“Keep me in that loop.”
She rolled her eyes.
I again squeezed her hand. “You need to feed me or I’m gonna pass out.”
Her eyes rolled back only to roll again on her “So dramatic.”
“No, seriously,” I lied.
She let my hand go and declared, “You can do something for me. Go. Tell them to get to the table. Dinner is being served.”
“You got it,” I muttered and moved toward the door.
I got two strides in before I heard, “Cassidy?”
I looked to my friend.
“Whatever happens, Manuel and I are always here.”
I felt my face go soft as my lips tipped up.
“Have I said you rock?” I asked.
“You have,” she answered.
“Well, you do,” I whispered.
That was when her face got soft.
Then she bustled to the oven.
I strolled out the door.
* * * * *
When we arrived back from dinner at Milagros and Manuel’s, I was experiencing such intense conflicting emotions I was surprised I didn’t split in half.
On the one hand, I was delighted to know that Deacon was right. Outside my conversation with Milagros in the kitchen, the rest of the evening had gone great. Manuel seemed to warm to Deacon, probably because Deacon had all the time in the world to give attention to the kids who all seemed fascinated with him. After our talk, Milagros either decided to give Deacon the benefit of the doubt or she got better at hiding those doubts. The kids just thought Deacon was the bomb. Since the food was great and conversation flowed, the night was a success.
On the other hand, before we left for dinner, I’d been outed as someone who wanted to try bondage and Deacon had said straight up he was into it, intimated he was good at it, and this meant sex was going to get even more interesting.
I couldn’t believe that was even possible.
He’d also said he was going to tie me to the bed that night.
I was excited and I was totally terrified.
So by the time we walked up the steps to my house together, holding hands (this time with Deacon taking my hand), dinner with my friends was not on my mind.
Deacon making me immobile and seeing how hard he could make me come was.
My thoughts consumed with this, I was taken off guard when I let us in and Deacon closed the door, grabbed my purse and keys, tossed them on the registration book, and backed me right into the wall.
Then, in the dim light we left glowing in the foyer, he dipped his face to mine.
“Vanilla.”
“Sorry?”
“Woman, you’re wound up so tight, it’s a wonder you don’t snap and ricochet around the room.”
I stared at him.
“Do you vanilla,” he stated. “You’re ready to play, you either say it or find a way to communicate it, then we play. But I’ll say this now, when that happens, you might be the one who’s takin’ what I got to give, but you’ll also be the one leadin’ it. You get me?”
I got him.
And what he said made me a lot less terrified.
Then again, that was Deacon’s way.
“Yes.”
“So tonight, vanilla. You sleep on what I said. Find your time. Call it. Or don’t. I got what I get from you naked, I’m happy either way.”
I was thinking he got better every day too and was about to tell him that when he spoke again.
“You good with that?”
I nodded.
“Right,” he muttered. “Time to see if that bra has matching panties. Then take them off.”
Before I could utter a noise (or, more aptly, fully experience the quiver in my nether regions), he pulled away but dipped low, hit me in the belly with his shoulder, hefted me up, and carried me up the stairs.
An hour and a half and three orgasms later, I had further proof “vanilla” with Deacon was magnificent.
I still was looking forward to “play.”
Chapter Twelve
Life Was Sweet
The next day, late afternoon, after gutter work at the cabins all day (thankfully, the previous owners took better care of their cabins than their house, meaning the gutters had been cleaned sometime in the last decade; regretfully, some of them were in a sorry state and needed replacing), I was standing in the cereal aisle of the grocery store with Deacon.
I had grabbed my oatmeal and was perusing the other selections, bored with oatmeal and wanting to give some excitement to my mornings, not to mention giving Deacon time to pick whatever he wanted, when I asked, “Why is cereal so freaking expensive?”
I received no answer.
Then again, this had no answer since Deacon probably didn’t know.
I still looked his way, or what I thought was his way, except when I looked that way he was not there.
I turned my head the other way to see if he’d gone back down the aisle.
No go. He wasn’t in the aisle with me.
Damn the man!
Teeth clenched, I put my hands to the cart, pushed, rounded the aisle, and found him four feet into the next one.
I shoved the cart in, stopped, planted my hands on my hips, and as his head turned my way, I declared, “Fruit stand.”
He smiled, big and white, the grooves around his mouth deep, the crinkles at his eyes fanning out.
“Do not give me that hot guy smile I’m thrilled beyond belief I’m able to give you, Deacon Deacon,” I snapped. “We had a badass/ornery chick understanding.”
“I was an aisle away, woman,” he pointed out.
“Fruit stand,” I returned.
“You want me to make the only meal I know how to make that’s any good?” he asked.
“A break from cooking would be welcome,” I said by way of answer.
“Then I need to be in this aisle to get the shit.”
“Is your recipe a secret that you’ll have to kill me if I discover the ingredients therefore I cannot be with you when you get them?”
He didn’t reply, but he did smile again.
I kept going.
“Don’t take this as me being a clingy, psycho girlfriend. I’m not a clingy, psycho girlfriend. I’m a talker. I talk. A lot. And it makes me feel stupid when I say something and find out I’m saying it to no one.”
His smile faded and he said quietly, “Point taken, Cassie.”
“Good. Now, is there any cereal you want in the house?”
He shook his head.
“Right,” I continued. “Carry on with your selections.”
I pushed the cart around him but didn’t get past him when an arm hooked around my belly and I was stopped.
