Bittersweet

by Marsden, Sommer

  She nodded at the soft caress of his voice on her shoulder and she parted her legs. Felt more of her moisture slip free of her body. Her pussy clenched, wanting to be filled, missing his fingers and his touch.

  His hand tightened on her wrists and she winced, but then groaned aloud as the velvety head of his cock probed at her. He pushed just the head in and her body flexed around him, twitched as if to draw him in. He waited. Waited until Rayka let out a strangled little cry. She thought she might go insane if he didn’t slide into her. No more. No more! But she bit her tongue to avoid further punishment. Punishment she was sure would involve denying her sex. No matter how much he wanted her or how crimson his dick grew.

  She started to count in her head. If he didn’t move by ten, she would push back against him. She would. Punishment be damned.

  Eight...Nine...

  Deacon thrust up into her and when her body buckled, when she started to come undone, he caught her. He gathered her close, her back pressed to his chest, his hands wrapped around her waist as he thrust higher and faster up into her.

  That quickly, she felt her pussy coil, felt that tell-tale tightness and the flickering of pleasure that she adored. “Fuck, oh fuck, not so fast,” she whispered. Admitting defeat, she gave into that warm wave of euphoria. Felt is spread like a blissful heat under her skin. “Oh, Christ, Deacon. Yes...”

  Chapter 10

  She clenched around him like a wet, hot fist, and it was all he could do to hang on. To stifle the urge to come inside of her and mark her as his. He’d always liked to bite a bit during sex. There was something hot about fucking a woman and taking a nip of her skin. Not with Rayka. With Rayka he wanted to do more than nip. He wanted to mark her. She made him nuts. Protective and crazy and confused. Very, very confused.

  Pulling her in harder, he steadied her hip with one hand. Yanking her back even as he thrust into her. He couldn’t get close enough or deep enough with Rayka. The same lunatic who lied about color schemes and bribed clients had swayed on the ground, looking lost from his spanking, looking submissive and humble and beyond beautiful. He had wanted to protect her, even from himself. That alone made him want to run. It made no sense.

  He kept his mouth on her neck, open against her throat, and her pulse beat hard and fast against his lower lip. He could smell the rich ginger scent of her hair and the distinct smell of her skin. She flung her head back against his shoulder, relaxing into him as he took her. Took her. His cock flexed at the thought. Not yet. One more. He wanted to hear her say it one more time. Wanted to hear his name fly mindlessly off her lips as she came.

  He pulled her hard against him, his hips moving on their own. His body couldn’t get enough of her, it moved into her of its own accord. He ran his tongue along her neck. She was warm and sweet and salty there. Rayka grabbed his thighs, her small thin hands so hot they almost burned.

  Her cunt was clutching around him. He could feel each pulse of orgasm as it worked through her. Her breathing fast and harsh. His world narrowed down to the smells and sounds and feel of her.

  “One more, Rayka. Give me one more.” Arching up into her, clenching his jaw to keep from coming, he strummed her clit with one hand and cupped her breast with the other. Rolled her hard nipple between his finger and thumb, felt the hardened nub bead more for him.

  She started to shake in his arms. Her voice high and ethereal as she spoke, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying. He heard his name, though. That he could recognize. And there it was. She came again. Her body seeming to wrap around him and draw him deeper, closer.

  Deacon let himself go, bit into the soft, tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder and growled deep in his chest. He sounded like an animal. Fuck. He felt like an animal as he came, and he seemed to keep coming. His mind went white with the feel of her.

  The taste of her on his tongue as she cried out again. “Deacon!” only served to make his orgasm last that much longer.

  When he kissed the bite mark gently, the teeth imprints already a brooding purple, he wondered, What now? Now that he had marked her? To him she was his. Rayka was his now. And up until he met her, he wasn’t aware that he even wanted someone. And he still wasn’t. He didn’t know if he wanted to want her. More so, he didn’t know what to make of any of this.

