Lost in my thoughts about that kiss at the game—hell, kisses—I don’t even realize that we’ve been heading away from Indie’s until we pull up to the gates at Deacon’s place. Whipping my head in his direction I ask, “Why are we here?” completely confused.
He bites at the corner of his bottom lip and scrunches up his face, which tells me that I’m not going to like his answer.
“Ummm, can we talk about it once I get this jersey off? It’s really starting to itch,” he says, trying to distract from the fact that we are pulling into his garage and not in front of Indie’s brownstone.
“Deacon, I know that we did not come all the way the hell over here so that you can change before taking me home, so cut your bullshit,” I demand, slamming the door on the Rover a little harder than necessary and smiling at the way it makes him wince.
Walking through the mudroom, I toss my coat on the bench there and stop at the alarm on the wall in the kitchen. I punch in the code and immediately turn the music system on. His house is too damn big and echoes— I need the noise. The soulful sound of Alabama Shakes fills the void but doesn’t stop me from spinning at the sound of him coming into the room.
I suck in a breath at the sight of his naked chest and bare feet. Where the fuck did his shirt go so quickly? Deacon is a sight to behold clothed…shirtless though? He is stunning. His chest and arms the canvas to some of the most beautiful ink that I have ever seen. All of his tattoos are gorgeous, but his chest piece and arms are my favorite as is the script across his ribs. I stare at the wings that stretch from shoulder to shoulder, meeting in the middle at a barbed heart with the words “LOVE HURTS” scrawled across the top just under his collarbones and my name etched into the tattered heart. My name? When the hell? I open my mouth to ask him when he added my name and why, just as he starts explaining my reason for being here instead of in my own bed.
“Indie isn’t coming home until sometime tomorrow and we didn’t think that you should be alone there tonight. I had already given Trent and Reggie the night off, so I brought you here,” he tells me unapologetically.
“We? Who the hell is ‘we’?” I ask, my eyes narrowed into slits, my hands planted firmly on my hips.
Clearing his throat, he has the decency to look sheepish.
“Jones and I. She was worried. I was worried.”
“You have no right to make decisions for me, Deacon. Neither of you do!” I am on the verge of a serious hissy fit I’m so pissed at them, but mostly with him because this overbearing bullshit has to stop. I don’t know if I’m coming or going with him lately, and I’m over it.
Pointing a finger at him, I lay it out for his too-beautiful-for-words, frustrating ass.
“I am going to say this one more time, Deac, and you’re going to fucking listen. I do not belong to you. I am not yours to—”
“Every fucking time you say that it makes me crazy and that much more determined to show you that you are mine, Frankie,” he interrupts, planting himself directly in front of me, but not invading the space I obviously need to keep between us.
Taking a deep breath, I look into his hazel eyes, taking in the lush lashes that frame them, and the way he tucks his hair behind his ears so that it doesn’t catch in the scruff bordering on a beard covering his chin.
“What do you want from me, Deacon? Do you even know anymore? Because I have no idea,” I ask him, defeat evident in my softly spoken words.
Never releasing my gaze, he shrugs and says simply, “Nothing, everything—you.” His eyes bore into mine, the words as unmistakable in the mossy depths as they are hanging in the air between us. I can feel their truth, and it scares me on so many levels.
Rapidly blinking back the tears of frustration and confusion, I shake my head and admit, “Deacon, I'm scared,” in a near whisper. “I don't want our friendship to change. I need you, Deac. Aside from my dad, you're the most important man in my life—you always have been.” I glance away to keep myself from getting swallowed up by the intensity staring back at me, but whip my head back so quickly at his next words, I’m sure I’ve done some damage to my poor neck.
“Frankie, lock that shit up. Our friendship changed the moment you wrapped those sexy, fucking legs around me and rubbed that sweet, little pussy against my cock when I had you up against the wall in my office,” Deacon says with an all-consuming confidence. Clearly he’s not going to let me get away with easing into this conversation.
I gasp partly in shock at him for being so crude, although I'm not sure why. Deacon is bold, raw, and just Deacon. I’ve never been on the other end of all that in-your-face alpha though. No, I gasp mostly because the reminder and the feral heat in his tone are hot as hell and have my panties instantly wet.
He gives me a knowing look, his mouth kicked up in that smirk of his—the one that says “I'll take you. I'll take you any way I want, anywhere I want, and you'll not only let me, you'll fucking love it.”
I am so screwed. I don’t know how to fight this Deacon, or if I even want to.
