Within a breath, I felt my bra unclasped at the back and his finger scratching between my breasts, jerking it off, the straps scraping my arms that were forced in front of me to accommodate its release.
Then he was bent over me and I was forced back to the table, his mouth tracing a path from my neck down. It latched on to my nipple and he drew it in, hard and sharp.
I cried out, my fingers diving into his hair.
“Name,” I breathed.
He sucked harder.
I squirmed beneath him.
“Name!” I demanded.
He released my nipple and his mouth came to mine.
“Deacon,” he rumbled against my lips.
“Deacon,” I whispered and then he was again kissing me.
My fingers still in his hair, I held him to me and kissed him back, giving him everything, taking all I could get.
I felt his hands at my jeans and I knew what that meant. I wanted what that meant. So my hands went there. Our fingers colliding, I got the button, he tore down my zipper.
Suddenly, I lost his mouth but I didn’t mind (much) because my jeans and panties were being dragged down my legs. I felt them catch at my feet and gone was one boot and sock. Then the other. Finally I was naked on the table, my legs spread with big hands gripping tight at the sides of my knees, and he was down.
As in down.
On his knees on the floor, his mouth between my legs.
Feeding.
God.
Oh God.
Not feeding.
Feeding.
My back left the table. My legs spasming against his grip, he tossed them over his shoulders, cupped my ass in his hands, and pulled me deeper into his mouth.
I dug my heels in his back, my own back arching higher, as a cry escaped my lips and my climax tore through me, shredding me, destroying me.
The good way.
The way it was meant to be.
Before I was even close to coming down, Deacon was over me. I felt the tip of his cock sliding through my wet, he caught where he needed to be and thrust inside, filling me.
“Baby,” I breathed, wrapping my arms tight around him, lifting my knees high, pressing my thighs to his sides as he drove into me.
“Fuck. Years,” he grunted against my neck, powering deep.
Oh God.
God.
He’d waited, holding back, wanting, maybe hoping.
Just like me.
“Years,” I whispered.
“Too long,” he growled.
“Way too long,” I agreed, gliding from the down of my climax into the up of another one as I took his cock and felt his teeth nip my earlobe.
“Beauty,” he ground out.
“You fit me. Perfect.”
“Tight. So wet. Fuck,” he groaned, slamming inside me.
“It’s building again,” I told him, my voice breathy and sharp, the pleasure amping.
“Ride it, Cassie.”
Cassie.
Oh man.
He was right.
This was right.
We were right.
Beauty.
I held on tight and then tighter as I lifted my head, shoved my face in his neck, and moaned my second orgasm into his skin.
He bucked hard and fast between my legs, then with a grunt that rolled into a very long groan, he joined me.
I held on coming down and then I held on tighter listening to him do it.
But as I did, panic gripped me and I tried to get a hold on it even as I fought back the desperation to take everything in. Memorize it with a clarity that meant I’d never lose the memories.
The feel of him inside me. Moving my hands to take in the sleek skin over tight muscle on his back. Drawing him in through my nostrils to memorize the scent of his hair tickling my nose.
Knowing we’d finally changed.
Knowing this meant it was over.
The little we had, the minutiae he’d give me, gone.
He was going to take this, give it, not allow either of us to have more, leave, and never come back.
He stayed buried, his face in my neck, his breath coming even, but even if it couldn’t be the most comfortable position in the world for him when we weren’t doing it, he didn’t move.
Maybe he was memorizing too.
And he was glorious. Everything about him. Everything we’d just shared. Everything he made me feel when he told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. When he told me in his own particular way how far I was under his skin. When he kissed me with a ferocity that was dizzying, touched me with desperation, gave me two orgasms on my kitchen table.
Having all that and knowing I couldn’t keep it, I had to end this.
Now.
And I did that by asking softly, my voice just as afraid as I felt, my words dripping with fear and sadness.
“Now have we changed?”
A low sound tore from his throat as he shoved his face deeper into my neck and his hands pushed under me, his arms locking around me.
“Deacon?” I whispered.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he murmured into my skin.
That wasn’t the response I wanted to hear.
But it was the one I knew I’d get.
I swallowed.
Deacon pulled his face out of my neck, one arm from around me, and he placed his big hand along the side of my head as he positioned a breath away.
“We’ve changed,” he said gently.
I closed my eyes and turned my head away.