Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (21 page)

My brows went up. “I only have to grab some
potting soil and plant food. In other words, I’m almost done. Can
you give me a more accurate estimate?”

“You laid it out, woman, so I will too,” he
stated. “You’re a woman who worries about her man eatin’ and
sleepin’ and wants him to give her a heads up when he’s got
somethin’ on his mind that he has to do and doin’ it means leavin’
her. You’ve also just become a woman who gives her man the time it
takes to pick a ladder, whatever that time might be.”

I felt my own lips twitching and tried to
hide it by lifting a hand and giving him a salute before saying
smartly, “Aye, aye, captain.”

This got me the grooves around his mouth and
the crinkles around his eyes before he said, “And you do it without
bein’ a smartass or the next time your man has your ass bare, he’ll
smack it.”

That made me bite my lip, not doing it
because that idea didn’t appeal to me, doing it because it did. A
lot. A
whole
lot.

Deacon’s eyes dropped to my mouth and I knew
he knew what I was feeling when his gaze heated before it lifted to
mine, the heat cleared, and he grinned.

“Go get your potting soil, baby,” he ordered
gently.

“Okay, honey,” I replied quietly.

I waited a second for him to move in to me,
touch me, dip his head down and brush his mouth against mine again,
but he didn’t.

His attention went back to the ladders.

So I moved, doing it deciding, even if he
wasn’t into public displays of affection, I was. Thus, when I
moved, I moved in to him, put a hand to his biceps, got up on my
toes, and touched my lips to the hinge of his jaw.

As I was rolling back to my feet, his neck
twisted, his eyes came down to mine, and I saw he didn’t much mind
public displays of affection.

I noted that for the future.

Then I smiled at him before I went to get my
potting soil and found, luckily, not a pansy had been claimed in my
absence.

* * * * *

I stood in the middle of the vast, graveled
parking area around the cabins and looked around.

It was brand-new, but the floral beauty I’d
given Glacier Lily looked kick-ass.

I grinned to myself as I decided this beauty
needed to be shared. Thus I turned and moved quickly up the lane to
the house where Deacon was working on the gutters.

Suffice it to say, Deacon wasn’t lazy. This
being demonstrated not only by the fact that he was at that moment
cleaning the gutters, but also when he shouldered me out of the way
in order to load the makings of floral beauty into his Suburban
before he tied the ladder to the top. Not to mention, he again
shouldered me out of the way in order to unload the floral beauty
down at the cabins when we got home.

It was now mid-afternoon. We’d both been at
it all day, taking a short lunch break to refuel. Now, after he
looked at the splendor I’d created at the cabins, I could help him
finish up the gutters, though I had no idea how I’d do that, I just
knew I would.

When I got to the house, I went in to wash my
hands before going back out to find him on whatever side of the
house he was working on. But I found him in the kitchen washing his
hands.

“Hey,” I called, walking into the kitchen and
getting his eyes when I did. “You done?”

“Need new gutters, woman.”

I stopped, my splendor-joy taking a hit at
this news. “Like, everywhere?”

He turned off the taps and grabbed a
dishtowel. “No. Though the ten percent that’s still good isn’t
worth keepin’, mostly ’cause it’s ten percent and would be a bitch
to work around.”

“Crap,” I muttered, moving in to him to get
to the tap, Deacon moving out of my way when I did.

“Got ’em clean but they’ll leak because the
bottoms are corroded,” he stated as I washed my hands. “I’ll go
back to the store and get replacements tomorrow.”

So much for us having downtime, this being my
plans for tomorrow I had not shared with him. Plans that would
include his choice of going somewhere to hike (should badasses
hike), going to Gnaw Bone to poke around the shops and have lunch
(in the unlikely event badasses shopped, though I knew they had
lunch), or staying home and having a sex-a-thon (something I
figured badasses would do, which was good since this was my top
choice).

“I’ll go with you,” I said, turning off the
tap, taking the dishtowel he was offering, and deciding to focus on
happy things, not the hit my bank account would take from buying
new gutters. I looked up into his handsome face. “Wanna see the
floral splendor I’ve created at the cabins?”

