“No, seriously,” I lied.
She let my hand go and declared, “You can do something for me. Go. Tell them to get to the table. Dinner is being served.”
“You got it,” I muttered and moved toward the door.
I got two strides in before I heard, “Cassidy?”
I looked to my friend.
“Whatever happens, Manuel and I are always here.”
I felt my face go soft as my lips tipped up.
“Have I said you rock?” I asked.
“You have,” she answered.
“Well, you do,” I whispered.
That was when her face got soft.
Then she bustled to the oven.
I strolled out the door.
* * * * *
When we arrived back from dinner at Milagros and Manuel’s, I was experiencing such intense conflicting emotions I was surprised I didn’t split in half.
On the one hand, I was delighted to know that Deacon was right. Outside my conversation with Milagros in the kitchen, the rest of the evening had gone great. Manuel seemed to warm to Deacon, probably because Deacon had all the time in the world to give attention to the kids who all seemed fascinated with him. After our talk, Milagros either decided to give Deacon the benefit of the doubt or she got better at hiding those doubts. The kids just thought Deacon was the bomb. Since the food was great and conversation flowed, the night was a success.
On the other hand, before we left for dinner, I’d been outed as someone who wanted to try bondage and Deacon had said straight up he was into it, intimated he was good at it, and this meant sex was going to get even more interesting.
I couldn’t believe that was even possible.
He’d also said he was going to tie me to the bed that night.
I was excited and I was totally terrified.
So by the time we walked up the steps to my house together, holding hands (this time with Deacon taking my hand), dinner with my friends was not on my mind.
Deacon making me immobile and seeing how hard he could make me come was.
My thoughts consumed with this, I was taken off guard when I let us in and Deacon closed the door, grabbed my purse and keys, tossed them on the registration book, and backed me right into the wall.
Then, in the dim light we left glowing in the foyer, he dipped his face to mine.
“Vanilla.”
“Sorry?”
“Woman, you’re wound up so tight, it’s a wonder you don’t snap and ricochet around the room.”
I stared at him.
“Do you vanilla,” he stated. “You’re ready to play, you either say it or find a way to communicate it, then we play. But I’ll say this now, when that happens, you might be the one who’s takin’ what I got to give, but you’ll also be the one leadin’ it. You get me?”
I got him.