* * * * *
“Fuck.”
“Deacon.”
“Fuck.”
“Deacon!” I cried out, slamming down on him and grinding in just as he bucked his hips up, his fingers digging in to the flesh at my hips, holding me to him as he dug his head in the pillow and I threw mine back, holding fast to his wrists so I didn’t topple backwards and lose him as my orgasm overwhelmed me.
“Ride my cum,” he grunted through his climax, his fingers still digging in but pulling me up. I didn’t think I had it in me, but I went back to moving on him, taking him fast and deep. “Fuck. Yeah,” he groaned as I reared on his cock.
I was losing it, carried away by the sensations, when his thick voice came back.
“Stop, baby.”
I slid down until he filled me and fell forward, giving him all my weight, pressing my forehead into his neck.
He glided one hand to my ass, wrapping the other arm around my back.
We did nothing but breathe for a while.
“Best lay, bar none,” he stated, his voice still gruff.
With the competition, that was quite a compliment.
“You too,” I breathed into his neck, still not fully recovered.
“I didn’t just ride you until your pussy exploded. You did that to my dick. Fuck, watchin’ all that beauty go wild, takin’ my cock, enough to undo a man. Add that cunt so wet and tight…Jesus.”
I loved his words. They weren’t flowery, but they said a lot from a man like Deacon.
Still, I lifted my head to look down at him, sliding my hand up to curl it where his neck hit his shoulder, and I told him quietly, “You know, you’re beautiful too.”
He moved a hand up my back before it left me so he could sift his fingers into one side of my hair, and he used it to pull me closer.
“I’ve looked in a mirror, Cassie. Know I’m not ugly. But you could be in magazines.”
“Deacon,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say because what he said was so sweet, there was no way to return that sweetness.
Just feel it.
“No shit,” he stated.
“I’m too short to be a model,” I remarked for no reason but to say something.
“Then they’re dumb fucks and I’m a lucky one seein’ as that means you’re sittin’ on my cock, your tits pressed to my chest, your beauty in my face, and you’re not all that with some movie star.”
I pressed closer even as I demanded, “Stop being sweet.”
His hand in my hair gave my scalp a squeeze as his eyes lit and he muttered, “I’ll try.”
“You’re so lying,” I accused.
That was when I got the grin, a grin that told me he was so lying.
I hid my happy smile by dropping my head and kissing the base of his throat.
When I did, he kept my face there by sliding his hand to the back of my head and pressing in.