Chapter 25
Willow
Dirty talk
Orgasms
Gus paused our walk to inspect a fire hydrant, and I scanned the sky, a deep orange with pearlescent sweeps of clouds along with the setting sun, my thoughts returning to yesterday.
When we got back to the table, it was clean and dry and our food was waiting.
Then despite everything that had happened in the previous ten minutes, we’d fallen right back into normal.
Deacon let me try his bacon, and I managed to not dribble any gravy on his favorite shirt.
It was delicious on so many levels. I’d gotten home from brunch, legs like jelly from what Deacon and I had agreed to, and that whole moment in the bathroom that had ended with him finally stepping back from me and leaving me alone to wash my face.
Gus tugged me forward when he was done with his inspection, and we moved toward the house. I couldn’t help but grin to myself at how the whole thing had turned out, and I couldn’t wait to see what happened next. I’d been in a bit of a floaty state all day, and I pulled my phone from my pocket.
Willow: He heard your voice memo. We’re no longer friends.
Zoe: Did it give him ideas?
Zoe: I bet it did. We’re still friends.
Zoe: Give me deeeeeetails!
I wanted to tell her everything, but I remembered the way his thumb had felt brushing tears from my cheek, the concern and care in his eyes when he came in and the heat in them when he told me he wanted me. That all felt private, like holding on to it would keep the sparks fresh.
I just sent the thumbs-up emoji, and when she replied with the eyes, I laughed. I’d make her wait for a while as punishment for the voice memo.
Gus sat patiently waiting to be unleashed and then took off to do his security scan of the house, his usual routine after our evening walk.
I kicked off my shoes by the door and wandered to my bedroom.
I wanted to shower after the walk, and I took one more peek at the phone screen where Zoe had sent three middle-finger emojis and a kissing face after my lack of response.
With the hot water sluicing over my skin, I reveled in the steam of the shower and let my mind wander back to Deacon’s touch.
It had been soft against my cheek, but so firm when he’d kissed me.
I wondered how many different kinds of touches Deacon had.
At the thought, a pulse made my core flutter, and my breasts felt heavy.
I ran a soapy finger over my sensitive nipples and closed my eyes, imagining Deacon touching me there.
I rolled them now, eyes still closed and picturing the heat in Deacon’s gaze when I’d said the word “come.” I’d spent my entire time in Iowa denying myself fantasies about him.
He was off-limits, and now, under the hot water, I wanted more than the fantasy.
I dipped my fingers lower, stroking between my thighs and sending a shiver up my spine at the memory of the intensity he possessed, of how it felt when it was focused on me.
Getting myself off rarely worked for me, but I stroked again and again, enjoying the warm flutters of sensation the desire sent through my body.
I wished I had longer arms or was more flexible because I was so close, but I finally shut off the shower and stepped out into the steamy room.
My phone sat on the counter by the sink, and I flipped it over as I strode into the bedroom to find pajamas. I had a message waiting from Deacon.
Deacon: How’s my favorite shirt?
I grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. I snapped a photo of the shirt on the corner of my bed.
Willow: Safe and sound.
Deacon: But no longer wrapped around you.
Deacon: Poor shirt.
I grinned, my stomach swooping, knowing this back-and-forth could lead somewhere now, and my pussy pulsed again, my body unsatisfied with my lackluster shower efforts.
Willow: I just got out of the shower.
Deacon: Tell me about it.
I sucked in a breath when I read his message and looked around as if someone might be watching me, but all I saw were the red walls we’d painted together.
Willow: The shower?
The phone buzzed in my hand, and a request for a video call came through from Deacon.
“You want to know about my shower?”
“I want to hear about how you felt in the shower.” His eyes widened as my image came through on the screen. “Low, you’re still in a towel.” His own hair was wet, and he was shirtless against his wooden headboard. “Get dressed before this conversation.”
“Why? You’re shirtless. That’s not fair.” I squeezed my thighs at how naughty this felt. This was exactly what I wanted when I added it to page two, this kind of pleasure-riddled anticipation.
“Okay. Let me see,” he said. “Show me the full effect of Willow in a towel.” His voice was low and slow, and I swallowed, suddenly nervous, but I propped the phone on the bed and took a few steps back so he could see my full body with the towel wrapped around me.
It wasn’t a large towel, and a slit over my thigh showed off more of my legs and a hint at my hip and belly.
