by Nora Flite
Clicking into my phone, I typed the message in a blur of keys, wishing as hard as I could that Deacon was still awake. 'I forgot to give you your birthday present, can I stop by quick?' I typed, sending it with my thumb. Like a fool, I stood there, staring at my glowing screen, waiting impatiently for a response.
By the time it vibrated, my hands hurt from squeezing it.
'Sure, come over.'
Slipping on my sweater, having lost Deacon's jacket during our dance, I shoved my phone in my purse, hooked it over my shoulder.
With my mouth set in a determined line, I slid open the patio doors.
****
The walk was fast, I was fast. With the canvas under my arm, I trotted through the night, my thick sweater almost not needed. Sweltering from the energy of anticipation, my bare legs carried me up Deacon's front steps. Lifting my fist, I tapped my knuckles on the closed door, my toe shuffling nervously on the cement.
I wasn't forced to wait in nervous agony for long, the knob turned, Carlo standing there with a surprised expression and a beer in hand. “Leah, uh, what are you doing back here?”
“Deacon said it was okay if I came back, I brought his birthday gift.” Lifting the canvas, justifying my presence, I did my best to read his face. It was difficult, those dark eyes seemed too good at assessing me while keeping himself locked away.
Stepping back, he motioned me inside, giving me a view of something I didn't expect. “Leah!” Deacon said loudly, sitting on the floor with a collection of cups around him. “Hey! Come drink with us!”
Baffled, I shot a look at Carlo, his expression deliberately neutral. “Is he drunk?” I muttered.
“Not yet, we were going to have a drinking game to get him there.”
“I—why?” Frowning, I hugged my canvas, not having prepared myself for a situation like this. Deacon clearly heard our words, he pushed himself to his feet, looking offended.
“Guys, I'm not getting drunk, relax. I already told Carlo, after drinking the mix he made earlier, no way I'm having more than just one of these.”
Watching his face, I wasn't entirely sure he didn't already have enough alcohol in him to feel the effects, but said nothing. Deacon's eyes flicked down, catching the canvas. Clearly excited, he closed the gap between us, holding out his hands. “Can I see?”
“Of course,” I said, letting him take it. “It's... it's for you, after all. I did my best, like you asked.”
Raising it up, he held it at a distance, studying the swirls of purple and green, the way the colors melted from bright white on top, then sank into the mire below. “It's beautiful, Leah. It's really wonderful!”
Wonderful. Biting the side of my lip, I couldn't look at him, feeling incredibly shy at his compliments. “Uh, thanks. I'm glad you like it.”
“Of course I do, I don't even... this is...”
Carlo looked between us, a slight grin forming as he did so. “I think that kitchen needs cleaning, I'll go do that. Right now, I mean. Yeah.” He left us, intentionally giving us some privacy. Tucking my hands into the pockets of my sweater, I rocked on my heels, smiling up at him through my lashes.
“Sorry about Carlo,” he suddenly apologized, shaking his head, glancing at the drinks on the floor. “He poured all of those before I could even stop him. I think he was hoping I'd give in once we got going.”
Giggling, unnerved by the sound of it coming from me, I bent over to peer into the full cups. “He poured you four of them, maybe we should humor him, we could each sip one.”
Flashing his teeth, Deacon leaned the canvas on the wall beside us. “Alright, it'd be polite.” Crouching, he grabbed two plastic cups, handing me one. “Here, a cheer,” he smiled, holding his up between us.
“A cheer to what?”
“Hmn,” he mused, green eyes sparkling in the bright room lights. “How about, cheers to more astounding art in the near future.” His comment made me lightheaded, my grip barely strong enough to grasp my cup as he tapped it with his own. “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” I repeated, taking a small sip. It was cloyingly sweet, the alcohol tang hidden. Does he mean that, did I really impress him?
Deacon lifted the canvas, glancing at a staircase near the front door. “I'd like to put this in my room, where it'll be safe from getting ruined accidentally while Carlo is cleaning up in here.”
“Sure. That's fine.” Swallowing the cold liquid, I blinked when he waited for me on the bottom step.
“Come on, then,” he said with smile.
He wants me to go up there with him? Flowing with a rush of excitement and worry, I followed him upstairs on shaking legs. I was surprised it was a two floor apartment, opening up into a small hallway, a bathroom on one side, and on the other...
“In here,” he instructed, opening the door so I could step through. As I passed him, I brushed his shoulder, my heart thrilling with wild thumps at the contact. Turning, I couldn't help but notice that he pushed the door partially shut. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking towards his bed with the canvas in tow.
