Page 44 of Hold the Line

He rolled his hips into mine. Right where I needed him. “Here?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Do you like that?”

“Don’t ask me that,” he gritted out, dragging his cock along my clit. “Your voice, I can’t—”

Oh, he liked it.

I smashed my lips to his, riding the wave our bodies were on. Colliding, retreating, coming back together. Friction and desire heating our cores to the tipping point. His weight on me, his hands all over me, rubbing me where I needed. Tension stretched taut in my belly, yanking and curling, in and out, until it was almost unbearable.

I pressed my heels to the backs of his thighs, raising to meet his steady, impatient thrusts. My body bloomed, opening for him. Even through too many layers of fabric, I felt him like we were almost skin to skin.

I writhed, overheated from the fire building within me, and grappled with his shirt. I found my way beneath it, and the moment my hands met his rippling back, he released a desperate groan I felt all the way down to my bones.

My head tipped back, eyes startling open. He was there, over me, watching as I fell apart without warning. Pleasure barreled over me, lifting my hips into his, aching to take him inside. Warmth spread across my skin and through my veins, as something within me ripped to pieces.

Deacon cried out, gripping the cushion on either side of me with savage strength. He thrust wildly, slapping against me hard and fast. My already tender clit was a live wire, sparking with each pass of his covered erection.

“Phoebe,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck.”

He let go of the cushion to grip my jaw, his eyes locking onto mine. Then, it was me watching him find his pleasure and slip into it. A shudder started at his shoulders, traveling down until he was one shaking mass. He held my gaze as long as he could, but he couldn’t stop his head from jerking back as his body stilled, pressed so tight to mine, I felt him pulsing.

“Yes,” I urged, lifting my head to kiss wherever I could land my lips. “That’s right, honey. That’s exactly right.”

Another broken groan, and he collapsed on me, rolling us to our sides. He held me tight, huffing into my hair. I tucked my face in his throat, clinging to him just as fiercely.

“What the hell was that?” he uttered hoarsely. “I’m—fuck. I hadn’t expected that.”

I giggled, happy he sounded as discombobulated and shocked as I was feeling. “I don’t know, but it was so good.”

He pulled back, and I tilted my chin to look at him, unsurprised to find a worried frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. I leaned in, kissing each side of his lips then the center.

“You…came?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I smiled at him. “Really hard.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling heavily through his nose. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Most beautiful too.”

“Same, Deacon. I loved watching you come.”

His eyes flashed open, intent on my mouth then my eyes. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I couldn’t stop it. You’re just...god, I don’t have words.”

“I think we’re on the same page.”

He hesitated, then dropped his forehead to mine. “Blows my mind.”

“Mine too,” I whispered. “I’m really glad you bought this couch.”

A long beat, then he chuckled, low and warm. “I promise you, nobody’s more glad than me, sugar.”

I wasn’t sure how that could possibly be true, but I wasn’t going to argue with him.

Chapter Nineteen

Phoebe

LeavingworkearlyonFridays pained me…except when it was to take a class. I thought of myself as a perpetual student, always eager to learn more about my profession, so months ago, I’d booked an afternoon off work to attend a class on bread baking at the cutest bakery in Rawlins.

I spent a few hours in baking heaven, exchanging ideas and techniques with others in the profession and adding a few new skills under my belt. We didn’t offer bread at Sugar Rush, but I’d been toying with the idea of selling loaves once or twice a week.

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