Deacon

by Kit Rocha

  The soft, repetitive sound of steel against stone resumed as Ana sharpened her final knife. It joined the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the rhythmic tapping of Zeke’s fingers on his keyboard.

  Lucio rose. “Does anyone mind if I leave this? I want to finish tomorrow.”

  “Nah.” Zeke closed his computer with a sigh of frustration. “I’ll help if you want. I can’t do anything useful until that drone gets back with the surveillance video.”

  Hunter eyed him appraisingly. “Want to go upstairs and knock each other around?”

  “Only if you promise not to break anything I’ll need.”

  Reyes held out both hands, but he didn’t speak until all three men had left the room. “What am I, invisible? No one’s inviting me anywhere.”

  “They probably figure you have plans.” Deacon started slipping the tools back into his cleaning case.

  “Yeah,” Ana murmured, glancing up at Reyes with one eyebrow raised. “What happened to Davin?”

  He narrowed his eyes as he turned a chair around and straddled it, but his expression cleared as he folded his arms on the back and gazed innocently at Ana. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Ana’s cheeks flushed, but she held Reyes’s gaze stubbornly. “Go ahead and do it. I know it’s been killing you not to say it.”

  “Fine.” He waved a hand between Deacon and Ana. “You two, together. It’s cute.”

  “Cute,” she echoed flatly.

  “Yeah, cute. Sweet, adorable. It’s nice.” He scoffed. “I’m not an asshole all the time, you know.”

  Ana glanced at Deacon. She looked so worried, like he might have some sort of macho meltdown at being called adorable. So he winked at her. “Thank you, Reyes.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ana was still watching him, her lips slowly curving up until she was looking at him the way she had in her aunt’s salon, all big brown eyes and soft smiles.

  “All right.” Reyes stood with a laugh. “I’m not an asshole, but I’m also not a voyeur. Not tonight, anyway.” He left, and his last words drifted back up the hallway. “You kids have fun.”

  When he was gone, Ana gently slid her knife back into its sheath and tossed her braids over her shoulder. “So.” Her voice held a note of teasing flirtation wrapped up with something even hotter--anticipation and certainty. “Are we gonna have fun?”

  “I think that depends.”

  “On?”

  “Whether you trust me.”

  Both of her eyebrows lifted. “So we’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

  He rose and offered her his hand. “Come on.”

  Losing him would be tough for the Riders. But Ana was a different story entirely. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch as she folded her hand in his and followed him to his room.

  The other Riders would grieve, but Ana would be heartbroken.

  It was his bitterest regret, the one that threatened to twist arousal into dark melancholy. So he pushed the thought away as she closed his bedchamber door behind her and leaned back against it, her dark eyes bright. “I trust you, Deacon.”

  “Uh-uh.” He dropped his hands to his belt, lingering over the buckle when she drew in a sharp breath. “Show me.”

  She’d come down to the common room barefoot, dressed in the same clothes she wore to work out. Her simple tank top clung to her curves as she peeled it slowly up her body, revealing a lacy bra with a little black bow between her breasts. Her underwear matched when she kicked her pants off, and she paused to run her fingers along the lace at the waistband. “Do you like them?”

  “I do.” They fit like they were made for her, and maybe they were. “I promise I won’t rip them.”

  “Good.” Her finger toyed with the clasp between her breasts as she took a step closer. “If you did, I’d make you buy me new ones. Do you know how frivolous it is to own lacy underwear you never show to anyone?”

  “Nope.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from that clasp. “Never tried it. Should I?”

  “Maybe I’ll buy you something.” Her fingers twisted, and the fabric eased aside, revealing the firm, sleek curves of her breasts.

  His mouth started to water. “You know, I think it looks better on you. Looks better off of you, too.”

  “Yeah?” Mischief glinted in her eyes as she slid her fingers inside the waistband of her panties and beneath the silky fabric. “You probably want me to take these off, too.”

  Two could play her game. He moved his hand from his belt buckle down to his fly, where his aching cock strained against the denim.

