Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Deacon,” she whispers. It’s both a plea and a warning, but my girl knows I’m going to get her there.
She whimpers with the first clench of her core, but that keening cry turns into a moan that will feature in my fantasies for years to come when I increase not only the length of my stroke inside of her but the power behind it.
“Oh shit!” Her fingers slip on my back, nails unable to find purchase in my skin as I bury my nose in her throat and follow her over the edge.
Chapter 40
Anna
I don’t wake this morning with the same dread as I have for weeks, but that still doesn’t keep me from frowning when I roll over and face the empty side of the bed. If it weren’t for the warmth still clinging to the sheets and the glorious smells coming from my kitchen, I might possibly lose my shit.
After cleaning up last night, an act that had Deacon leaning over my back as I scrubbed makeup from my face while promising all sorts of wicked things, we fell into the bed, an exhausted pile and promptly passed out.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table twice before I pull my nose from the sheets Deacon slept on all night. I’m obsessed, totally gone over that man, and I don’t feel an ounce of shame about it. We have a ton of things to talk about. I have apologies and assurances to make, but the world waits for no one I realize when I look down at the text message on my phone. The outside world is going to come in and invade our bubble whether we want it to or not.
I groan after walking into the bathroom. My hair is an absolute mess, and I didn’t do a very good job cleaning my face last night because clumps of mascara still cling to my lashes. I spend a few minutes rewashing my face and taking care of my morning business before joining Deacon in the kitchen.
Much like at the ranch, I stand to the side, watching him as he cooks at the stove. His tuxedo pants hang loosely on his hips and the muscles of his broad back flex and twist as he shifts a spatula around a frying pan.
“I thought you only knew how to cook chicken and dumplings and chili.”
He doesn’t even jump at the sound of my voice. Of course he knew I was approaching, commando that he is. At least he gave me the opportunity to ogle his toned, male perfection. It’s the little things that will keep the thrill of being with him alive.
Love!
We both said it last night, but I would’ve been able to read it in his gorgeous eyes even if he didn’t make that confession beforehand. Maybe that’s why he refused to look at me the first time we slept together. Maybe he was afraid of what I would’ve been able to deduce. He wasn’t ready then, and I can say I may not have been either, but losing two months that we could’ve spent together sucks no matter how you cut it.
“I don’t know if you’d call this cooking.” Deacon grins over his shoulder as he lifts the skillet from the stove, angling it so I can look inside.
I wince, my head pulling back before I can stop it.
“Wow,” he says with a chuckle. “I thought couples were supposed to build each other up, not cut one another down.”
“And I didn’t think you’d try to kill me less than twelve hours after confessing your love for me.” I run my hand down the length of his back, letting it rest just an inch or so above his perfect ass because I know neither one of us will be eating actual food if I let it drop lower. “Eggs aren’t supposed to look like that.”
“By all means, master. Show me how it’s done.”
He moves the skillet of inedible food to the side so I can take over, but the entire time I’m making breakfast, he doesn’t drift far. Unless he’s grabbing something from the fridge or pulling dishes down from the cabinets, he’s plastered to my back in the most erotic way possible. He doesn’t even try to hide the erection that’s straining in his slacks or stop his hands from roaming down my body. I nearly ruin the second attempt at breakfast when he begins licking my neck and teasing the tips of my breasts at the same time.
“It’s never been like this for me before,” I confess nearly breathless from his touch.
“Mmm.” His mouth is once again on my neck, and thankfully the eggs are done and I can remove the pan from the fire. “I sure hope not.”
“This isn’t eating breakfast.” I roll my neck even further to the side to give him better access.