“You’re dirty.” I stutter, trying to ignore the look in his eyes.
“Yes. I am.” He doesn’t break our gaze as he speaks, and I know he’s not talking about the flour.
“Deacon-” I start, but he effectively shuts me up by lunging into me, crushing his lips to mine and bumping me into the counter.
I want to tell him to stop; that we can't do this until we figure out what’s going on. It’s much more than lust between, I know that; but this is how we communicate, and I prove this by snaking my tongue into his mouth and catching his bottom lip between my teeth. God, he tastes delicious, like vanilla sponge mix and I smell it as he moans into my mouth.
“You taste like vanilla.” I whisper pulling back and look into his primal stare.
“Where else would you like my vanilla mouth?”
I can't answer as he grazes his teeth along my jaw and down my neck, nipping gently on my sensitive skin, and moves along my collar bone. Deacon slides the straps of my vest down my arms, brushing my skin with his fingertips as his mouth follows the vest’s journey to my waist and the straps slide down my frozen hands.
“You want me to stop?” He asks, looking up from where he kneels before me with a devilish grin.
I swallow and lick my lips, my mouth is so dry. I want to tell him to stop, that this isn’t right, but I shake my head and push my hips into his kneading hands.
Deacon bites his bottom lip and makes short work on the button and zip of my jeans. I’m glad I wore matching underwear today and shaved in the shower last night, because my pink boyshorts join my jeans on their descent to my ankles. And I’m left in my bra with my vest bunched at my waist and my bottoms in a pool at my feet. I gasp as Deacon nudges my legs open with his nose and presses his face to the top of my thighs. My hands fly to the lip of the counter and hang on for dear life as his tongue traces along my seam and his finger eases inside me. I throw my head back, my hair tickling my hypersensitive skin.
“Oh, god.”
I choke as Deacon manoeuvres his hand and mouth together and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I can hear myself panting, whimpers escaping me as he continues his assault. I buck into him, needing more, needing less, needing release.
His free hand that was gripping my behind travels round to the bottom of my stomach and he applies a pressure that has me screaming in ecstasy as I come gloriously. I expect him to stop, for me to repay the gesture, but he continues with his hand and his tongue and I think I’ll collapse as I feel the building again, it’ll rip me apart if I climax so soon after the last time. My knees agree and they give way. As if he expects it, he withdraws his finger, grabs the back of my knees and tips me on the counter, before slipping two fingers back into me, his mouth never leaving my clit. I arch my back, my muscles tightening and he puts his hand back on my stomach.
“I can't!” I cry, knowing full well I can, but afraid of the state it will leave me in.
Deacon doesn’t stop, keeping up the rhythm with his fingers and then takes my clit gently between his teeth and I fall, screaming his name, holding my breath and stopping any oxygen getting into my lungs as my body trembles and my screams dwindle to a euphoric cry.
I look at him with black spots in my eyes as he takes his mouth and hand away, and I think I’ll combust again as he puts his fingers in his mouth to taste me again.
“What was that?” I pant, as he peppers kisses across the bottom of my stomach and works his way back up to my lips.
I taste my arousal as he supports his weight on his hands either side of my head and kisses me hungrily, as if he can’t bear not to.
“That,” He says pulling back, “Was the life affirming Big O.”
I feel my frown and he cocks one eyebrow, “I created it for you.”
“And how did you know it would work?” I ask, sceptical, convinced he’s done that before.
“Because I can read your body like a book.” He presses his lips to my neck again, “It was made for me.”
I’m about to say it, tell him he’s right; that I’ve thought that since we were reunited. I’ve never been tuned into someone so physically before, never been able to give them my body entirely because I couldn't give them my heart. But then he pulls away and stands up, and I sit up looking at him, feeling self-conscious.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
And then he leaves; no other words, no goodbye kiss, no opportunity for me to level out the sexual contact. Nothing. And then I realise it’s because of what he said. He can read my body, because it belongs to him. Not my heart.
I felt like he was worshipping me, and I wanted to worship him back, but he left. And even after everything he did, everything I felt and every reaction we had to each other this afternoon, I feel used, heartbroken. Again. He’s wrong; he’s had my heart since we were children.
Why can't he see it’s not about how I feel for him physically? The sex and desire is only as ‘life-affirming’ as it is because I’m in love with him. But the more I think about it, the more I consider that he behaves this way with all his girls. Maybe he uses his obscene amounts of money to buy them gifts, to make them feel appreciated and wanted, so he can worm his way into their bodies. Maybe he really is the ultimate sexual predator that everyone thinks he is.
Even as I’m thinking it, I’m telling myself not to believe it; he did worship me, every touch was gentle, filled with veneration and the selfless need to satisfy me. There was something holding him back, keeping him from staying, I just don’t know what it was. Maybe he regretted what happened, and there’s an explanation as simple as him deciding to respect my relationship with Kip, after the damage that has already been done. But I can't help feeling like it was something more; that he left because he thought whatever he was holding back would escape.