  And then he waited.

  Her gaze fixed on his hand. Her tongue darted out over her lower lip, like she was remembering the taste of him. Seconds ticked by in a silence broken only by her quickening breaths.

  “Fuck.” In a sudden burst of movement, Ana shoved her panties down her legs and kicked them away with so much force they flew across the room. She stood in front of him naked, and he drank in the sight of her.

  He could do it all night, if only he had the patience. But there were other things he wanted, things that were just as good or maybe even better--like listening to that first shaky breath when he put his hands on her.

  He stripped his shirt over his head. “On the bed.”

  She didn’t challenge him this time. She crossed the room and slid onto the quilt, stretching out on her back with her upper body propped up on her elbows so she could watch him.

  “I have plans for you.” He moved slowly, giving her all the time in the world to watch as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free of its loops. He folded the warm leather between his hands, just long enough for a spark of curiosity--and hunger--to light her eyes.

  Every emotion played nakedly across her face. She was wondering if he’d use it on her. How he’d use it. And she wanted him to use it, to bind her wrists or slide the supple leather over her skin in a million other ways.

  Not tonight. He tossed the belt aside and popped open the top button on his jeans. “Plans,” he said again, putting a hint of steel into the word this time, just to watch what that did to her flushed, expressive face.

  She shifted restlessly on the bed, her gaze following his fingers. “You’re good at plans. Strategy. Tactics.” She wet her lips again. “Conquering.”

  “Usually.” The second button gave way, and he left his jeans hanging low on his hips. “You make me forget.”

  “Sorry,” she murmured, then flicked her gaze up to his. Mischief and satisfaction shone from her eyes now, and an utter lack of regret.

  “No, you’re not. But that’s okay.” He knelt at the end of the bed, just one knee, and trailed his fingers over the inside of her ankle. “I don’t want you to be sorry. About anything.”

  Goose bumps dotted her skin, and she sucked in a breath. “That’s why this is so good. You’re not trying to get me to be something I’m not.”

  “Never.” He eased his hand higher, up her calf to her knee, urging her legs apart as he moved.

  She shivered under his touch, but her knees fell open readily. “I used to think you were a wall. This immovable stack of bricks I could throw myself against over and over, and I might get banged up but at least I’d be tougher.”

  He stroked his fingers up her thigh. “And now?”

  “You’re a wall.” She relaxed back to the bed and spread her arms wide as she closed her eyes. “But you can lean against walls when you’re tired of being tough. You can put a wall at your back and know you’re safe.”

  The words sparked another sort of ache, this one somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Then lean against me for a while,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  “I know.” Her fingers curled into the covers, and her hips lifted, quiet entreaty instead of impatient demand. “Show me.”

  He slipped off the rest of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Instead of his hands, he rubbed his jaw over the inside of her knee. She laughed, low and warm, and squirmed under the
touch. “Your beard tickles.”

  “Uh-huh.” A little higher, and her laughter subsided. Higher still, and it melted into a rough moan.

  This was the key to Ana--a slow build with committed follow-through.

  He pushed her thighs wider, opening her to his gaze as well as his touch. Her hips arched again, bringing her just close enough so that his lower lip slicked over her clit.

  “God.” She released the blankets and slid one hand into his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands until his scalp burned. “Please, Deacon.”

  Just one hitching syllable, but it rocked his self-control. He slipped both hands beneath her and lifted her to his mouth. Her moan of gratitude was immediate, and her hand tightened in his hair. “Yes.”

  He went slowly--not a tease but a promise, that every careful caress and flick of his tongue would lead to more. And he gave it to her, rewarding each gasp and moan until he had to clench his hands on her hips to hold her when she tried to squirm away.

  When his tongue grazed her clit again, she gave a full-body shudder and jerked at his hair, dragging his head up to meet her eyes. “Your mouth,” she panted, “is dangerous.”

  “I’ve barely gotten started.” Another promise, this one breathed across wet, aroused flesh, and he affirmed it by thrusting his tongue into her. She was melting for him, soft and sweet, burning so hot that she began to move her hips, rocking up to meet him. Fucking his mouth.

