Deacon

 

 I never meant to say Fiona’s name. I never meant to use the word love. Or say things that might hurt Grace. I’m not even sure why I even brought any of it up. Maybe it was lack of sleep. Maybe I felt I owed it to her after she opened herself up to me. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Everything with her is new to me, and I’m not sure how to respond to any of it.

  She stands here, in the waiting room, so lost, so defeated. Her pain brings back memories I’d kept hidden for nearly twenty years. Memories of my father’s eyes, the weight of his limp body as I carried him from the living room.

“Let me take you home,” I offer, once the doctor has gone and the paperwork has been signed.

She nods. Her eyes glassy and swollen from crying. And empty. The hope I’ve gotten so used to seeing there washed away with her tears. We’d gotten so far. She shared things with me. She let me in. And now I can’t help but feel like there’s a brick wall between us.

I never asked why her mother never showed up. Or where the rest of her family might have been. I know she made a couple of phone calls. But no one ever came. Not a single person in the seven hours we waited. I didn’t ask because none of it mattered. I just knew I wasn’t leaving her alone.

 I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her to my truck. She doesn’t fight my touch. Not then. And not when I hold her knee on the ride to her house. Not even when I stroke the curve of her jaw after I pull into the drive. I’m about to do something I never do. But I’m grasping for lifelines here. I have to tear down the wall. I lean forward, letting my hand on her jaw cup her cheek. She leans into my touch. Right now, she’s just acting on instinct, on feeling. Her mind is a hundred miles away.

“Deacon,” she says, her protest breathy and meek.

“I’m going to make you forget every set of lips ever placed on yours.”

My tongue parts the seam of her lips, and the world falls away. I pull her closer, her lips like silk against mine. The kiss is soft and slow, comforting her in ways words never could. Her fingers gather the hair at the nape of my neck as she offers me more of her mouth. Everything neither one of us could say is right here.

I.

am.

addicted.

I don’t make a habit of kissing, but I know the moment I move my mouth from hers, I’ll count the seconds until I can taste her again.

She pulls away, resting her forehead against mine. Her breath is shaky as it whispers across my face.

“I need to go.”

My fingertips dig deeper into her hair, my grip on her cheek growing tighter, holding her in place without hurting her.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, and my heart drops. Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.

“I need to be alone.” Her hand moves to the side of my face. She cradles my chin in her hand and looks into my eyes. ‘Thank you, Deacon. For everything.” She clutches the necklace I gave her.

“This sounds a lot like goodbye.” Don’t you fucking do this, Grace. Her eyes water as she smiles a weak smile.

“Goodnight, Deacon.”

She pulls the handle and opens the door. I should grab her. I should follow her. I should tell her why I should stay. But, I’m not programmed that way. I can’t force her to do things she isn’t ready to do. Or feel things she isn’t ready to feel. All I can do is wait. Wait for her to change her mind.

“Goodnight, Grace.”

 

   ***

 

It’s been five days since I watched her walk away from me. Five days of remembering her lips against mine. Five days of seeing her face when I made her fall apart in my hands that night in South Africa.

I followed the obituaries and attended her father’s funeral. Hundreds of faces I’ve never seen flooded through the doors. All of them offering their condolences, hugging her, holding her, comforting her. Her strength is remarkable as she smiles and thanks them all.

I never approached her, but I know she knew I was there. For a split second, across the crowded room, her eyes caught mine. But she never spoke. Even in her grief, she was breathtaking.

I left my number with a note in her mailbox. She never called.

She invited me into her world. She let me touch her. And she kissed me back. Those aren’t things you turn off with a switch. So, before I go home, back to life before Grace, I decide to give it one more try. The thick wooden door seems like a fortress, keeping her safe, warning me away. I press the button, and the doorbell chimes. Grace opens the door, her baggy sweatpants hang loosely on her hips, while the black tank top hugs her body tight. Her nipples tease me through the fabric, but I focus on her face, on the way her bright brown eyes light up when she sees me. On her plump red lips and dark brown hair.

“Hi,” she says, her tone an even mixture of surprise and relief.

“Hello.”

“Come in. Have a seat.” She pulls the door open then leads me to the living room. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No. Thank you.” She waits for me to sit, but I don’t. We’ve wasted enough time tip-toeing around whatever this is. “I’m leaving. There’s a gallery spotlighting some of David’s photos in a few days. I’ll be going home after that.”

