Despite the fact that I’d just begged him to fuck me, he didn’t budge. If anything, he buried his face deeper between my legs.
Had he not heard me? Or was he pretending he hadn’t? I didn’t want to presume anything, so I chose not to repeat my request, as desperate as I was to be fucked by him.
He slid his mouth down farther and began to fuck me again with his tongue. I gripped the sheets for dear life, because I knew this was going to be the end of me.
His beard scratched against my ass as he continued moving his tongue in and out of me, stopping only long enough to say, “Fucking hell. I can’t get enough of this.”
The muscles between my legs contracted. I was losing it. And he knew.
“Come. Come all over my mouth. Give it all to me.”
Those final words were enough to push me over the edge.
I bucked my hips, circling my clit against the pressure of his tongue as a rush of adrenaline hit. It was painful to keep quiet as my orgasm coursed through me—more like barreled through me. Waves and waves of pleasure rocketed throughout my body. When I fully released it all, Deacon was still lapping his tongue slowly over my flesh, as if to eat up every last drop of the evidence.
My body was blissfully limp as I recovered from the single most erotic experience of my life—one I knew I wouldn’t get over anytime soon.
Eventually, Deacon kissed up to my stomach. He hadn’t kissed me on the mouth once. I assumed it was some sort of boundary he’d set, an attempt at not pushing what had happened into intimate territory. I longed for at least one kiss, though, my lips practically trembling from the starvation.
But I was too high to let that disappoint me right now. Because I’d just had the best damn orgasm of my life.
When Deacon moved off the bed, even in the darkness, I could see the bulge in his jeans. I knew he had to be hard, but actually seeing it, the proof that he was aroused, pleased me. My body could have immediately gone for round two. I longed to lie naked with him, to do so much more.
But that wasn’t happening.
When he leaned down toward me, he placed a gentle peck on my forehead and said, “Get some sleep.”
How does one even respond after the kind of orgasm he’d just given me? There was really only one thing to say.
“Thank you.”
“Happy birthday, beautiful,” he said. Then he walked away and slowly shut the door behind him.
Happy birthday, indeed.
* * *
The next morning, the faint smell of Deacon’s cologne lingered on my sheets. Desire pooled in me all over again. As I forced myself out of bed, I could still feel his mouth on me.
Once my feet found the cold bedroom floor, though, everything hit me like a ton of bricks.
Holy shit.
Deacon went down on me last night.
He gave me an orgasm—on my birthday—then left like a bat out of hell.
How would I ever look at him again? How would I ever have a casual conversation, stare at his lips and not remember what they felt like between my legs while his tongue was inside of me? How could I ever forget the way he groaned when he was pleasuring me, as if he’d been starving for it? Or the fact that he told me I was amazing while he sucked on my breasts and fingered me? God, his words. His freaking words.
Use me.
Use me.
Use me.
I walked across the apartment to Sunny’s room in a daze. She was awake but quiet, which was rare.
“Thank you for sleeping in this morning, baby girl. Because Mommy really needed it.”
My brain felt foggy.
After I changed Sunny, I brought her out to the kitchen and placed her in the highchair.
A few minutes later, my phone chimed.
Deacon: Morning.
What the heck do I say?
Carys: Good morning.
The little dots danced as he typed.
Deacon: You okay?
I wasn’t sure whether he was being polite or really wanted to know what I was thinking this morning. I wanted to type a diatribe about my feelings, how I was scared things would never be the same, how I couldn’t stop thinking about him, how I craved the return of his mouth, yet I opted for a simpler response.
Carys: Yeah. I’m great.
Deacon: Good. Just making sure.
What else could I say? Thanks again for last night?
Instead of making a fool of myself, I didn’t text back.
And neither did he.
CHAPTER 12
Deacon
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
My friend Adrian waved a hand in front of my face. “Hey, man. What’s up? You seem distracted.”
Adrian was one of the few close friends I had here in New York. When I first got to town three years ago, he and I had randomly met in Bryant Park and struck up a conversation. At the time, I’d been staying at a hotel while I apartment hunted. He ended up giving me a room until I could find a permanent place. He was probably my best friend now. But I’d never mentioned Carys to him, mainly because he was so good at seeing through me.