I gasp as my breath escapes me in a rush; Deacon rips the seam of my denim shorts, creating a skirt, and slides his hand into my underwear. I drop my head to his shoulder as he eases two fingers into me and circles his thumb over my clit, driving me crazy. His pace is mind numbing and something about his aggressive and untamed pace sends sparks through my body with every expert move. But his kisses on my shoulders, along my collar bone and jaw are feather-light and I let out the moan I’ve been fighting, finally able to draw a breath. I brush my finger across the blond trail of hair below his bellybutton and head south, feeling him tense beneath my touch. All I can do is fist the material of his boxers in my hand as the orgasm rips unexpectedly through my body and I scream out Deacon’s name, gripping his shoulder with my free hand. He’s smiling sexily, but I’m struggling to come down from the high of his magic, and put up no resistance when he slides me off the counter and lays me on the kitchen table. I smile through my breathlessness, eager to get my hands around his cock that’s strained against the material of his underwear. I’m almost desperate for him to slide through my wetness and take my breath away again.
But he keeps his distance, his hands on my thighs the only contact and I squirm under his gaze as he drinks in my appearance, naked except from my shredded shorts up by my waist and my dishevelled underwear.
“The table is the perfect height.” He murmurs to himself and I wonder how he’s so calm when he’s been making his desires clear for the last two weeks of us being at home around each other with not so much as a make-out session. I, on the other hand am going crazy with the need for him. Fuck delayed gratification, if Deacon is my reward, I want it now.
“For what?” I breathe, my voice slow and raspy.
He shakes his head, reaching for my shorts, unzipping the zip and sliding it down my body. I lift my feet up on to the table so I can lift my back to free the shorts.
“Stay like that.” Deacon says sliding the denim off and putting my legs back on the table. I see the hunger in his eyes now. Finally.
I stay frozen, my knees bent and my heels resting on the edge of the table, while Deacon looks down at me. And then he pulls up a chair and sits down, scooting in closer to me and grabbing my ankles. I know what his intentions are, I know it’s coming, but there’s no way to prepare for Deacon’s mouth and tongue on me. He was right; it’s entirely life-affirming and I tremble beneath his touch. One finger slides deep inside me and his tongue flutters over my clit, gentle and strong, high and low, stroking and probing. It’s like an outer body experience; I can hear myself screaming, begging him to stop, and then not to stop, and then just begging. I don't know what for. But I’m lost in a sea of euphoric pleasure and I wish I could bottle this and keep the sensation that is burning through me, with every plunge of Deac’s tongue, and then his fingers. He’s everywhere and it’s too much, but not enough. The flames ignite, and my body is on fire. I grip the edge of the table, trying to fight the feeling that I'm sure will rip me apart. But with a final command from Deac, telling me to let go, I fall from the precipice and cry out my orgasm as my body trembles and shakes and the sweat pours down my temples.
I open my eyes when I hear the scraping of the chair on the floor, and in one swift move I sit up and grip Deacon’s arms as he leans over me. We’re nose to nose and I crush my mouth to his, trying to kiss out my frustration and need, and whimper when his tongue invades my mouth. I can taste myself and I feel his hands sliding underneath me. I wrap my legs around him in preparation, feeling him rock hard against me, his underwear the only thing that separates us.
“I need you.” I pant, clawing at his back, “No more. I need you now.”
He nods, accepting that I’ve gone as far as I can without him with me, and saunters out of the kitchen, his mouth devouring mine, his arms hooked under mine and his hands in my hair, holding me to him. I’m trapped in a perfect prison, and I have no desire to be free. A door opens, but I keep my eyes closed, telling myself to trust him, and not prepared to break out of the haze of kissing my fiancé like our lives depend on it.
The sound of papers and something heavy scatter across the floor and my back hits something cold and smooth. I open my eyes to see I’m lying on the desk in Deacon’s home office and he’s got his hand in his boxers. I love watching him touch himself. I sit up on my elbows, and tug his boxers down with my feet, licking my lips when I see him spring free. I reach out to touch him, but he grabs my wrists, presses a kiss to the palm of my hand and uses it to push me back on the desk. My legs are dangling off the edge, my feet barely touching the floor, and Deacon is nestled between my legs, stroking himself along the seam of my entrance.
“Turn around.” I scramble to sit up, and slide off the table, “Bend over.”
I take a deep breath, beyond aroused and bend over, supporting my weight with my hands on the desk. Deac presses himself into me, rubbing the length of him hot and hard against me and he leans over, his chest pressed into my back. With both hands on mine, he lowers me so I’m resting on my forearms and my fingers are curled over the other edge of the desk. He tells me not to let go, but the sound is lost to me as he stands back, grips my waist and eases me forward. My hips dig in to the desk, but the sensation is lost as Deacon caresses my hips, spreading his hands to squeeze my behind.
“Tell me you’re mine.” He commands and everything south of me tightens.
“I’m yours.” I reply, aching and needy.
“Tell me like you mean it.”
“I’m yours!” I scream as he grabs my hips, pulls me back and fills me instantly and I drop my head to the table, the feel of him inside me consuming me.