“Holy shit, Low.” I could see his gaze move up and down the length of the phone screen. I stroked a hand self-consciously along the terry cloth and noticed the sliver of thigh he would see where the towel didn’t come together. “I’ve never seen you in so little.”
“I took off my pants that night after the wedding.” I considered walking back toward the phone but stayed where I was, knowing he was looking at me.
“I was being a gentleman,” he said, his voice still in that low, gravelly timbre. “I didn’t look.”
“You’re looking now.”
“I don’t plan to be very gentlemanly during this conversation.” I saw his eyes move, and I wondered where on my body he was looking.
“That should make me nervous,” I said, taking the few steps back toward the bed to snag my phone. “But it doesn’t. Weird, huh?”
He held the phone away from him, and I saw his hand resting over his taut stomach. I imagined it dipping lower, but he spoke again, the hand unmoving. “But please put on clothes before you tell me about your shower. My head might explode if I know you’re naked.”
I chuckled and set the phone face down on the comforter, pulling his shirt on over my head and climbing onto my bed, taking the phone with me. “Better?” I asked.
“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it off his face.
“It’s soft,” I added, stroking the fabric over my belly. The Air Force logo was faded and the fabric worn and lived-in.
“You look good in it.” His voice dipped again, the rumble low and delicious. “Tell me about the shower.”
I giggled self-consciously. “What do you want to know?”
His palm rubbed across his stomach, and my heartbeat sped, imagining doing the same.
Deacon’s body was insane, and his abs were ripped and brushed with a smattering of dark hair that disappeared under the waistline of his pants.
“You had dirty talk on your list. What do you want to happen? What was the first time like?”
I scrunched my nose and Deacon chuckled. “Uh-oh.”
“It’s not bad—he was abroad on a trip for a few weeks and I thought it would be fun to try but it felt really awkward. He was uncomfortable using any of the words and kept laughing when I’d say something. I wanted to really try and he couldn’t. It was sweet, just not…”
“What you wanted.”
I giggled, hoping it hid my inexperience, and tucked my hair behind my ear.
His fingers glided across his scruffy jawline, the pad of his thumb trailing over his lower lip. His gaze lowered on the screen, and I had the sense he was imagining looking down my body. I flushed at the feeling. “And then there’s…”
“What?” My voice sounded breathless, and I squeezed my thighs together.
“Eager?”
My cheeks heated. “Just…curious.”
He grinned. “Letting the other person control or guide things.”
“Oh.” I gulped. “So, you’d tell me where to…and what to…”
“And how to.” His voice rumbled through the phone. He rubbed a hand over his lower lip again, and I studied him on the screen. “Anything happen in the shower you want to share?”
I swallowed, remembering the feel of my own fingers brushing between my legs. “Kind of.”
“Mmm,” he said, the groan low and rumbling. “Did you touch yourself?”
I squeezed my thighs on instinct. My experience with talking about things like this was pretty light, and no one had ever asked me that before. Dampness pooled between my thighs at admitting it to him. I nodded. “I did.”
“Where?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it, stuck on what to say and afraid he’d laugh at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve never described it to someone. I don’t know what words to use.”
“It’s okay,” he said, that hand lazily moving over his stomach. “Use whatever words feel right or you don’t have to tell me. It’s all up to you.”
“No,” I said, feeling my nipples pucker under the shirt. “I want to tell you. It’s…kind of hot.”
He nodded again, his smile slowly tipping up.
“I played with my nipples.” I looked down at my chest, where they peeked out below the camera’s reach. “They were…sensitive.”
Deacon’s expression was unchanged, even as my breath sped. “Are they usually sensitive? Do you like having them touched? Licked?”
I nodded, goose bumps rising all over my body at the sound of his voice. I brushed a thumb against one nipple now to relieve the ache, and I shivered at my touch.
“Are you touching them now?” His question caught me off guard, and I stilled, sucking in a breath at being caught.
“No! Of course not,” I said, holding up my hand in front of the camera.
“Liar.” Deacon’s laugh rumbled through the phone. “How do you like to touch them?”
My embarrassment at being caught faded immediately into a full-body flush at his question. “You really want me to describe it?”
“Tell me.”
I shivered at his command, feeling the rumble of his voice through my core. “I stroke them with my thumbs and then kind of roll them.” I held up my fingers to show the motion.