  Deacon kissed over the bite mark again. He ran his tongue over the blues and purples and spots of pink. Rayka moaned and gently ran her hands through is hair. “That feels good,” she said.

  “You were very good, Rayka.”

  She didn’t speak but seemed to hum low in her throat, like a cat purring.

  “Come here.” He sat back on the sofa and gathered her against him. Ran his hands gently over the red, flushed skin of her ass. It was hot to the touch, welts standing up in places. He hadn’t gone gentle on her the first time. He needed to know where he stood. How much she could handle, how much she would handle without breaking or walking away?

  “That feels good,” she repeated and buried her face against his chest. Her eyelashes made gentle sweeping sensations across his skin. She felt so small and yet she wasn’t really. Rather tall and curvy, she didn’t appear fragile, but on all fours on the floor, makeup running, she had seemed so tiny. When he’d bitten into her skin, he feared it would break beneath is teeth. But he hadn’t stifled the instinct. It somehow seemed important.

  “About tomorrow,” she whispered. She brushed her hand against his stomach, and the muscles galloped at her gentle touch. He wanted her all over again. A sensation made clear by his twitching cock.

  “What about it?”

  “Please remember...”

  “I wouldn’t. I know. You are in control. Until we’re alone,” he said and laughed, “then I am in control.”

  Rayka nodded and then surprised him by gently licking his nipple. The sensation shot right to his cock, and he was instantly hard again. Ready.

  “Careful, girl. I could flip you over and fuck you senseless again.”

  She nipped the hard nub with her teeth, that fall of hair swooshing across his skin. It was a sinful sensation, made that much more sinful when she stroked his eager erection with her hand. Her thin fingers played over the tip until he had to squeeze his eyes shut to steady his heart and his body.

  “I was sort of hoping for that.”

  This time it was slower. This time Deacon pulled her onto her lap so she straddled him. Her hair a mess of blonde and brown. Her eyes shining with a smiling kind of happiness. He lowered her onto his cock and watched her take him in. Watched each inch disappear as her tight warmth set off each nerve ending in his body. She felt so good. She looked good. Her laugh, her smile. All totaled, she made him want. Want her. Want more.

  There was something else, too. He wanted something else and he couldn’t quite name it. Or if he could, he was afraid to.

  “Right there,” she sighed and leaned in, letting her forehead rest against his shoulder. “Oh, you make me nuts. You make me weak. But strong too.” Her words came out in little puffs and she let him move her. She didn’t work her hips herself, but allowed him to raise and lower her at his will. Slow. He wanted it to go slow this time around.

  “Your weakness makes you stronger. Your trust in me builds you up,” he said. And me. It makes me stronger too. You make me stronger.

  “That makes no sense.” Now she was gasping. Little gasps and her hips were moving on their own. A slow grind against his lap. Her head fell back and he saw her cheeks flush with heat.

  “It makes all the sense in the world. Look at how you took your punishment. A weak person couldn’t have taken that.”

  “But a strong person wouldn’t have allowed it at all,” she countered. Her eyes were closed as if in prayer, her lips barely moving. She clung to his neck and stroked his skin with just her thumbs. For whatever reason, it was a sexy but comforting gesture to him. Or was it simply that no touch from her could be anything but?

  “Ah, but you were strong enough to take a punishment. And str
ong enough to trust me. Trust is the hardest thing of all,” Deacon said and felt the words resonate. Felt that tightening of loss and fear in his solar plexus shift just a bit. Not as bad as it normally was. The ache a little less than normal.

  “I trust you,” she said. Then she laughed and the sound vibrated through her body, making her clench around him tighter. The slight vibration forced a moan out of him that made her laugh again. She liked having him a little weak, he could tell. “I don’t know why I trust you, but I do. And I can’t believe I’m going to say this...”

  She stopped and he watched her bite her bottom lip. That sight alone was enough to set him off. His biceps burned from moving her over him, but it was a gorgeous pain. He thrust up with his hips, his body taking over with the need of her. “What?” he managed. “You have to say what you can’t believe you’re going to say.” And then he laughed.

