Finally, he pulled out, turned me to my back, shoved my legs up with his hands behind my knees, and mounted me again. He took me that way until I exploded beneath him, tensing against his grip, jerking against his thrusts, and calling his name.
He kept thrusting but he gave me time before he ordered, “Woman, look at me.”
I focused on him over me, still gripping my knees high and wide, still pounding inside me.
“Watch what you do to me,” he grunted.
I could do that. I so could do that.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
Then I gave him what he wanted and watched what I did to him, doing it gleefully. I did this all the way through to when he started bucking between my legs, every beautiful, bunched muscle in his body standing out in gorgeous relief, and his head shot back as he poured himself inside me.
Seconds later, he released my legs and dropped over me, taking only a minimum of his substantial weight into a forearm beside me.
I didn’t mind taking his weight. I liked it.
But, still.
I was peeved.
“No fair,” I said to the ceiling, sounding as annoyed as I was.
I felt his body tense and he lifted his head to look down at me.
He, too, looked peeved.
“Are you shittin’ me?” he asked.
“No,” I snapped, somewhat breathily since he was heavy, but mostly because I was still riding the high of great sex and being with Deacon.
His brows shot together and a few days ago, that would have been more than a little daunting.
Right then, it was not.
“You got my dick in your mouth, the first head I’ve had in seven years, you’re workin’ fuckin’ magic, you stop to have a heartfelt chat, I retaliate, and you think that’s not fair?” he asked.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about how you keep one-upping me in the happiness stakes.”
His brows shot up at that. “The happiness stakes?”
“I’m supposed to be making you happy, not the other way around.”
The scowl he was delivering faded as he stared at me.
Then he gave me all of his weight, crushing me to the bed when he burst out laughing.
The sound filled the room, filled my senses. The feel shook me and not just physically. Emotionally in ways I knew I’d never forget that feel for my whole life. All of it, the wealth of beauty soaked into my skin, and when it did I knew the man on top of me laughing was it. The one. The world. The man made for me. The man I was going to fall in love with. The only man I’d ever really love.
That was why I’d made my choice.
That was why I would long for him if he’d decided to leave me.
That was what I knew would haunt me. Not wondering how it could have been, knowing I’d lost everything if he didn’t give me the chance to make him laugh just like he was doing.
And there it was again.
Just by laughing, he one-upped me.
“Ugh, you’re one-upping me again,” I announced irately.
He shifted slightly to my side by getting up on a forearm but staying connected to me.
“How’s that?” he asked, still chuckling.
“You have a great laugh,” I answered exasperatedly.
He stopped laughing but kept grinning (more freaking happy!) as he cupped my jaw and dipped his face close. “Cassie, you made me laugh.”
“I couldn’t miss that, Deacon.”
His thumb swept my cheek and he stopped grinning.
“Baby, you made me laugh.”
Oh God.
I stared in his eyes and remembered what he’d said the night before, remembered what he’d communicated the first time I saw him.
Oh God.
He didn’t do that ever.
“Now you’re gonna make me cry,” I informed him, my voice underlining my words.
Humor flickered in his eyes as he muttered, “Jesus, you’re so much of a woman, you’re more woman than any woman I’ve met.”
I started getting peeved again.
“You say that like it’s bad,” I replied sharply.
“Hang on, Cassidy, I’m still adjusting to your last mood swing.”
I glared at him and saw the crinkles by his eyes.
He was teasing.
“Don’t be playful when I’m feeling emotional,” I ordered.
To this, he strangely replied, “You get I’m a badass.”
“Hard to miss, Deacon,” I returned.
“Then don’t tell me when to be playful. Badasses don’t like that shit.”
His words were so ridiculous (though undoubtedly true), I couldn’t stop from grinning.
He caught my grin and requested, “Can we keep this mood for five minutes?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Obliged,” he muttered, the crinkles still radiating from his eyes.
I put my hands to the ridges of his abs and slid them up his chest.
He stroked my cheek and dropped closer.
“You wanna clean up?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I answered quietly too.
“Then shuteye or you wanna sit on my face?”
I blinked.
Then I squirmed.
His gaze heated as he muttered, “Sit on my face.”
“There it is,” I muttered back. “More happy.”
I saw the light in his eyes as he dropped even closer.
“Baby, that pussy on my mouth, your ass in my hands, the noises you make fillin’ the room, knowin’ I get to drive deep in your wet, tight cunt while you’re still moanin’ for me. Then after I give it to you, and you give it to me, I get to bed down with you tucked tight. You don’t think that makes me happy, you’re fuckin’ crazy.”
I squirmed more but this time it wasn’t just a turned-on squirm. It was a turned-on happy squirm.
He felt it and gave me another grin before he gave me another order.
“Go, clean up.”
“Okay, honey.”
He touched his mouth to mine, pulled out, and rolled off.
I rolled the other way and dashed to the bathroom.
I closed the door.