Huffing out a defeated breath, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I won't share you with Cristiano anymore. I don't play nice with others, and throw having to share you into the mix and it's gonna get ugly.”
I look up at him and gone is that sexy smirk. Now all I see is vulnerability, and I don’t know what to do with that. Deacon doesn't do vulnerable; he is always confident, overly cocky even.
“Actually ‘won't’ isn't right…I CAN'T share you, I'm completely incapable of it. I cannot share you with him or any other man. Please don't ask me to, Frankie,” he implores in earnest.
It’s the “please” that has me quickly blinking back the tears that are once again threatening. That one word hits me straight in the heart, leaving me a little more breathless, a little less capable of fighting him on this for much longer. I have never heard him ask for anything, plead for a chance. If he wants something, he takes it, earns it, fights to achieve it. That he is pleading for me, for us, undoes me. Makes me weak. And that scares the hell out of me, putting me on the defensive.
“Deacon, I'm not asking you to share me! I'm just confused,” I say exasperated, beginning to pace with that admission.
My hands tugging at my hair, heels clicking on the wood floor in front of where he leans against the counter, his long denim encased legs crossed at the ankles, him looking calm and relaxed when I am anything but. How can he not see what this could do to our friendship, our family? The Loves are my family! This wouldn’t last. Deacon doesn’t do relationships or girlfriends. He fucks who he wants, when he wants, and lets no one hold him down. Veronica is the closest thing to a girlfriend I’ve ever seen and I know that he never stopped messing around while they were doing…whatever. But how can I walk away? I know in my heart that I would always wonder, always regret it. I can lie to myself all I want, but I know the truth in my heart.
“What are you confused about, Frankie?” he all but shouts, blowing that calm and relaxed façade to shit. “Are you confused about his feelings, your feelings, mine? Do you need me to tell you again exactly what I feel for you?”
I know I wouldn't be able to handle that right now. My emotions are all over the place as it is. Add to that him standing there barefoot and shirtless, my name inked into his skin, that deep V that disappears into the top of his jeans, the tattoos along his cuts following, and I am completely overwhelmed. He can’t throw his feelings at me right now. He can NOT. I bite my lip so hard I can taste the coppery tang of blood, and with downcast eyes I shake my head no.
“No? You don't want to hear how just the sight of those little white teeth of yours sunk into your lip has me hard?”
He punctuates that statement by putting a hand to that hardness and squeezing. It takes everything I have to swallow my moan.
“Or how about that you're all I think about? So much so that I'm getting my ass handed to me on the mats by sparring partners. Sparring partners, Frankie!” He shakes his head. “Not that either, huh? Then how about how all I want is to be inside you right now? Under you, over you, behind you, I really don't fucking care as long as I'm inside you,” he growls, “Because I need to show you that you're mine, that he can't have you, and that I fucking love you.”
He slaps a hand to his chest, over his heart. “I fucking love you, Princess.”
My pacing had stopped the moment that he’d raised his voice, but as soon as that last sentence leaves his mouth, I spin around trying to catch my breath and begin pacing again. Continuing the torture on my poor lip, willing my heart to slow its frantic beating. He says that he loves me, but does he love me love me? We tell each other “I love you” all the time. This feels different though. My mind is screaming at me to run, run far and fast because in the end, he’ll burn me. It’s what he does, even though it’s not what he sets out to do. My heart though, my heart is swelling, weeping, and singing all at the same time. I’m not sure which to listen to and it has me completely spun.
I sense him coming toward me, can feel the heat rolling off of him as he stands at my back, not nearly close enough, making me realize that I am holding still, waiting for his next move. My body craves his touch no matter what my mind is trying to convince me of.
“Look at me, Frankie,” he says roughly.
He waits for me to make eye contact with him before speaking. He must know that I am all out of fight by the look in my eyes because he says dominantly, “When I fuck you, it won’t be as your good buddy Deacon, you feel me? When I finally get you to choose this, choose me, I am going to show you what it’s like to belong to a man. To be taken and completely owned by him, by me. I don’t even want to think about you with anyone else, but I can promise you that whatever you’ve been doing with them,” he pauses and I hold my breath waiting to see what filthy thing he’ll say next, “Isn’t even close to what you and I will be doing,” he finishes with absolute confidence.
My heart is beating so hard in my chest I don’t see how he can’t hear it. Maybe if I weren’t gasping to get air into my lungs, he would have.