  “I’m going to come again.”

  “Open your eyes, Rayka. Look at me,” he ordered. A little harshly, maybe, but she complied.

  Her big blue eyes were honest. She stared him in the eye with no embarrassment or fear. Quite a feat after being spanked for the first time. She was different, this one was. She scared him. But the thought of her walking away scared him more.

  “Oh,” she said and those eyes grew wide. Deacon tightened his grip on her waist, his fingers biting into the pale skin. He moved her faster, and when her eyes went wider still and her cunt tightened almost painfully around him, he prayed. He prayed for her to do it again. It meant the world to him and he didn’t know why.

  “Oh, Deacon, I’m coming, baby. Deacon.”

  Deacon let himself tip over the edge with her. She had said it again. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of hearing her say it. Not in that way. That way that made his heart speed up and tighten in his chest all at once.

  Chapter 11

  She thought he might be the kind to leave. Even with the way that he seemed to hold her close toward the end. But he didn’t. Deacon pulled her back against him and covered them with the quilt that rested on the back of her sofa. He molded his big warm body to hers and stroked her hair. She didn’t say a word, just absorbed it. Rayka wanted to see how it would play out. But then she found herself comforted by his ministrations. She felt safe with his arms around her and his lips on the back of her neck. He didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to.

  She wasn’t aware she was dozing until Deacon climbed off the sofa. His sudden absence, even with the quilt, left her chilled. She watched him through slitted, sleepy eyes as he started to build a fire. Rayka had turned the heat way down before leaving for the night, and now that the temperature outside probably hovered just below freezing, her small house was turning frigid.

  She liked the way his broad back flexed under his charcoal gray Henley. The way his super-faded, softer than soft jeans seemed to barely manage to cling to his hips. They had been worn into submission with years of wear and tear, she could tell. Only favorite clothes were that soft. She liked the way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck making him seem just the tiniest bit vulnerable despite his attitude and size.

  There was a lot about Deacon James that she liked, and more she wanted to know. She snuggled down further and watched him work, his movements measured and deliberate.

  “Do you fit in here?” she asked. Even she was surprised by the question. She hadn’t known she would speak until she heard her own voice.

  Deacon stilled, a fat bundle in his hand. He remained silent for a moment, and then half-grunted, half-smiled. He resumed building the fire and said, “I was starting to wonder myself until yesterday.”

  “What was yesterday?” she asked.

  “I met you,” he said and ran his hands his hair. He would need a haircut soon.

  “Oh. I make you feel like you fit in?”

  “I’m not exactly a candy shop kinda guy. Especially a frou-frou candy shop with a French décor.” He said the last part with a grin. “I come from a land of cinderblocks and dirt and dust. Trailers as offices and sawhorses as lunch tables.”

  “Ah, a working man. Busted up knuckles and grimy bandanas in your back pocket.” She sighed and stifled a yawn. Her uncle had been a foreman. Her dad a roofer. Her grandfather a coal miner. She knew a man who worked with his hands when she saw one.

  “Exactly. I am more comfortable eating a sub over a trash can than I am serving peppermint bark to rich women.”

  “I’m not rich.”

  “I didn’t mean you. I meant most of the shop’s patrons. But now...” He set his neat and tidy pile aflame. His face glowed orange and yellow. He looked sad but sort of peaceful to Rayka.

  “What is it? You miss your uncle I’m sure.” But there was more. She didn’t want to push it, though. She stopped, biting the tip of her tongue to still it.

  “Of course. Gideon was my last family,” he said matter-of-factly. And then he rose and poked the burgeoning fire with the poker. “I miss him terribly. Believe it or not, an old queen and a gruff foreman can get along well when they have always loved each other. Gideon was the uncle who brought me stuff at Christmas when the others forgot. He sent cards. Took me to the circus. He had six nieces and one nephew.”