But when I got there, I looked in the mirror and saw my long hair wild, my eyes soft and sated, my skin flushed.
My hair looked sexy like that, even I had to say so.
My eyes looked amazing.
My flushed skin made me look vibrant and alive.
I looked like I’d been fucked hard.
And I’d never looked happier.
Chapter Eight
I’ll Have Pie
Six weeks later, I sat in my Adirondack chair on my porch, feet up to the railing, eyes to the rain falling soft and steady on the trees. My heart was heavy even though I had my phone to my ear and was listening to my mother talk about the family reunion she had suddenly gotten a wild hair to have and was therefore planning.
“Early August, Cassidy, five cabins and we’re paying. No argument.”
She said “no argument” because she’d birthed me. She knew me. She knew me even before I was born, telling me (and anyone who would listen) that I had a lot to say with the amount of kicking and moving I did before I came out. So she wasn’t surprised I came out bawling.
She knew I would argue.
And she was right.
“Mom, first, I have two guest bedrooms at my house so Titus doesn’t have to pay. He and Bessie can stay with me. I know things are tight since Bessie got laid off.”
“Titus isn’t paying. Your father and I are.”
At this, my eyes got huge and my voice pitched higher. “Mom, are you crazy? Titus will lose his alpha mind if you and Dad try to pay for his cabin.”
“He’ll get over it.”
There it was. She was crazy. My brother would never get over it. And thus, Christmases—Christmases that the family now usually spent with me at Glacier Lily (this being what I’d arranged after Deacon had his wo
rds with me that Christmas years ago, not a hardship for my family since my cabins were awesome)—would be a pain in the ass because my baby bro would show. He would show because he loved me, he loved my sister, and he doted on Lacey’s kids.
So he’d show.
But he’d do it brooding. And Titus brooding was no fun.
“How’s this for a compromise?” I started. “Titus and Bessie stay with you in your cabin. That way they only have to pay half.”
“Honey, one day, pray to God, you have your own children. And then, pray to God, you’ll rejoice every day for decades at the beauty you created. Beauty, if it’s a boy, you don’t want to hear enjoying his wife in the next room. And, just saying, vice versa if it’s a girl with her man.”
Instantly, my mouth stretched out and down at the idea of hearing my little brother banging his wife. Something I knew he did, and regularly. This knowledge coming not only because that was what married people did, but also because two years ago, Mom and Dad had hosted Titus and Bessie’s rehearsal dinner at the ranch and Dad had walked in on them doing it in the upstairs bathroom.
This caused Bessie to scream, Titus to shout, and Dad to slam the door, rush down the stairs and out of the house, mumbling, “Gotta feed the horses,” when he most definitely did not have to feed the horses in the middle of my brother’s rehearsal dinner.
According to Lacey, Dad didn’t look Bessie straight in the eyes for ages.
Fortunately, he’d gotten over that.
Reminded of this, I replied, “I take your point.”
“I’m sure you do,” Mom returned. “Now, five cabins. One for your dad and me. One for Lacey, Matt, and the kids. One for Uncle Gideon and Aunt Mellie. One for Aunt Rachel. And one for Titus and Bessie.”
“Mom, you’ve been here. My cabins all have two bedrooms. You don’t need to pay for that many cabins if folks bunk up. And I’m not talking Titus with you. But Aunt Rachel could bunk with you and Dad.”
“Don’t you have that many cabins open in August?” Mom asked.
I had no idea. I had a lot of advanced bookings, but since it was early May, I probably wasn’t that booked.
I reached beside me to the laptop I’d put on the arm of the chair next to mine, ordering, “Give me dates. I’ll check.”
She gave me dates as I opened the laptop. I checked. Then I gave in and booked the five cabins for Mom.
“Thanks, angelface,” she said when I told her I’d done just that.
“Alternate scenario,” I replied. “Dad can take this off the money I owe him.”
I suggested this but I knew it would be wasted breath. This was because Mom and Dad always paid for their cabins when they came.
“Your father is in a good mood so I’m not even suggesting that to him,” Mom returned.
“Whatever,” I muttered and heard her chuckle.
“Not looking forward to seeing us?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
But I was in a bad mood. A bad mood I’d been in for weeks. A bad mood that probably wasn’t going to turn good, maybe for eternity.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I answered. “You’re just ornery and that’s annoying.”
“Takes one to know one,” she retorted.
“Can you stop annoying me now?” I requested.
“I’m a mother. It’s my job to be annoying.”
“Well, you’re good at it.”
I heard more chuckling then she said, “It’s your father’s night to go into town and commune with his cronies. So it’s my night to have a bath long enough to turn me into a prune, something I won’t care about because I’ll be lost in a romance novel.”
I used to read romance because my mother taught me to read romance, considering she had approximately seven gazillion romance novels ready at hand at all times (with her iPad, this was now literally). I loved romance novels. There was a lot to love, but especially the happy endings.
Now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was all a big bag of hooey, so I was considering burning all of my romance novels in the fireplace.