I get dressed and clear up, as the timer on the oven beeps. Deacon’s cakes have come out perfect; fluffy and risen and golden. Mine on the other hand have sunk in the middle and the strawberries are oozing from the sides. I throw my batch in the bin, blaming Deacon distracting me for why they came out such a disaster. I ice Deacon’s cakes myself and put them in a box to give to him later. I’m tempted to pull out, out of embarrassment and confusion, but I told him if the cakes came out perfect I’d go to dinner with him, and I'm going to go; especially if it gets me an explanation for what happened today.
~
Mum is helping me pick out something to go to dinner in. I didn’t bring much from London with me, so it’ll have to be something I’ve worn before. I hate going out in the same thing twice, but I spent the afternoon sulking over my cupcake mishap, and then went with Jade to pick Phillipa up from school.
“I like the grey skirt.” Mum says, holding it up with my grey silk shirt. It’s the outfit I wore for my birthday dinner, “Maybe it would be too dark now your hair is back to your natural colour.”
“No, it’s perfect.”
I have decided after talking to Jade while we waited for the school bell to ring, that after tonight, I will have my answers from Deacon, or I will go back to the girl I was when I wore this suit the day I arrived back here. The suit is perfect.
Mum eyes me warily, but leaves me to change.
Chapter 17
Deacon
It took everything I had to leave the shop this afternoon; I was so close in that moment, looking at Jenna in her post orgasmic bliss, to telling her everything. But she isn’t ready to hear it, I know she isn’t. Things aren’t as simple between us as they would be if we had never fallen out. But I know she thinks I’m just using her; I saw the look in her eyes, like I was about to tell her I was done, I’d had my fill and I was moving on. But I’ll never get my fill of Jenna; she’s everything and there’s nothing I can do to shake that. I’ve tried.
I pull up outside her house and can see the family gathered in the lounge, the light of the TV flashing in the room. Jade and Jenna are behind the sofa talking; I’m not normally curious but something about the way the siste
rs are talking has my eyes glued to them. Jade is throwing her arms around and standing so close that Jenna has to look up at her big sister. It looks like she’s getting a telling off until Jenna puts her hands up onto Jade’s shoulders and laughs. It looks stiff, forced, but has the desired effect and Jade relaxes while Jenna runs her hand through her hair, pulling it messily to the side. And then all eyes are on me. I wave nervously and look away. Damn.
A tap on my window makes me jump, and Jade is next to the car, while I see Jenna pulling on her jacket in the doorway. I wind the window down.
“Hey.” Jade says as if it’s an innocent greeting, but there’s a reason she’s at my car and she has her mother eyes on, “Don't get her drunk. Make sure she comes home. And for Chris sake, have a conversation instead of taking her across the table for the entire restaurant to see.”
Jenna appears behind her and kisses her on the cheek before making her way round to the passenger seat and sliding in. The M3 becomes the second car to be invaded by Jenna’s summery smell that reminds me of sandcastles and sunshine.
“Good evening,” She says, very un-Jenna-like, “Bye, Jade.”
She raises her eyebrows at her sister who gives me the look. The look that makes me want to ask what time Jenna’s curfew is so I can have her home an hour early. But she disappears back inside and I pull away from the kerb.
“Where are we going?”
“The guy who owns Jack’s has a restaurant just down from the club. I thought we’d get out of town. Speculating neighbours and all.”
“Sounds good, I’m starving.”
And there it is. The reminder that I once heard that pregnant women’s appetites are like those of bears. I want to ask her about it. But in all honesty, I’m afraid of the truth if I do; I want the baby, but what if it’s mine and she doesn’t want it? Or it’s Kips and I have no right knowing about it before anyone else. But then I remember Jade told me not to get her drunk, when she was out doing precisely that on Saturday. What’s changed since Saturday? Maybe Jenna told Jade.
“You okay?” Jenna asks, clearly noting how distracted I am and I realise I’m stationary at a green light.
“Yeah. All good. What were you talking to your sister about?”
“Uh,” She stutters, “She told me not to sleep with you... In so many words.”
“And what were the exact words?”
“Jenna,” She raises her voice an octave and mocks Jade, “Do not get drunk and persist to fuck Deacon Reid’s brains out. Or allow him to screw yours.”
That has me hard instantly. She could work on her impersonation skills, but the way she spoke about fucking my brains out and used my full name has me thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking while controlling a car. There’s something in the way she says my name, seductive and raspy.
“And what did you say?”
She looks out of the window and folds her arms, “That I have absolutely no intention of fucking you.”
I snap my mouth shut, and the rest of the drive to Foster is quiet.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” I ask as the waiter appears at the table, and I notice Jenna checking him out. What?
“No, thank you. I’ll have orange and bitter, thanks.”
“I’ll have a beer. Peroni.” The waiter nods and leaves the table, “What was that about?”
“What?”
“Gawping at the guy dressed like a penguin.”
“Funny.” She lifts her glass of water to her lips, “I was only looking. So, what did you do this afternoon?”
That’s what her game is. She’s pissed off that I left her hanging this afternoon. I should have known she would choose to be offended instead of realising I was about to combust and had to exert an incredible amount of restraint to leave her while she was naked and lying flat on her back on her kitchen counter. I’m hard again just thinking about it; but I can feel her slipping away from me, and I have to get her back.