His eyes crinkled and he replied, “Sure.”

I grinned at him, threw the dishtowel on the
counter, and reached out a hand to grab his.

I didn’t let go even after we were out of the
house and on the lane. We made the short journey silently but did
it holding hands so it was a journey I enjoyed more than usual.

I stopped him in the middle of the parking
area.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Looks great, Cassie,” he answered, his head
turning, taking it all in.

I did the same.

He was right. It did look great. I was
getting good at this stuff. A month, two, the window boxes and
planters would be a riot of color and greenery.

I squeezed his hand and looked up to him,
seeing him tip his chin to look down at me.

“This is the most awesome place in the
universe,” I whispered when I caught his eyes.

His hand in mine tugged slightly so I’d move
closer to him, something I did. But when he got me there, that was
it. He didn’t dip down to kiss me. He didn’t drop my hand to slide
his arm around my shoulders.

He just agreed, “Yeah, it is.”

I’d take that, especially since his eyes were
telling me he really meant it.

I leaned in to him, resting some of my weight
against his arm.

“You done?” he asked my earlier question.

“Yep,” I answered, because I was, for then. I
usually did the flowers for the house after I got the cabins
done.

“Good,” he muttered and moved. Pulling at my
hand to move me with him, he headed us toward the lane.

Apparently, Deacon was done drinking in
floral splendor at Glacier Lily.

Well, at least he walked down with me and
shared his approval. That was something Grant wouldn’t do in a
million years.

These were my thoughts as I felt my hand
tugged again, taking me off my path toward the house and on the
path that led up to cabin eleven.

My eyes lifted to Deacon, who was walking a
pace in front of me so I only saw his profile, but his gaze was
fixed to the cabin that had been “home” to him for six years.

I had a funny feeling about this.

Funny as in good.

“Deacon—” I started.

He cut me off, “Quiet, Cassie.”

I fell silent.

Deacon walked us up the steps, across the
porch, and to the door. There, he let my hand go to dig in his
pocket and pull out the key to cabin eleven, something he’d clearly
purloined since I left him to the gutters. He opened the door,
grabbed my hand again, pulled me in, and closed the door behind us,
locking it.

He shoved the key in his pocket as he hauled
me through the living room area into the short hall then into the
front bedroom.

My heart was beating hard as he kept moving,
straight to the bed. A bed I knew, since I’d cleaned that cabin
after he left, was the bed he used when he’d stayed.

He sat on the side of the bed, using his hand
in mine to move me so I was standing between his spread legs.

That was when my breath started catching.

It didn’t get any better when he let my hand
go and watched his hands span my hips over my jeans.

I stood motionless, arms at my sides, heart
beating fast, breath coming erratic, eyes on him as he seemed lost
in this for long moments, his hands and eyes at my hips.

Finally, he lifted his gaze to mine.

“Six years,” he whispered.

Oh God.

My insides melted.

“Deacon—” I began but he interrupted me
again.

“Wanted you right here.”

I loved that because I’d wanted the same.
Though, I’d wanted him at my house, but same thing.

I put my hand to his jaw and leaned down to
him. “Well, here I am.”

He stared into my eyes, his speaking, words
and feelings pouring out of those tawny depths, washing over my
skin, and I wondered how I could ever think this man was done with
me.

He wasn’t done with me.

He wanted to be sitting next to me in an
Adirondack chair when he was eighty.

I loved that best of all.

I slid a thumb along his stubbled cheek and
said softly, “Baby.”

“Gonna fuck you here, Cassie.”

“Okay,” I agreed readily, tingles sliding up
my inner thighs.

“The rest of the day, you naked in this bed
with me.”

Sex-a-thon it was, just one day early.

“Okay,” I repeated, lifting my other hand to
curl it around the side of his neck.

“You’re gonna sleep beside me in this bed
tonight.”

My legs now trembling, I had to concentrate
on standing, so I just nodded.

“Here,” he ordered.

I was already there.

