.
He wraps his hands around my lower back, forcing me to arch farther. Deacon slides my ass closer to the edge of the chair, nose pushing apart my legs to get to my apex.
“For a while I was playing around with autoerotic asphyxiation.”
His confession sparks fear for his safety, but it’s followed by a warm exhale on my core .
Fear has left the building.
Deacon rolls the soft, warm underside of his tongue against my clit on a downward stroke, taking my breath away. He pulls one hand away from my ass, over the top of my thigh, and teases along my entrance with the pad of his fingers. He tests shallow plunges in and out of my pussy.
I know he knows I can physically take more, but my hesitation must be making him exercise some restraint.
The anticipation of what is coming grows. But my moans grow along with it.
My head falls, resting on the back of the chair, and I’m melting into his care. I trust that he won’t let the chair—and me—topple over.
I’m trying to push my pussy into his face when his mouth breaks free from sucking on my clit.
“The blinds to the sliding door are wide open, Henri,” he murmurs, his breath against my low stomach rather than my clit.
I know he’s looking up at me, so I bring my eyes back to him.
I don’t even bother hiding how hot that idea is. Not that I could because Deacon’s fingers are now completely inside me, scissoring me open. “Hmmm.”
The chair tips back farther, and Deacon encourages me. “Keep a look out the door. You can kind of see the neighbors from here.”
That causes me to draw a deep breath, and I roll my head to look out the window. He’s not wrong. Through the trees and brush, I get a little glimpse of their house.
“Cade will tell you that if you can see someone, they can also see you. Just depends on if they’re looking.” Deacon’s fingers fuck me a little faster, his thumb working across my clit in a figure-eight pattern. “I wonder how nosy those neighbors are.”
I can’t do anything other than make a needy noise. But it’s all the encouragement Deacon needs. He goes back to working me over with his mouth.
Fuck. It would be so hot if they could see. Speculation from them on how he’s taking me. Maybe they’d assume we can’t see them watching us.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks at the idea of them judging us. Why is this the only kind of judging I can stand?
“Fuck me, Hen,” Deacon pants. “What the fuck did you just think about? Tell me, Henri, what dirty thought went through your brain because I swear you just got five times wetter.”
He laps me up, waiting for a reply. His tongue was driving me closer to an orgasm with precise movements but is now a frenzy of feasting.
“How hot it is. How hot it would be to have them judge us for being so open with sex. If we...” I gasp as Deacon’s fingers fuck me harder. He curls them up, pressing against a spot that intensifies what I’m feeling. “If we ran into them. They’d know what we did. How embarrassing that they’d judge us or say something but maybe not directly.”
Deacon groans, but he’s so dedicated to what he’s doing he doesn’t ask any more questions.
But something’s... wrong? Right? My orgasm is building, but not in the usual way. Something inside me is creating an unusual pressure.
“You like the idea of them embarrassing you with a double entendre,” he deduces.
“Yeah,” I whine.
My body is growing tight, and I dig my heels into his back.
What is happening to me? Why ?
He keeps licking me until my legs are shaking, then Deacon moves his thumb back to my clit, but my building orgasm doesn’t falter. The switch from his tongue to his finger is smooth and seamless. But it’s that pressure inside that’s got me on edge, worried about how I’m going to come. It’s not the normal build.
“Oh, Henri,” Deacon says, digging his fingers into my lower back. “You want to be humiliated. You want everyone to know just how naughty you can be.”
He may like worshipping me, but I’m lost to being his and how it steadies the tumultuous seas of abandonment and disconnection. Even if this doesn’t last, at least for now, someone understands me.
“Everyone will find out that you’re my dirty little slut. They can judge you all they want, but you’re perfect for me.” Deacon speaks between long laps of his tongue against my warmth, flicking my clit on each pass.
Those words, claiming me as his and validating my feelings, send me over the edge. An uncontrollable feeling takes over, and the pressure inside erupts. Pushing out fluid.
Fuck.
I realize what’s happening.
Deacon moans, the licking turning to sucking, and my pleasure intensifies. He pleasures me like he’s ravenous for me and my body.
My scream echoes in the open floor plan of the house, and I come again.
I’m whining, unable to stop the violent tremors of my orgasm, and only when a cry comes out of me does Deacon slow and finally come to a rest.
The chair slowly sinks down, and he shrugs my legs off his shoulders.
Where I’m droopy eyed from the best orgasm of my entire life, Deacon’s smoldering, looking for a spark of something more.
He smiles, and it’s sexy but devious. “You didn’t tell me you were a squirter.”
I let myself fall victim to his scolding, feeling the color run from my cheeks down my neck. “I’ve never.”
“Fuck, Henri. Fuck.” He shakes his head, rolling it back and forth between his shoulders as it falls forward. Deacon looks up at me, head tilted to see me. “Do I get to come now or later?”
The question is odd until I get puppy dog eyes. “You think I’d really deny you? After that?”
“You’re in charge here, Hen.” He squeezes my leg. “If you want me to keep my pants on and worship your pussy rather than fuck it the entire time you’re in heat, I’ll eat you out on every surface of this house ten times over.”
That ignites a new feeling inside me. I experiment with how it feels. “Maybe later, if you behave.”
He lets out a needy little whimper. It’s so hot hearing him accept his fate even if it hurts him.
But without a comment or argument, he adjusts himself and then stands, drawing a ragged breath. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed before that next wave hits.”
The wait for the next wave isn’t long. I make it to the bathroom door when my body, against my will, doubles over.
Deacon’s right there, scooping me into his arms and carrying me into the bathroom.
But as intense as that wave was, it disappears before he sets me on the countertop.
“Aftershock,” he informs me.
We’re nearly nose to nose.
Kiss him, my needy little wolf demands.
So I do.
He tenses and then relaxes into it, kissing me softly .
I fist his hair and control the kiss, and he takes it. His compliance isn’t begrudging or miserable, and I know because he makes needy noises. He mimics my movements like he’s learning how to kiss me despite already having proven that he can steal my breath away.
When I don’t stop, Deacon does. “Really should clean you up. I don’t want to, but I should. At some point, I’ll have to be the responsible adult.”
“Fair.” I release his hair.
Deacon turns on the sink to warm water. “Do you want me to help you, or would you be more comfortable doing this yourself?”
My brain stalls out, nervous in the after-orgasm clarity. I’m uncomfortable thinking about the touch. “I can do it.”
He offers me a washcloth, and I take it, running the fabric through my fingers.
Deacon steps back. “Want some privacy?”
Do I?
I’m nodding before I can say anything.
He hasn’t done anything to me. Not like Nathan. In fact, Deacon’s done everything right. He’s given me room to process and consent, and he’s gone above and beyond to make sure I want this with him. He didn’t just assume that because we’ve had sex, I’d want him to service me through my heat. But that doesn’t erase the discomfort I still feel in my own skin once the fog of lust has faded.
Don’t link how good Deacon is with how bad Nathan was. I’m not that person. I’m not going to compare him to an ex.
Fuck. Why is this happening?
Deacon pulls another washcloth from the cupboard and smiles. “I’m going to the kitchen. Find me there?”
More nods from me, and Deacon dismisses himself, closing the door behind him.