  And she didn’t hold back this time. Not with the hungry, focused movement of her body, not with her moans and whimpers that grew in volume, guiding him to her most sensitive places. She wasn’t trying to be quiet, wasn’t trying to hide.

  But she needed more.

  He let go of her hips. When she rocked up again, he pushed two fingers inside her--just far enough to elicit a husky sigh of pleasure, but not enough to satisfy the driving hunger. He wanted her on this edge, drawn and tight, balanced so carefully that one tiny thing--anything--could send her tumbling over it.

  “Deacon--” Her thigh moved restlessly against his shoulder, her voice breaking as she rolled her hips up, chasing a harder touch. When he retreated to keep her on that edge, she made a desperate noise and threw her arm across her eyes. “If you don’t fuck me into the mattress after this, I’m gonna strangle you.”

  “Lies.” He turned his head and bit her thigh. “But if you don’t like it...”

  “Fuck you,” she groaned, but a shudder went through her and her pussy clenched around his fingers. “C’mon, Deacon. You know you wanna be inside me when I come. All hot and wet, riding your cock.”

  The words slithered down his spine, evoking a memory vivid enough to make his balls tighten. He’d never forget what she felt like, gripping him in the throes of desperate pleasure.

  With a snarl, he pulled away and flipped her over on her knees. She laughed in victory and bowed her back, offering him a mouthwatering view of her ass as she stretched her arms out and pressed her forehead to the mattress. “Yes. Do it. Fuck me.”

  He bent over her, sinking his teeth into the back of her shoulder. It would be so fucking easy to give her what she wanted--

  If it was what she truly craved.

  He traced his tongue over the hollow of her lower back instead. “You’re used to that, aren’t you? You say jump, and the men just ask you how high.”

  She glanced back at him, her eyes still sparkling with laughter and hunger. “No, I say fuck and they ask how deep?”

  “Ah, there’s the difference.” He drove his fingers into her, curling them to stroke her inner walls as she fluttered around him. “I don’t have to ask.”

  “Oh fuck--” Ana buried her forehead against the quilt as her hands fisted around the fabric. “God, right there, right--fuck.”

  “You just have to trust me, Ana.” He bit her again, this time on the luscious curve of her ass. “And I’ll get you there.”

  “I know,” she whimpered, rocking back against him. “I know. I trust you.”

  He stroked her faster, harder, filling the room with the slick sound of his fingers fucking in and out of her. Her legs started to tremble, and he pressed the heel of his other hand hard against her clit.

  A keening noise escaped her, sharp and desperate. Her pussy gripped his fingers tight, and her muscles tensed. She teetered on the edge, utterly attuned to his touch, caught in that moment before orgasm.

  “Go on.” He kissed her back, then kept his open mouth on her damp skin. “Come.”

  She did. Hard. It started with a shudder beneath his lips, and then a groan of helpless relief. She clenched around his fingers as her hips moved, grinding down against the heel of his hand in rhythm with the pulse of her body. His name escaped her, low and hoarse, broken by little moans as he raked his teeth over her skin.

  When her quaking subsided into delicious little tremors, he pulled her body up against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Her heart thumped under his palm, so loud he could almost hear it, and he closed his eyes as he drank it in.

  This was Ana--stripped down, naked in ways that had nothing to do with clothes. Vulnerable. Open.

  His.

  She turned her head, her cheek brushing his lips. Her voice trembled. “Deacon.”

  “Anything you want. Everything.” A promise that didn’t come close to repaying her for her precious trust, but it was all he had. “I swear it, Ana.”

  She opened her mouth, and he captured it, licking the words from her tongue. When she shuddered in his arms, he pressed her down to the bed once again, following her to draw his tongue up the sleek line of her spine. She shivered when he nudged aside her braids to kiss the vulnerable spot at the base of her neck, and her response came as a breathy sigh. “Everything. I want everything.”

