Page 21 of Beyond The Maples
He comes and sits across from me on the worn coffee table, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in frustration.
"This isn't about you, Deacon. You can sit here and argue with me, or you can accept that life is shit sometimes. Be my friend... just support me and trust I know what I'm doing."
I look at him in question. His face softens, and he gets up and sits beside me, pulling me in for a hug. I melt into his embrace. Deacon buries his face in my neck and smothers himself in my hair, inhaling deeply.
"I can't lose you," he whispers against me. "You're my person Mae, my favourite person."
He chokes the last words out like he's trying not to cry. I lean into him more, needing to comfort him, my tension leaving at his confession.
"You won't lose me. I'm like a cockroach.Impossibleto kill." He squeezes me tighter, not letting my attempt at humor lighten the mood.
His hands move slowly down my body, grabbing my thighs roughly. He spins, so he's sitting back against the couch and moves me so I'm straddling him. I pause.
This is new.
Heat pools in my belly where our bodies connect, despite my confusion. He leans forward, our foreheads touching and breath mingling, his hands staying firmly on my thighs.
"You don't get it," he says, shaking his head slightly.
"What do you mean?" My voice comes out breathy, surprising me.
We have never crossed this line. We've come close a few times. A few lingering touches, heated stares, and nights where we passed out talking and woke up with entwined limbs, but it never felt like this. Almost desperate. His jaw clenches. His hands tightening where he holds me in place. I pull back slightly, eying him in question.
"Say you won't leave..." he breathes out in a plea. His steady brown eyes demanding a response.
I'm caught, not fully wanting to give in to this moment, but unwilling to end it, either. Slowly, my hands come up to his strong shoulders and I marvel at the hard muscle there. I remember when he was all awkward limbs. How much hashe changed since then? I'm still frozen, unable to give him what he wants, which is for me to tell him I'll stay, I'll try for him.
I can't give him that though, and recognition floats across his face with my silence. He blinks slowly as pain slices through his eyes, and my hands wander slowly up his neck, into his hair as I hold his face gently.
"I'll come back."
It's all I can give him. A half promise I'm not sure I can keep, but it's something. His eyes dart down to my lips. Hunger replaces the pain in his eyes, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.
I gasp, unable to stop the shock as he presses into me for more. The familiarity of him washes over me as my hands slowly roam back up through his hair, pulling him closer, sinking into his warmth.
This connection feels familiar and new all at once, and I float into it as all my muscles relax. His hands drift up as the kiss deepens. I arch my back slightly as his rough hands glide up, pulling a deep rumble from him. The sound does something to me, and I open my mouth for him, our tongues colliding.
His hands are underneath my shirt now, and there's both caution and desperation in his touch. I'm surprised by how natural this feels. Like we were one step away the whole time. My body grinds against him on instinct, his arousal clear, and I revel in the way his body shudders at my movements.
He seems as affected by me as I am by him, and I can't help but be surprised. This is Deacon. My Deacon. But he's never seemed to want me in this way before. Or maybe he has and just never acted on it. In the back of my brain a little voice keeps asking, why now? But I ignore it in favour of exploring whatever feeling this is.
Our movements and kisses become more fevered. I move against him, loving the sounds I pull from his throat. I start to take off his shirt, wanting less between us when he pulls back and catches my hands with his own.
"Maple, wait," he says breathlessly, holding me in place. I look at him in question.
Hesitation ripples through his features, and suddenly I'm horrified that maybe I've gotten carried away. He didn't want me like that. I pull away, rolling off him as fast as I can. He catches me though, knowing exactly where my mind has gone.
"Trust me, it's not what you're thinking. I just.... I'm sorry, I can't right now." He looks at me guiltily. For what, I'm not sure, but he's hoping I'll understand.
And truthfully, I don't. I know then that I didn't imagine the heat between us, but I also have no clue why he would snuff it out so thoroughly. Maybe he was feeling what I was feeling, just less of it, which is just as embarrassing.
I sit awkwardly on the couch, pulling at the burgundy patch along the seam, unwilling to bridge the gap again. I want to dissect everything that just happened. Why now, when we've had a lifetime to explore this? I've given him plenty of opportunities. But then I remember I'm leaving tomorrow, and it doesn't really matter in the end.
Deacon pulls me then, laying us both on the couch so I'm facing him, tucked neatly at his side while his arm wraps around me.
"I talked to my sister. You have nothing to worry about at Willow's school. They aren't paying attention to stuff like that right now."
I nod, thankful he remembered.