And I was going to add my DVDs.
“Enjoy,” I said quietly.
“I will, Cassie. Talk with you soon, honey. Love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I heard her disconnect and I did the same, closing my laptop and setting it and my phone on the arm of the chair next to me, taking that opportunity to nab the glass of wine I had sitting there.
I again trained my eyes to the trees, taking a sip, seeing and hearing the soft fall of rain, trying to focus on that, clear my head, and not let the thoughts of the last three weeks that had been crowding my mind take over.
A fruitless endeavor.
They took over, like they always did.
And this was because Deacon and I were done. We hadn’t even started and we were finished.
He did not tell me this. I just knew we were. I didn’t know how it happened. I just knew it did.
And I was sitting, listening to the rain, sipping wine, trying not to let this knowledge destroy me.
The time we had when we got together was great. It was short, but it was wonderful.
The sex was a highlight, for certain. Even with seven years abstinence, apparently it was like riding a bike because Deacon was far from rusty.
But the rest of the time was what made that hope I always stupidly let myself feel bubble over.
This was because Deacon was mellow. Always. Not that anything happened to make him angry, but his manner was such that I wasn’t sure he could get angry.
Case in point, he didn’t drive his Suburban cursing at people who cut him off or went too slow, something that happened more than once (something that I did do, and pretty much everyone on earth who was breathing). No reaction from Deacon. He just drove. Further, he didn’t get annoyed when I pushed it about paying for the dog.
He didn’t get anything.
But Deacon.
He was steady. Relaxed. All this in a way that communicated itself to me and made me feel the same way.
Although mellow, he was alert, communicative (in his way), and most of all, present. So very present. I didn’t know how he did it but he was with me in a way I’d never felt before. A way that I knew he was with me. Even if he wasn’t touching me, speaking to me, being overt about anything, he was still with me. And he made it clear in his Deacon way that he liked being right there.
With me.
Needless to say, it was easy to settle into that. So easy, it took only two days for it to feel real. For it to feel like what we had was forming roots in preparation for growing strong.
He left and did his job and was back at Glacier Lily in a week, which was awesome. And we went right back to what we had the short time before he went off to do his job.
When he got back, he told me he’d have a week or two to be with me. But he got a call two days in that he’d said—appearing frustrated (mildly) and disappointed (definitely, although I didn’t know him that well, so over the past weeks I convinced myself I read that wrong)—he had to take a bud’s back.
Again, he couldn’t predict when he’d return to Glacier Lily, just that he would.
The first time he went, he gave me a phone number. I called it and sometimes he answered, sometimes he didn’t and he’d call me back later. If he didn’t answer, it said its voicemail was not activated, but clearly its call history was because he’d later phone me.
We didn’t talk for hours, but we connected.
It wasn’t as good as having him but it was good. Specifically the time when we did talk for hours (or, just over one). This time being the time I shared with him my concerns about hitting non-peak season: the sliver of time after winter and spring break ended and the summer high season began.
With the aspens turning gold and the dry climate warm during the day, cool during the evening, autumn was popular in the Colorado Mountains.
Late spring, early summer, not so much.
This made
it tough. Tough to find things for Milagros to do when she needed things to do because she needed the money. Tough to cover the money to keep her doing things and keep myself covered as well.
I rented the cabins steadily and made enough money to live comfortably, but far from luxuriously.
I didn’t want luxury, had never wanted it. I might one day get it (or some semblance of it), though not soon as I’d taken a second mortgage to do some of the work on the house and cabins and I still hadn’t paid off my dad.
So spring always was a bitch.
And this was what I told Deacon (though I didn’t get into the second mortgage stuff, just the complaining about non-peak season stuff). I did this feeling the contradictory feelings of weird and maybe a little frightened we hadn’t yet gotten to the place where I could unload my life on him and elated I finally had someone to unload my life on.
“Up the rates.”
That was what he said when I finally quit babbling.
“What?” I asked.
“You rent those cabins too cheap, Cassidy. They’re the shit. Up the rates.”
I was experiencing a heady warmth from his they’re the shit that was somewhat overwhelming but I still managed to ask, “You think I could get away with that?”
“A year ago, two, no. Economy was in the tank. No matter how great your cabins are, you’d have to take that hit to get them rented. Now, you got the business you got because people are gettin’ a deal. They know it. You up nightly rates by ten, twenty dollars, weekly rates by fifty, they’d still rent them, because they might not be getting a deal, but they’re still the shit. You do that, helps you during the lean times.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” I told him because it was. I could do this. I’d have to honor the bookings I had at the rates they’d booked, but it’d be super-easy to change the website to increase the rates for future bookings.
“Not the scarecrow.”
Deacon’s bizarre words had my head jerking and my mouth saying, “Sorry?”
“Got a brain in my head, Cassidy.”
He said this with his deep voice bearing a thread of humor, not insult, which was good.
Still.
“I didn’t say you didn’t,” I replied.