“I went back to the house and ruined the punch bag. I needed to work out some frustrations.” Like giving myself blue balls to prevent ruining everything.
“What frustrations?” She looks past me and I know she’s checking out the waiter again as he appears five seconds later with our drinks.
She thanks him, but I can't ignore the look he gives her. Or the pang of annoyance that she’s messing about and he’s drinking it in.
“Stop playing games, Jen.” I glare at her as she stirs her drink with her straw.
“I don't know what you’re talking about.” She feigns innocence.
“I know what you’re doing.” I’ve seen it before. Girls used to do it all the time, to get my attention, and when it annoyed the shit out of me. It’s working now, she has my full attention and I’m half tempted to go and lock the waiter in the bathroom to stop her wandering eye. Is this really what it feels like?
“What are you talking about? We were discussing your frustrations.”
“Stop fucking about because you're pissed off about this afternoon.”
“Whatever.”
“Why did you come if you're just gonna bust my balls?”
“I guess I have something to discuss with you.” She says matter-of-fact and taking the first sip of her drink. She’s stopped looking for the waiter though, knowing I’ve caught her out.
This is it, she’s going to tell me and we’re going to talk about it. I take a huge mouthful of beer, and then realise this is my only one because I’m driving us back, and I have a plan.
“I’m all ears.” I swallow, more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Have you noticed what I’m wearing?”
“Yes.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to say it, “You wore it on your birthday.”
“Do you remember what I was like on my birthday?” Why is she being so cryptic? She looks hesitant, as if she’s about to say something she might regret. We’re not going to talk about the pregnancy, that much I know, because what she wore on her birthday has nothing to do with it.
“A raging bitch.” I said that without thinking, but she smiles.
“I didn’t know you would be there. I guess there are two Jenna’s, London Jenna, and...Normal Jenna.” Proof that this ‘London Jenna’ is an act, “I don't like London Jenna and I know that’s who I was when I first came back. I won't apologise for it, but you’re the one who brought the real Jenna back. I won't deny that something switched between us and if there was a line, we’ve crossed it. Today hurt. Big time. I don't want London Jenna to return but I need some answers. I have to protect myself.”
“So what you’re saying is if we don't clear things up you’re going to hate me again.”
“I never hated you!” She slouches in her chair when people look around, “But I have to respect myself and I can't be another one of them.”
I don't need to ask her what that means. She’s talking about the girls, and I wish to God I’d never told her about them. She thinks she’s one of them.
“Jen, this is crazy.”
“Why did you leave this afternoon?” And the questions begin. I wonder how deep these truths are going to go. We’re interrupted by the waiter, and Jenna doesn’t take her eyes off me. I see the sorrow and fear in them. I won't lie to her; I won't let her down again.
“What can I get you?” The waiter asks, looking deflated at the lack of attention from Jenna.
“What are you having, baby?” I ask her.
She doesn’t flinch this time, simply answers, “I’ll have the garlic bread and cheeseburger. What about you?”
She reaches across the table and touches the top of my hand. I turn my hand palm up and she settles her fingers between mine.
“Prawn skewer and mixed grill, rare. Thanks.”
“Very good.”
This time it’s Jenna who hands the menus back; I can't take my eyes off her as she runs her tongue along her bottom lip and then bites it. The poor guy leaves looking utterly rejected, but Jenna doesn’t take her hand away, a
nd holds the fingertips of her free hand to my mouth as I open it to speak.
“Please don't tell me you felt guilty all of a sudden. We’re way past the guilt, and I’m the one who’s the lying cheat.”
“I don't feel guilty, he’s a shit head.” I try to make light of it but I see Jenna battling with herself, “And don't put yourself down, that’s what he does.”
She gasps, realising I’ve noticed how he does nothing but question her and doesn’t support anything she wants. She blinks away tears, and I know this is hard for her. The family knows she isn’t selfish and she doesn’t like lying, but they can't understand why she won't just leave Kip and move in with me. I know, and I understand why.
“I’ll be honest with you. I won't ever lie to you, Jen.”
She nods, but I see the guilt and shame in her eyes. It breaks me to see her like that, knowing she’d take the plunge with me, if she felt like she could trust me. And right now, especially after this afternoon, she doesn’t.
“I had to leave,” I stroke circles into her palm, “Not for him, but for you. I lost control, I was trying to take a step back, let you clear your head without...physical stuff getting in the way. But I couldn't take from you, when you don't know what you want.”
It is the truth, part of it. I told her I won't lie to her, and I won't. If she asks me if I love her, I’ll tell her exactly how I feel. But I’ll keep it from her until she can accept it and believes it has always been her; will only ever be her.
“So you can give me things but can't take them?”
“I guess so.”
“It’s bullshit.” I raise my eyebrows, but she lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses my palm, “Thank you.”
“You don't need to thank me. You’re in a shit situation, and I don't want to distract you,” she bites the inside of her cheek, “But I won't stop spending time with you.”
“I don't want you to. But I can't be another trait girl, Deac.”
“You’re not. They don't exist.”
“But they did.”
Second Chance Hero Page 18