This is the Deacon that I have always wanted, I just hadn’t been aware of it until recently. I watched women be consumed by him, go completely stupid and set on fire with little more than a touch or a look, and I didn’t understand it then because no one had ever affected me in that way, but I knew that I wanted to understand it. I wanted to feel on the verge of losing control because of a man and now I am. I am affected and it both scares the hell out of me and excites me beyond reason. I swallow slowly.
“What is it that you think we’ll be doing, Deacon?”
He gives me that smirk of his again.
“I don’t think, Princess—I know. I’ll have you up against the wall with your legs wrapped around me like they were on your birthday. I’ll have you right here in the kitchen on the counter.”
With every word, he is stalking toward me, backing me into the island at my back, but not touching me yet, which is killing me, and I’m pretty sure that he knows it. He has me trapped between his rock hard body and the island now, my ass resting on the edge so that I have to lean back to look up into his eyes. Eyes that I can’t even put a color to right now, but I can see the need in them, and it causes a little shiver to run down my spine, which has his wicked grin turning into a knowing smile.
“I’ll have you in my bed, in yours, in the shower, and anywhere else I want to take you, Frankie, because once I’ve had you, I’ll own you, and you’ll be begging me for more. I will fuck you the way you need to be fucked, the way you want to be fucked, even though you don’t know it yet, and I won’t stop until you come over and over again. On my cock, when I’m buried so deep in that perfect, little pussy, on my tongue while I suck on your clit, and on my fingers as you ride my hand.”
My chest is heaving now, I’m so turned on. Eyes completely glazed over and he hasn’t laid a hand on me yet. He is standing with his long legs on either side of mine, arms caging me in, his scent surrounding me, lips nearly grazing my ear with every dirty word he whispers. He goes on in that same husky voice so full of promise, “Then when I’m finished fucking you, I’ll make love to you, slow and soft. It will be a first for me, but I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure that you know what it means to be mine, Frankie. It’s something that I should have showed you long before now. I have a lot of time to make up for, but we’ll call the last few years foreplay. All of that anticipation—mmmm, I bet I can make you come without even getting you naked first.”
He says the last bit with a smile in his voice, as if he’s just issued himself a dare and it pleases him.
I can’t form a coherent thought let alone words right now. I am still struggling to breathe, staring at his chest and wondering how long I have to wait before he shows me, because I’m pretty damn sure his challenge isn’t going to be that difficult. I’m ready to come right now, fully clothed and without him even physically touching me.
My mind is made up for me by the need coursing through my veins. I’m afraid that this might be awkward since we've been friends for so long, but he’s right, he isn’t my buddy Deac anymore. He is the man making my pussy wetter than anyone ever has with nothing more than his words. He is the man who has me trembling from head to toe, incinerated by need from the slightest ghosting of his lips over my ear.
Deacon has always been the person in my life who allows me to just be me and I know that this won't be any different. He’ll let me reveal my deepest fantasies—no, he’ll insist that I tell him—and then he’d help me make them into reality. I have never been brave or secure enough in any of my relationships to let anyone in and see what I really crave. I’ve settled for vanilla when what I really wanted was more. I'm not sure exactly what that means, only that it's what I need, and Deacon would give me more. I have no doubt he'd give me more and then some. Just the thought of the possibilities raises goose bumps along my arms.
Watching the rise and fall of his chest, the steady throbbing of his pulse in his throat as he stands there and just lets me take him in. My eyes roam over every hard plane of his body, my gaze caresses every inch of beautifully inked skin and taut muscles. Down the ridges of his abs until I come to the very obvious bulge in his pants. My jaw goes slack, and for the first time in my life, I want a man’s dick in my mouth for my pleasure, not just his. My tongue sweeps over my bottom lip, my teeth sinking into the wetness I've left behind. Would he let me? I've only done it twice before, but fuck me, I wanted to do it now, so bad.
“You keep looking at me like that and you'll be on your knees to get the edge off before I get you on your back and I’m tryi—”
“YES.” The word falls from my mouth on a hushed breath interrupting whatever noble thing he was going to try to force on me. Just one word—that’s all I can get out. His arm snakes out, wrapping around my waist, pulling me in tight, chest-to-chest with no space in between, his large hand splayed wide across my back, the other gripping the edge of the countertop.
“Say it again, Frankie. Tell me that you want my cock in your mouth, but I'm warning you, if you say it, you better fucking mean it, because I'm way past turning back now. I want to go slow with you, baby, but you on your knees is something I've thought about for years. After though, I'm going to have to take you how I want, my way.”