  He straightened. Her thighs were slick, and he rubbed his thumb over the inside of one. “Be careful with that word, princess.” He slowly slid his thumb up over her pussy to tease at her ass, holding her hip when she squirmed. “Make sure you know what it means.”

  “I know what it means,” she said hoarsely, her back bowing. “Everything.”

  “You mean this?” He took his cock in hand and stroked the blunt head between her pussy lips. “Or this?” He flexed his hips, pushing forward just enough to make her jerk and shiver.

  Then he gripped her hips and drove forward, burying his cock in her impossibly hot body with one long, ruthless thrust.

  She cried out as he gritted his teeth and struggled to maintain a shred of control. But her pussy clasped around him, tempting him to abandon his intentions, his plans, everything but the pounding need to take.

  She was still moaning when he spread his hand across her lower back. He skimmed his thumb, wet with her arousal, down between her ass cheeks to test the tight ring of muscle there. She gasped, and he growled and pressed his thumb deeper. “Even this?”

  “Everything,” she whispered hoarsely. “Fuck, Deacon--”

  The husky plea rocketed through him like an electric shock. Trust wasn’t a one-way street, something he could demand from her and refuse to give in return. She deserved this, all of him.

  All of him.

  “You want it rough, don’t you?” He ground against her, driving deeper. “No holding back.”

  “Yes.” She stretched her arms above her, bracing her hands against the headboard. “I want to--” He rocked his thumb deeper, too, and the words broke on a moan. “I want to feel alive.”

  Her words throbbed in his veins, pure, undiluted fire. Hungry for sensation, the kind of pleasure maybe only he could give her. He pulled back as far as he could stand and began to thrust into her--forceful, fierce, holding her against the onslaught with his hand on her lower back.

  I want to feel alive. He’d never felt more alive than this, with the fire burning away the straining threads of his self-control, one by one. She met him thrust for thrust, holding nothing back, and he drank in every harsh breath and helpless cry. He fucked her hard, harder, until every pounding movemen
t carried them farther up the bed.

  Her hands slipped off the top of the headboard, and Deacon caught her, cupped his hand over the top of her shoulder and bowed her back. With a desperate noise, she slid her hand down her body, fingers slipping over her clit as her pussy pulsed around him.

  The last of his self-control dissolved as she came with a hoarse cry, and the almost undeniable need to follow her into oblivion washed over him.

  Almost. The one thing he needed more was to give her the uninhibited lover she yearned for. So he clenched his jaw and kept going, pounding into her until the slap of flesh on flesh nearly drowned out her cries. And she kept coming, kept screaming, until not even the fucking roof caving in around his ears could have stopped Deacon’s headlong rush toward pleasure.

  He came with her name on his lips. The world went hazy, like it didn’t fucking exist anymore. Nothing did, except for Ana, her cries and her pleasure and the hot, sweet clasp of her body.

  I want to feel alive. It was some sort of miracle, a twist of fate, that they should both be in the world at the same time, in the same place. Some cosmic hint that maybe he didn’t have to be alone, after all.

  Deacon had never believed in the god that folks in Sector One trusted and worshipped, but Ana could change his mind.

  She sagged in his grip, still whimpering softly as the aftershocks of pleasure drifted through her. He eased away, then helped her to the mattress before curling up behind her. She shivered under the quilt he pulled over them, and Deacon petted her as she settled down.

  After a few minutes, she snuggled back into him with a sleepy sigh of contentment. “I am the definition of well-fucked.”

  If he was an asshole, he’d feel smug. Hell, he felt smug anyway. “Don’t forget exhausted.”

  “That’s implied.” She wriggled around onto her back and shook a stray braid out of her face. Her lips curled into a soft smile. “Hi.”

  Her blissfully satisfied expression was contagious. “Uh-huh.”

  She leaned up to nuzzle his cheek, then found his lips for a slow, lazy kiss that ended with her tongue teasing across his lower lip. Then she kissed the tip of his nose. “You should smile more. You have a beautiful smile.”