I fight for air as my breath catches in my throat with every thrust. I fight to breathe as I feel Deacon hit depths I never knew existed.
“Fuck,” He growls and squeezes my hip harder, the other hand moving to the bottom of my back to hold me in place. I’m trapped between Deacon and the desk, unable to move as he gives me everything. My emotions are building with my body and I’m lost to sensation, climbing, flying.
“Oh god.”
Deacon doesn’t ask if I’m okay – he knows how my body works better than I do, and I cry out again as he grabs my hair and pulls it hard. He pounds into me over and over, using his hands to keep me still on the table and I cry, because I’ve never felt anything so consuming in my whole life; I want to push back, want to grab him, kiss him, watch him; but he’s taken it all and I’ve never trusted him like this before. It’s incredible, and somewhere in the fog of being fucked to within an inch of my life, I realise if I hadn’t given myself completely to this man before, there would be no denying it now.
“I need to see you.” I whimper and Deacon slips out of me, for just enough time to turn me on my back, before he’s consuming me again, leaning over and supporting himself with his hands either side of my head.
“I love you.” Se breathes, lifting my hand to his mouth as we watch each other come apart.
“I love you.” I cry, losing control of my body again, “I love you so much.”
Deacon falls, taking me with him, pulling my body up to meet his as I tighten around him and he explodes into me, growling my name and telling me he loves me. We’re sheeted in sweat, out of breath and trembling as our bodies recover from something so physical but incredibly spiritual. I’m not sure even marriage could bind me to Deacon more than I am now. I close my eyes, snuggling into Deacon’s chest and committing his scent to memory, and then I remember this scent is mine, for the rest of my life.
“Don't fall asleep, baby.” I open my eyes with all the strength I have, “I’m not finished with you.”
I smile through my exhaustion, before Deacon picks me up and carries me up the stairs, grabbing his jeans from the kitchen on the way.
“I can't believe that’s what I’ve been missing.” I confess, laying my head on Deacon’s chest and listening to his heart slow.
I pass it off as a tease, but I didn’t know sex could be so strong
, so powerful, so raw. I’ve had sex, and I’ve had good sex. But with Deacon it feels like so much more than body’s touching. Every time we’re together, it feels like my heart is on show and my body gets to take all the physical rewards. I’m not complaining, I just can't understand where that sex came from.
“We’ll make up for lost time.” I can hear his smile, as he strokes his fingers up and down my arm.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, and then regret it, unsure if I want to hear the answer. “I didn’t learn it.” I frown and look up at him. He’s sleepy and smiling, his hair in a tangle of pulled mess and he looks adorable. I’d say fuckable, but I’ll let him have a break, “Anyone can fuck, Jen.”
“It can't be the norm to be that good.”
“Wondering where you went wrong in your search?” His eyes are closed now, and I expect to see his smug smile, but he’s serious, locking his fingers with mine, “It’s you.”
I smile, and my lip trembles, and I want to smack him for being so cheesy. But I believe him; I believe we have such a physical connection because we were made for each other – mind, body and soul.
“Tell me how you know Grandma would be happy?” I ask, noticing the sparkle of the ring in the sunlight as Deacon caresses my fingers.
“I can show you.” He attempts to move, but I hold him in place.
“No more shows.” I giggle, “And we’re talking about your grandma.”
Deacon laughs his low, throaty laugh, “As much as I would love to show you what else I know about making you feel good, I wasn’t talking about that.” He me on the shoulder and I sit up, “In the pocket of my shorts.”
I lie across him, noticing the sharp intake of breath and the wince, but grab the jean shorts quickly, realising he doesn’t attempt to hurry me.
“Did that hurt?” I ask, handing him his shorts and watching him rummage in the pocket.
“Yep.” He rolls his neck and pulls out a folded envelope, “Not as much.”
I smile, finally satisfied that he is better. He’s back to his old self; something I thought would be a long process considering how he was when he first came home. I know he has flashbacks of the crash and I know they scare him. He’s said things about it in his sleep before. We’ll get to that one day; but for now I trust him to be okay and to tell me when he isn’t
“It’s a letter.” Deac says handing me the recently folded envelope, “It was in the box from my dad. The ring was inside. It will tell you everything.”
Chapter 34
My youngest son Deacon,
If you are reading this letter then I am sorry I’m not there for you, son. I hope this letter is enough.
One day you will have children of your own and you will know the love and pride that I am bursting with every day for you and Bradley. There is nothing stronger than a parent’s love, and it was a gift to raise you boys as my sons, as my friends.
People always told me you were my mini-me, and for that I am grateful. I am grateful that you are strong-willed and passionate and loving and protective. But, I know those characteristics can be hard to keep controlled. It is why I have written this letter to you, in case I am not there when you become a man.
You’re a smart boy; intelligent and perceptive. I have no doubts that you will do right by your education and your career. We are driven son, driven to succeed.
But you will struggle with your feelings and how to express them to those who really matter.
