I could hear her cursing the second I stood in front of her door ready to knock. I smiled, something I found myself doing a lot when I was with her, but also when I just thought of her. She’d consumed me for a long time, far longer than when she first got into my car.

I didn’t move for a second, listening to her swear at whatever she was making. I had a feeling she didn’t do this…ever. But she was making me dinner, going to the trouble to feed me. To say I felt something pretty fucking strong for this woman was an understatement.

It might seem so small to some, but no one had ever taken care of me like that.

I knocked then, took a step back, and held the bottle of wine in my hand so tightly I thought the fucker would break. Wine…who the fuck drank wine anymore? I sure as hell didn’t. But weren’t you supposed to bring something to dinner? Didn’t women like wine, or was I being one of those stereotypical assholes? I glanced down at the bottle, not even knowing what the hell kind it was. The guy at the store had picked it out, saying it was popular. What the fuck did I know about this shit? I was a blacksmith who drank whiskey or beer if I wanted a buzz.

The front door opened, and my heart stalled a little. The sight of Maddie did something to me. She was mine, had been mine before we’d even said two words to each other. I’d always kept to myself, not wanting nor needing a woman to make me feel whole. But the very idea of Maddie not in my life, of her with someone else, was not something I’d entertain. Making Brendan back off was just the tip of how far I’d go to ensure anyone and everyone knew who Maddie belonged to.

* * *

He’d eaten two plates full of my dinner, and to say I was pleased would be an understatement. Sure, it might have tasted like shit and he was just being polite, but I could see on his face that he’d enjoyed it.

My cooking skills were pretty bare. I was a college student, and between work and studying, my meals consisted of takeout or whatever I could find in the kitchen. But the spaghetti bake I’d made for tonight, although pretty simple in the grand scheme of it all, had given me some issues.

Was the pasta overcooked, not cooked all the way through? Was it too garlicky, or maybe I didn’t add enough? Then my skills at making homemade garlic bread ended up with me burning half of it. But Deacon seemed content, and the part of me that liked that I’d taken care of him grew warm and soft.

“You liked it?” I asked, wanting to actually hear the words from him, even if they were a lie.

He pushed his plate away and grabbed the half-empty beer bottle from the table. After he took a long swig, he set it down and stared me right in the eyes. “Honestly?”

I nodded, my throat closing slightly.

“It was the best fucking meal I’ve ever had.” He leaned forward, his big muscular forearms flexing, his perpetually stained hands so attractive.

I could imagine what it would be like to have his fingers on my bare skin, to feel him adding pressure, making me know what he could do to me, how he could have me cry out for more.

“I’ve never had anyone cook for me, and that made it taste even better.” The way he looked at me had me curling my toes slightly. “The fact that you made it for me it fucking incredible.”

My pulse was racing. “Dessert?” My voice was low, thick. His words, coupled with the fact that he was sitting just feet from me, had everything in my body tightening. Before he could respond, I was up and in the kitchen again. I grabbed the strawberries, shortcake, and whipped cream, went back into the dining room, and set them on the table. I was about to sit back down when Deacon grabbed my wrist in a firm yet gentle hold. He pulled my chair across the floor, the wood scraping along the tile, until I would now be sitting right beside him.

“Sit next to me,” he said and pulled me down. It was no hardship being this close to him, feeling his body heat, and having his strength and masculinity surround me. He picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the bowl of whip cream, and faced me again. “Open for me. Let me feed you the way you fed me.”

Oh God. Was this really happening? I leaned forward, my hands on the table, my pussy wet, my nipples so hard. I was aroused, not knowing where this night would go, but hoping it was with us in my bed, with Deacon on top of me.

My mouth parted on its own. It didn’t feel like it was me doing it, but more like instinct, as if my body couldn’t deny anything Deacon said. As he slipped the cream-covered berry into my mouth, I closed my lips around his fingers and heard him make this deep sound.

“Being a gentleman with you seems like the right thing to do,” he said, but his words were low, muffled, his arousal coming on just as strongly as mine was. “Going slow, giving this—” He stared right in my eyes. “Giving what’s happening between us a chance to grow seems like the logical thing.” He looked back down at my lips. “But I’ll tell you, Maddie, it’s hard as fuck.”

“What’s hard?” I found myself asking, feeling my face heat as the words spilled from my mouth. The sound that came from him this time was so deep, so rough that I felt it all the way to my toes.

“If I told you, described what I wanted to do to you, it would scare you.”

My heart thundered so hard it was painful. “Maybe what I want is the same thing you do.” I’d never been so on edge, so aroused or wet before. I’d never wanted anyone the way I did Deacon. I’ve never wanted anyone to take my virginity…until Deacon came along. “Maybe I want this to go as far as it can and then some.”