  “So you were special,” Rayka said, smiling. Anyone could see that. For as intense as Deacon could be, underneath it all, there was something about him that beckoned you. Something calm and serene. Then there was the part of him that seemed slightly wounded. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that part of him called to her, too.

  “So now you have—” she stopped. She didn’t want to say it aloud but he did it for her.

  “No one. I have no one. I am alone in the world. For now.” He brushed his jeans off and stood. “Hungry?” he asked, changing the subject. When Rayka looked him in the eyes, his gaze was strong, but his eyes spoke volumes. No more. Leave it be. Let’s drop it. So she did.

  “Starved. Even with all that dinner,” she laughed.

  “Good. I’ll make us something. You lie there.”

  “It’s my house, I should be feeding you.”

  “Whatever. I want to cook. I like to cook almost as much as I like to eat. You stay there. Stay warm. I like the thought of you under there all naked and warm.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’m cooking, you’re lying. Naked and warm,” he said and pointed to her.

  A slow grin grew on his face. He thumped his own chest. “Cooking,” he said.

  “You, Tarzan. Me, Jane,” she joked.

  “Exactly. Be right back. Stay that way. All naked and warm.”

  Rayka couldn’t help laughing as he left the room.

  Rayka wasn’t aware she had dozed again. She remembered thinking that Deacon seemed like a man who had lost a lot. More than an uncle and more than a foreman job. At some point the sofa and the fire and the warmth had worked their magic. The domestic sounds from the kitchen added to the cozy feeling.

  She could feel him standing over her. Feel his presence where none normally would be. She lived all by herself, not even a cat or dog to keep her company. “I’m coming,” she mumbled, meaning she was trying, trying desperately hard to wake up.

  “Take your time,” he said. His voice was soft and something in the tone made her force her eyes open to see his face. He stood in his low slung jeans, her tea tray in his hands. Steam rose from the tray, but she couldn’t see what he had brought. His face was an intense mask of emotion. She just wasn’t sure what emotions she was dealing with. Deacon could be terribly hard to read. And yet, intuition told her to speak softly, be gentle.

  “You okay?” She sat up and pulled the quilt around her. The warm air felt chilly to her after being swaddled in the big blanket. Her nipples peaked, and she shivered.

  “Fine. You’re not. You’re cold.” He placed the tray on an oversized ottoman that also served as her coffee table.

  “It’s just from being all toasty and...nekkid,” she said, trying to make him smile.

 
It almost worked.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, serious as a heart attack. Making light felt sinister to her.

  “Thank you.” Rayka did her best to not follow with a normal self-deprecating statement. Just thank you. Nothing more.

  He nodded. Happy with her response. “Hungry?” He shifted his gaze, but Rayka could still feel that unnamed emotion. The tension that wasn’t quite tension but something she couldn’t place.

  “Starved. What do you have? What did you make me?” She smiled and her stomach grumbled at having to wait. “See. Starved.”

  “Grilled cheese, tomato soup, iced tea, and some chocolate.”

  “From your store?”

  “Of course.” He turned and put his finger on her bottom lip and pushed her mouth open. Then he tore off a piece of sandwich and placed it on her tongue.

  Rayka chewed and then, “Oh, God. That’s good. That’s not grilled cheese. That’s...” The bread was flaky, buttery and crisp. The cheese rich but sharp. Another, smoother flavor accented the sharper cheese.

  “It is so. It’s aged sharp cheddar with a very thin layer of cream cheese on buttered white bread with a dash of garlic powder. Now soup.”

  He put the spoon to her lips and she took in the rich, red soup. No surprise now, it was doctored up to be ten times better than regular old canned soup. He watched her face intently. “Well?” His voice very soft. So soft at times she had to strain to hear him over the crack and hiss of the burning fire.

  “I need you to teach me to do this. So much better than half-burnt grilled cheese and watery yet lumpy soup.” She let him spoon another bite into her mouth and swallowed. She felt warm, both outside and inside. Deacon leaned in and kissed her. Long and slow, the kiss spread that warm feeling throughout her arms and legs.