“David?”

Right. The only thing she knows about me is the trash she’s seen from the media. She has no idea about the kidnapping or what was happening in my world while I was busy falling for her smile.

“One of my photographers. I run a photojournalism business.”

“Wow.” She seems taken aback. “And here I thought you were just into…”

“Rich girls and supermodels?” I finish for her, arching an amused brow.

She chuckles and bites her bottom lip as pink heat flushes her cheeks.

“Something like that,” she admits with an embarrassed grin. The soft amber glow of a single corner lamp illuminates her beautiful features. I take a step forward. She takes a step back. Don’t run from me. Please. “Thank you for the plant. It’s beautiful.” She’s changing the subject. My past isn’t something I like to talk about either, so I don’t argue. I never answered her question about how I still feel about Fiona. I guess in some ways, I still love her. If you stop loving someone, you never truly loved them to begin with. But she doesn’t occupy space in my heart anymore.

“You’re welcome.”

I take another step forward. She takes another step back. Please, stop.

“I have something for you,” she says, moving toward the out of place room down the hall.

I follow her as she goes inside and reaches for a box on the dresser. She turns around, and I’m standing right in front of her, our bodies separated by mere inches. She gasps as she hands me the gift. I never move my eyes from hers.

“This is your room?”

“Yes. Why?”

I try to piece the clues together, but something is missing.

“It’s different. From the rest of the house.”

“Oh.” Her voice cracks as she clears her throat then toys with a lock of hair that hangs over her shoulder. “When my mom died, my dad wouldn’t change a single thing. Not even the way her pajama bottoms were folded on the chair at her bathroom vanity.” She smiles at the memory. “Then, when he got sick, and I had to move in… I just made this space my own. It helps me remember who I am. Sometimes I think it’s the only piece of me I have left.”

That’s why no one ever came to the hospital. She lost her mother. And now her father is gone too. She’s alone. And broken. That’s why she spends all her time trying to forget. She’s lost so much in such a short time. I want to pick up all her broken pieces and put them back together. To make her feel whole again. I tear the colorful paper from the package and set it to the side.

“A first aid kit?”

She answers with a proud smile. “Because there might not always be a doctor next door.”

I place the white plastic box on top of the bright yellow paper on the dresser and move closer to her.

“I was hoping to change that.”

My hand cradles her face, my thumb grazing her cheek.

“Deacon…” She closes her eyes and sighs. “I can’t afford to care about anyone else. There’s not enough of my heart left to be broken.”

I bring my forehead to hers.

“Open your eyes, Grace. Look at me.” She obeys. “Open your depths. Let me in. Give me your pain. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Trust me to be your safe haven.” I let my hand rest on the curve of her hip, pulling her closer. She doesn’t resist. So, I keep going. “Take off your shirt.” Without hesitation, she steps back, away from my touch, and lifts her tank top over her head. No bra. Perfect breasts. Round, pink nipples hard and ready to be sucked. I twist one of them between my fingers, drawing another gasp from her lips. She throws her head back, and I bring my mouth to her ear. “There’s something you need to know.” She grabs my shoulders, and I take her hands, pulling them behind her back. “I like things a certain way.” There’s a black, silk robe draped across the foot of her bed. I slide the belt from its loops and move behind her, bending her arms behind her back. “Grab your forearms.”  She holds onto her arms, near the crease of her elbows. I wrap the silk around her wrists twice, holding them in place. I slip her pants from her hips and let them fall to the floor. “And I think you like them that way too.” I reach around her body and run a finger along the seam of her panties. Soaking wet. Just like I knew she’d be. Leaning forward, I whisper against her neck. “When we’re like this.” I slip my finger inside her panties. My other hand cups her breast. She moans. “When I’m touching you. Tasting you. Fucking you.” Her head falls back as I slide the finger inside her. “I own you.” She’s so hot. So wet. “All this, your silky black hair, your beautiful brown eyes. These perfect tits.” I roll her nipple between my finger. She cries out, her body quivering against mine. “And this delicious pussy. All of it. Every last inch. Belongs to me.” I brush her clit with my thumb while my finger fucks her. “Do you want that, Grace? Do you want to belong to me?” She moans her answer, her hips grinding against my hand. “When I ask you a question, you speak. Understood?”

“Yes,” she breathes then quickly corrects herself. “Yes, sir.”

 “Oh, beautiful girl, I have so much to show you.”