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.
Deacon pulled out and I moved to roll to my side and get off that table and to my clothes as quickly as I could.
I got the roll to my side in before I let out a quiet cry because I was up in his arms and he was moving out of the kitchen.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I asked, lifting my head to stare at his shadowed profile.
He said nothing but came into color as he walked through the lit foyer to the stairs.
I said nothing either as he moved us up the stairs.