Because this meant I could watch him sleeping.
His face lost years in sleep. Not boyish, exactly, but there were hard lines and edges I hadn’t really noticed when he was awake that smoothed out in sleep. They were around his eyes and at the set of his cheekbones, which I realized on close inspection were very high, like he had Native American blood or something. Even at his jaw, which was hidden mostly with his beard, but I noted a definite lack of tension there in the peace of sleep.
He had stubby eyelashes, but a lot of them, and there was a vulnerable beauty to them as they rested against his cheeks.
It was a fascinating display that fascinated me so I allowed myself to take it in for a long time.
Then the knowledge that it was morning, we were in my bed, safe, no return of the bad guy, this meant I was probably free of that threat…
And Deke liked me.
Not to mention he was good with his mouth, fingers and cock.
So I wondered why I laid there staring at his face when I could have been doing other things.
Thus I decided to do those other things.
Tracing the tip of my finger over his hip, I lifted up and touched my lips to his.
His head shifted slightly on the pillow, his arm gave me a light, reflexive squeeze, and then his stomach tensed as I trailed three fingertips over it, down it, and touched my tongue to his lower lip.
His eyes opened.
I smiled at him and flattened my hand on his lower stomach, pushing down, my fingertips now inside his shorts and resting at the upper base of his cock.
“Morning,” I whispered.
“No condoms,” he growled, and I knew why because I felt something happening against my fingertips.
I also felt my smile change.
I pressed that smile to his mouth and whispered, “Hand job, honey,” right before I wrapped his hardening cock with my fingers.
“Fuck,” he grunted, a word I felt drive up into my womb.
I hooked him steady with my leg around his thigh and stroked.
“Fuck,” he grunted again, his hips flexing.
I kept smiling.
And stroking.
“Hand job?” he asked, his morning voice rough with residual sleep and throaty with what I was doing to his cock.
Yes. That voice in the morning in my bed with me when he could do something about it (and so could I), just like I thought many weeks ago.
Heaven.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His hand then slid from where it was resting inside my shorts at the base of my back, around, down and in.
I released a small gasp against his lips.
“Okay, baby,” he agreed in a murmur.
We kept at each other, staring in each other’s eyes.
This happened closer when Deke was fully hard and something magical he did between my legs meant I spontaneously gave a fierce tug at his dick and his grunt sounded, his neck bending so his forehead was resting against mine and our harsh breathing mixed.
I was eventually riding his hand, not paying much mind to what I was doing with his cock I was so focused on what he was doing to my clit and *. I’d snaked my other hand up into his hair, twisting my fingers in it as he kept at me, now thrusting his cock into my tight fist.
“Deke, I—” I began my warning.
“Do it,” he ordered.
I shook my head, held his gaze and whispered, “I want you to come on me.”
I barely got that out or accomplished the blink his next moves caused before his hand was gone, my fingers were no longer around his cock, his shorts were history, I was on my back, my shorts and panties down to my thighs, and he was straddling me, taking over.
As in totally taking over.
God, he was sensory overload, especially vision. Jacking his cock, that chest, those thighs, his stomach, his blond hair hanging down to his shoulders, his hazel eyes burning down at me, his other hand shoved between my legs, working, breathtaking, driving me there.
“Deke,” I gasped.
“Top off,” he growled.
I yanked my top off, my hair flying. When I could give him back my eyes, I saw his on my hair before they cut to my face.
“Get there, Jussy,” he demanded.
I dug my nails into his thighs on either side and rode his fingers that were working me in the tight, drenched, hot space because he’d forced my legs together with him being astride me and my clothes hindering me.
It started coming.
“Oh God.”
“Get there,” he grunted.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, my eyes traveling everywhere, his strong hand around his big dick, his chest, his thick thighs, my nails sinking deep in the hard muscle there. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Deke,” I breathed, arching and coming.
Then doing it harder when I heard his groaned, “Yeah,” and felt the warm splash of him across my belly and on my breast, the powerful jerk of his body through his orgasm, somewhere in the far recesses of my mind wishing I could watch, somewhere in the warm region of my heart knowing I’d have another chance.
I finished only moments before he finished, dropping his forehead to mine, his hands curved around either side of my neck.