She rolled her eyes.
I again squeezed her hand. “You need to feed me or I’m gonna pass out.”
Her eyes rolled back only to roll again on her “So dramatic.”
“No, seriously,” I lied.
She let my hand go and declared, “You can do something for me. Go. Tell them to get to the table. Dinner is being served.”
“You got it,” I muttered and moved toward the door.
I got two strides in before I heard, “Cassidy?”
I looked to my friend.
“Whatever happens, Manuel and I are always here.”
I felt my face go soft as my lips tipped up.
“Have I said you rock?” I asked.
“You have,” she answered.
“Well, you do,” I whispered.
That was when her face got soft.
Then she bustled to the oven.
I strolled out the door.
* * * * *
When we arrived back from dinner at Milagros and Manuel’s, I was experiencing such intense conflicting emotions I was surprised I didn’t split in half.
On the one hand, I was delighted to know that Deacon was right. Outside my conversation with Milagros in the kitchen, the rest of the evening had gone great. Manuel seemed to warm to Deacon, probably because Deacon had all the time in the world to give attention to the kids who all seemed fascinated with him. After our talk, Milagros either decided to give Deacon the benefit of the doubt or she got better at hiding those doubts. The kids just thought Deacon was the bomb. Since the food was great and conversation flowed, the night was a success.
On the other hand, before we left for dinner, I’d been outed as someone who wanted to try bondage and Deacon had said straight up he was into it, intimated he was good at it, and this meant sex was going to get even more interesting.
I couldn’t believe that was even possible.
He’d also said he was going to tie me to the bed that night.
I was excited and I was totally terrified.
So by the time we walked up the steps to my house together, holding hands (this time with Deacon taking my hand), dinner with my friends was not on my mind.
Deacon making me immobile and seeing how hard he could make me come was.
My thoughts consumed with this, I was taken off guard when I let us in and Deacon closed the door, grabbed my purse and keys, tossed them on the registration book, and backed me right into the wall.
Then, in the dim light we left glowing in the foyer, he dipped his face to mine.
“Vanilla.”
“Sorry?”
“Woman, you’re wound up so tight, it’s a wonder you don’t snap and ricochet around the room.”
I stared at him.
“Do you vanilla,” he stated. “You’re ready to play, you either say it or find a way to communicate it, then we play. But I’ll say this now, when that happens, you might be the one who’s takin’ what I got to give, but you’ll also be the one leadin’ it. You get me?”
I got him.
And what he said made me a lot less terrified.
Then again, that was Deacon’s way.
“Yes.”
“So tonight, vanilla. You sleep on what I said. Find your time. Call it. Or don’t. I got what I get from you naked, I’m happy either way.”
I was thinking he got better every day too and was about to tell him that when he spoke again.
“You good with that?”
I nodded.
“Right,” he muttered. “Time to see if that bra has matching panties. Then take them off.”
Before I could utter a noise (or, more aptly, fully experience the quiver in my nether regions), he pulled away but dipped low, hit me in the belly with his shoulder, hefted me up, and carried me up the stairs.
An hour and a half and three orgasms later, I had further proof “vanilla” with Deacon was magnificent.
I still was looking forward to “play.”
Chapter Twelve
Life Was Sweet
The next day, late afternoon, after gutter work at the cabins all day (thankfully, the previous owners took better care of their cabins than their house, meaning the gutters had been cleaned sometime in the last decade; regretfully, some of them were in a sorry state and needed replacing), I was standing in the cereal aisle of the grocery store with Deacon.
I had grabbed my oatmeal and was perusing the other selections, bored with oatmeal and wanting to give some excitement to my mornings, not to mention giving Deacon time to pick whatever he wanted, when I asked, “Why is cereal so freaking expensive?”
I received no answer.
Then again, this had no answer since Deacon probably didn’t know.
I still looked his way, or what I thought was his way, except when I looked that way he was not there.
I turned my head the other way to see if he’d gone back down the aisle.
No go. He wasn’t in the aisle with me.
Damn the man!
Teeth clenched, I put my hands to the cart, pushed, rounded the aisle, and found him four feet into the next one.
I shoved the cart in, stopped, planted my hands on my hips, and as his head turned my way, I declared, “Fruit stand.”
He smiled, big and white, the grooves around his mouth deep, the crinkles at his eyes fanning out.
“Do not give me that hot guy smile I’m thrilled beyond belief I’m able to give you, Deacon Deacon,” I snapped. “We had a badass/ornery chick understanding.”
“I was an aisle away, woman,” he pointed out.
“Fruit stand,” I returned.
“You want me to make the only meal I know how to make that’s any good?” he asked.
“A break from cooking would be welcome,” I said by way of answer.
“Then I need to be in this aisle to get the shit.”
“Is your recipe a secret that you’ll have to kill me if I discover the ingredients therefore I cannot be with you when you get them?”
He didn’t reply, but he did smile again.
I kept going.
“Don’t take this as me being a clingy, psycho girlfriend. I’m not a clingy, psycho girlfriend. I’m a talker. I talk. A lot. And it makes me feel stupid when I say something and find out I’m saying it to no one.”
His smile faded and he said quietly, “Point taken, Cassie.”
“Good. Now, is there any cereal you want in the house?”
He shook his head.
“Right,” I continued. “Carry on with your selections.”
I pushed the cart around him but didn’t get past him when an arm hooked around my belly and I was stopped.
