He wanted to be sitting next to me in an Adirondack chair when he was eighty.
I loved that best of all.
I slid a thumb along his stubbled cheek and said softly, “Baby.”
“Gonna fuck you here, Cassie.”
“Okay,” I agreed readily, tingles sliding up my inner thighs.
“The rest of the day, you naked in this bed with me.”
Sex-a-thon it was, just one day early.
“Okay,” I repeated, lifting my other hand to curl it around the side of his neck.
“You’re gonna sleep beside me in this bed tonight.”
My legs now trembling, I had to concentrate on standing, so I just nodded.
“Here,” he ordered.
I was already there.
I got more there by leaning in deeper. He fell back and I fell on him at the precise moment I pressed my lips to his. His opened, my tongue slid inside, and he rolled me.
Then we kissed. Hands roaming, tongues dancing, lips drinking, bodies pressing, fingers gliding through hair, making out like that was all we were ever going to get and that was okay for the both of us.
Until it was no longer okay for Deacon. I knew this when he slid his fingers into my tee and started pulling it up.
I lifted my arms. He rolled off me and pulled the tee free.
He didn’t bend back to me.
Or not my mouth.
He bent to my chest.
And it began.
It wasn’t fucking.
No.
Far from it.
It was worshiping.
Me worshiping Deacon, but more, Deacon worshiping me. Divesting me of my clothes like he was unwrapping a gift he knew was precious and wanted to prolong the anticipation. Touching me everywhere. Tasting me everywhere. Trailing, brushing, licking, grazing…all over.
And giving, giving with the sensations he caused and the feeling behind them, and giving with offering me the opportunity to do the same.
By the time he rolled me to my back, spread my legs, and his hips fell in between, I needed him with a need that was like your need for food. Oxygen. Warmth in winter. Water in the desert.
And Deacon kept giving, blazing eyes to mine, showing he felt that same need, hand gliding into my hair, all this as he slid his cock inside me slow and sure, right to the root, filling me.
“Baby,” I breathed, lifting my knees and taking more of him, wanting it all, all I could get from Deacon, needing it.
“You’re here,” he whispered.