Page 14 of Deacon

“What kind of question is that?”

“The one I need to know before we go any further.”

“Shit. I can’t live without the mothafuckas. Why?”

A grimace forms, transforming Squeak’s beautiful mocha face, and she nods slowly before providing the clarification I’m seeking.

“Remember that, because if you attempt to get out of pocket, handsy, or anything that could cause me discomfort, I will do everything in my power to rid you of one or both of them.”

Well… fuck, marry me, Squeak.

My dick twitches and hardens uncontrollably at the serious expression Squeak is wearing and the hint of danger shining through her orbs. Heat crawls up my back, and my hands itch to test the threat she’s given without hesitation.

“Hello. A verbal response is needed, or I’m gonna march my happy ass right back into that house of sin.”

“Is it too soon to tell you I love you?” I ask.

“What?” Squeak’s armor breaks, and she laughs, brightening her face while restoring light to her brown eyes.

“A threat like that has me ready to risk it all. Tell a nigga something. Size seven, right?”

“Size seven, what are you talking about?” Squeak’s tone is light and humorous, and a small smile slips into place.

Yeah, I’m definitely in love with this woman.

Warmth spreads throughout my body, and my chest expands while taking in the woman who doesn’t realize the truth within my question.

“Deacon.”

My name coming from her lips in the light and angelic tone has me closing my eyes lest I contain the urge to remove the separation between us. The temptation to kiss her increases with every second my eyes remain closed, forcing me to open them.

“Are we going to my truck for a quieter and private conversation, or are you running for the hills?” I ask because, at this point, it’s the only question that matters to me.

“Truck, but I’m big on trust, so don’t give me a reason to leave you bleeding below your dick. Which one is yours?” Squeak asks, looking from me to the parking lot where several trucks sit in varying spots.

“So, how old are you?”

Squeak and I have been sitting in my truck silently for ten minutes as faint music from the radio serves as background noise. Not wanting to overwhelm or make Squeak uncomfortable, I decided to remain quiet until Squeak was ready to talk. Being in her presence and smelling the heavenly scent of whatever fragrance Squeak was wearing would be enough if it was all she allowed.

“I thought it wasn’t customary to ask someone their age,” I say, smirking.

“Women. It’s a rule that applies to women, although I don’t care about things like that. One thing I know about life is that you have to appreciate the small things, including my age. So if it helps you be more comfortable sharing, I’m twenty-eight.”

Damn, there’s only a tiny difference in our ages, and I’ve still seen and done more than she has at her age.

“I’m thirty-one,” I say somberly.

“Okay. How long have you been in a motorcycle gang?” Squeak asks, smirking with twinkles in her eyes.

“I ain’t about to fall into that trap. However, ever since I was twenty-four. Gunz is my best friend and pulled me into the club after he became vice president.”

“Hm.”

Smirking, I take in Squeak’s side profile as I remember this plan wasn’t a spur of the moment thing for me.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, opening my door before she responds, moving quickly to the back passenger door. Retrieving the basket, I return to my seat and stare at Squeak, waiting for her response.

“Either you do this all the time, or you’re far more presumptuous than I know. Who has a picnic basket on standby in their back seat?” Squeak gives me an assessing gaze while watching me intently.

---