Your mother moved down from the North and came into my life like a hurricane. Suddenly life before her didn’t make sense; food had never tasted as good as it did on our first date to the local chippy. The sea had never sparkled as much as the blue of her eyes. The sun had never shined so bright, and nothing could ever outshine your mother. We never had money as kids, didn’t have much besides family, and I began counting down the days; first until I was a teenager, then until I was an adult. But then I met your mother. I stopped counting down the days, and started making every day count. Because of her. You have to seize the day – you never know if it will be your last.
If you are reading this letter, sitting on your beanbag and wondering if this is supposed to make sense, put it back in the box and try again in a few years. When you are ready to understand it, everything will make sense.
And when it does, I want you to take the ring that accompanies this letter and give it to the girl you can't bear to live without. Don't waste another minute, no matter where your lives have taken you. Tell her you love her, because it’s always been her. And then ask her to marry you with the ring that kept Grandma and Gramps married for seventy years; Grandma said she’s the only other woman who has the right to wear it. And when she says yes, spend the rest of your life showing her she made the right choice.
She’s been the one for you since she was born. When she cried you cried, when she laughed you laughed, and when she needed comforting without even knowing it, you were there. I don't need to say her name, you know who I’m talking about. She’s always getting you in trouble, she packs a mean punch and she keeps you in place. Sometimes we need someone to remind us that life is good. Everyone needs a hero, and you’ve always been hers. Do you remember the first day we spoke about her?
‘She smells like strawberries and has a doll called Peaches. Her hands smell like lemon because her mum has hand wipes in her pocket. And her coat is green like apples. She reminds me of a packet of Opal Fruits. She punched me because I dropped her lollipop.’
That was the first time I saw true love in your eyes. You were seven.
She’s your past, present and future and there are not enough people who can say that about the one they love. She knows you for everything you’ve been, everything you are, and everything you will be, and she loves you unconditionally.
She’ll keep you on your toes, challenge you every day, and she’ll be a pain in the arse. But believe me, it will all be worth it. You will be the happiest man in the world. You look at her the way I look at your mother and there will never be another who you look at like that.
I wish we could have spoke about this over a couple of beers and a fishing rod, but everything happens for a reason, don't ever forget that. And take care of your mother. She’s the love of my life and of the 7 billion people in the world, I found the other half of myself. So did you, don't let her slip away.
I’m proud of you, I always will be.
I love you, son. I always will.
Dad
Chapter 35
Deacon
A single tear falls from Jenna’s eye and plops onto the paper shaking in her hands. I take her face in my hands and wipe away her tears. It did the same thing to me when I read it yesterday morning. There are other letters in the box, but I was drawn to the one with the weight in the bottom, and the rest is history. I knew my dad was talking about Jenna, and I remembered talking to him the afternoon after I got back from Jenna’s seventh birthday party. It was a hazy memory, but I could smell her hair and lemon hand-wipes while sitting at my desk. It was exactly what I needed, to confirm the thoughts that had been going through my head since I started sending Jenna out. Every time she left, I missed her and wondered if she would come back. I decided I had to make her my wife. Apparently my dad knew she would say yes.
“Don't cry, baby.” I continue to wipe away the stream of tears as she cries silently sitting cross-legged on our bed. Our bed.
“She wanted me to have this.” Jenna looks down at the ring sparkling on her finger, “I asked the old bat for years to just try it on.”
She laughs through her tears, and I wonder if Grandma had any inkling Jenna would have to wait ten years before she got to try it on. Of course, it fits her perfectly. Like it was made for her. I remember the last few years of Grandma’s life, her weight loss so rapid she had to take her rings off and wear them around her neck. I had always thought she’d been buried with them.
“So has the letter answered your question?”
“I think
so.” She nods, “But you do realise you’ve been playing the superhero this whole time, and your dad already knew.”
“All that effort wasted.” I smirk, throwing my hands in the air.
“No.” My smile drops at her tone, “Because if I thought I loved you before, you becoming Superman only made me love you even more.”
“I’m not complaining,” I slide lower in the bed and Jenna snuggles into my side, where she belongs, “I’ve got my very own Lois Lane.”
“Forever.”
It’s the middle of the day, the sun is bright and it’s a Saturday. We should be out with friends, or visiting the family. But we’re snuggled in the bed sheets, silently listening to the other’s breathing, and somewhere between the overwhelming comfort I feel having her by my side, I fall asleep.
I realise, as I descend into slumber, that I’ve never been happy before. Not this happy. I’ve laughed at the pub with my mates, I’ve joked around with guys on sites. I’ve liked spending time with my mum and my brother when he’s not being a douche bag. I’ve enjoyed spending time with women, while waiting for the right one to come crashing back into my life. No, not the right one, the only one. But what I’ve never been is happy. Happy to the point of needing to make someone smile just because I love to watch their face light up. Never happy to the point where I know I would sacrifice myself over and over so she can have anything on this Earth she wants. And then I realise, happy to me isn’t smiling and feeling giddy. Happy isn’t music, or art, or literature. Happy to me is making someone else happy. And not just anyone, Jenna. The only thing that has made me happy after twenty-six years of mediocre amusement, is the thought of Jenna’s happiness. It’s such a simple revelation, a promise I made to myself as a kid. I really have loved her my entire life.
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