I got more there by leaning in deeper. He
fell back and I fell on him at the precise moment I pressed my lips
to his. His opened, my tongue slid inside, and he rolled me.

Then we kissed. Hands roaming, tongues
dancing, lips drinking, bodies pressing, fingers gliding through
hair, making out like that was all we were ever going to get and
that was okay for the both of us.

Until it was no longer okay for Deacon. I
knew this when he slid his fingers into my tee and started pulling
it up.

I lifted my arms. He rolled off me and pulled
the tee free.

He didn’t bend back to me.

Or not my mouth.

He bent to my chest.

And it began.

It wasn’t fucking.

No.

Far from it.

It was worshiping.

Me worshiping Deacon, but more, Deacon
worshiping me. Divesting me of my clothes like he was unwrapping a
gift he knew was precious and wanted to prolong the anticipation.
Touching me everywhere. Tasting me everywhere. Trailing, brushing,
licking, grazing…all over.

And giving, giving with the sensations he
caused and the feeling behind them, and giving with offering me the
opportunity to do the same.

By the time he rolled me to my back, spread
my legs, and his hips fell in between, I needed him with a need
that was like your need for food. Oxygen. Warmth in winter. Water
in the desert.

And Deacon kept giving, blazing eyes to mine,
showing he felt that same need, hand gliding into my hair, all this
as he slid his cock inside me slow and sure, right to the root,
filling me.

“Baby,” I breathed, lifting my knees and
taking more of him, wanting it all, all I could get from Deacon,
needing
it.

“You’re here,” he whispered.

God, he’d wanted that, and if it could be
believed, he’d wanted it more than me.

“I’m here,” I whispered back.

“I’m inside.”

Oh yes, he’d wanted this.

Badly.

I lifted my hand to his jaw, different but
still vital emotions surging through me, and nodded. “You’re
inside, honey.”

He dipped his head so his face was close,
starting to move in and out slowly, and he did this speaking.

“I’m away, Cassie, do not ever doubt this is
precisely where I’d rather be.”

He didn’t want me to worry.

He didn’t want me to hurt.

He wanted me to know he wanted this, had
wanted it for six years, and was happy he had it.

God.

I was right about taking a chance on Deacon
and knowing that felt
great
.

I lifted my knees higher, slid my hand from
his jaw into his hair, and replied, “Okay, Deacon.”

He kept moving, slow and steady, giving it to
me but keeping it from me, still speaking.

“Seated deep inside you, listenin’ to you
yammer while you pick plants, sittin’ beside you on a porch,
however it comes from you, that’s where I want to be.”

I liked that…a lot, but the need we’d built
was growing with his movements, pushing everything else away but
the demand to slake it.

“Faster, baby,” I panted, swinging my calves
in at his back.

He went faster, not much, still steady.

“You hear me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I gasped as he went even faster, his
hand gliding down to curl around my breast, thumb circling the
nipple. My hips jerked and my lips begged, “Faster, honey.”

“Fuck, you like my dick,” he growled
approvingly.

“Yeah,” I whimpered, my other hand gliding
down his spine to clench his tight ass. “I like all of you.”

“Fuck,” he growled again, the sound coming
from his gut, rumbling into my sex, and a moan slid up my
throat.

“Harder, Deacon.”

His lips came to mine. “You got it,
Cassie.”

Then he kissed me and gave it to me harder,
faster, slamming into me until I cried my orgasm against his
tongue. He released my mouth and let me ride it as he rode me, face
now pressed in my neck until his head snapped back, his cock ground
in, and he grunted his release as I watched with hazy, satisfied
fascination as it moved over his beautiful, hard, striking
features.

I lost that beauty when he dropped his head
to press his forehead to my neck but I held him close as we both
settled, taking our time, staying connected, as we let it drift
away.

I knew when it left Deacon, because when it
did, he gave me more.

“Dream come true, seated deep inside you in
this bed.”

I closed my eyes tight and ordered, “Stop it.
I have floral splendor and clean but decrepit gutters and I just
had a fantastic orgasm. I’m not in the mood to cry.”