Curious, I craned my head, observing the white walls I'd expect in most apartments. However, Deacon had covered them in a variety of posters, paintings, beautifully detailed illustrations to simpler, shape blotted pieces. On one side, there was a shelf full of different books, their spines reading titles like 'Color Theory 101' and 'Simple is Design' in bold letters.
On the other side of the room, Deacon stood by his mattress, the blankets a rich sapphire blue. He'd placed the canvas on the floor beside it, propping it on the wall, letting me glimpse my work once again. I can't believe he really likes it. “Do you want to sit?” He asked, peeking my way, sipping from the cup.
“Ah, sure.” Sitting down on the squishy bed, my purse was dropped lightly on the floor in front of me. My fingers trembled on my drink, enough that I cradled it with two hands to keep it from spilling. Across the room, I spotted what I assumed was a closet. Deacon followed my eyes, looking rather sneaky when he finally spoke.
“It goes outside. It's where I like to paint.”
“Outside?” Blinking, I turned his way, staring up at him where he stood beside me. “Really? Can't you just paint at the gallery space?”
“Yeah, of course.” Swigging the last drops from his cup, Deacon paused as if he was savoring the taste. “It's nice, is all, painting in the air.”
Thinking of working on the canvas he had given me, my lips split in a little grin. “I get that. I painted that one out on Vanessa's patio.”
“Really?” Placing his empty drink on his bookshelf, he ran a hand over his short hair. “She didn't mind you commandeering her garden for a few days?”
“Oh,” I said, shrugging up to my ears. “I only needed it for an evening, if she wanted me to move it after that, I could have.”
Not expecting much of a reaction from him, I was baffled as he lifted his brows, gaping blatantly at me. “Wait, back up. You're saying you painted this... in just an evening?”
“Right, after you gave it to me.”
“That night?”
Turning so red it was almost purple, I sank down, gulping from my cup anxiously. Was that a weird thing to do? He's freaking out, I made him freak out. Perhaps he sensed my unease, for the bed creaked when he settled next to me. Deacon placed his hand on my shoulder, his gaze so intense I was forced to meet him with my own sheepish one. “Leah, that's insane. You created this in a single night, I don't—I'm trying to grasp that,” he said, laughing weakly.
“Sorry,” I burst out in a rush, hanging my head, hair brushing my cheeks. “Sorry, please don't think I'm weird! I just got caught up in working on it, I wanted...” What did I want?
Something warm touched my leg, making me jump. I saw it was his hand just as he pulled it away, his face conflicted when he spoke. “What, what did you want?”
I couldn't speak, but also, I seemed unable to break away from his perseverance. The cup in my hands felt heavy, even with it being more than half
empty, my mind sluggish. “Please tell me,” he whispered, suddenly so close I could see the stubble on his otherwise smooth jaw.
“I wanted to impress you,” I admitted, my skin on fire, boiling more by the second. He didn't blink, he didn't smile, he didn't even move at first. Positive I'd said something stupid, I gave a forced laugh, draining my cup in one final draught. “I'm sorry,” I said, peering into my empty container. “I'm really sorry.”
“Why do you always say that?” He asked gently.
“Because I do dumb things,” I mumbled cynically, my smile painful. “Just forget it, I'm being really stupid.” Lifting my gaze, I was ready to find one of his easy, relaxed grins. The kind I had grown to enjoy far too much.
There wasn't one waiting for me.
Deacon's hands stretched forward, wrapping around my cheeks, coiling in my hair. Unable to react, my brain dissipated the second he pressed those lips to mine. Distantly, the hollow echo of the plastic cup tumbling to the floor reached my ears.
His mouth tasted like the sweet drink Carlo had made us, his tongue gentle, soft. I didn't know when my eyes had shut, just that I was staring into the blackness of my lids, darkness that sparked with spots of purple color from my dizzying shock.
Is this real? Is he kissing me?
My nose touched his, I slid my fingers against his shoulders tentatively. Though I wanted more from him, so much more, part of me was terrified this was going to end any second. Each time he'd rejected me before, it had left a pit inside of me, cutting away at the stem of my heart. To let him in further, if he pulled away again, I was sure it'd break the pillar and cause everything to crumble.
Deacon was warm against me, his body pressing closer. He moved slow, the way you would handle an animal that might run away any second. I couldn't remember ever kissing someone like this, Owen had never done anything even close. Inside of me, I was burning, a fire that wanted to consume more than he was offering.
Breaking away, I inhaled sharply, my forehead touching his, damp from sweat. “Wait,” I whispered, before he pushed me down, my body sinking into the bed. Opening my eyes, I saw he had his closed, his lips trailing to my neck. He knew my sensitive spots without me telling him, the electric sparks shooting down to my toes. The back of my neck prickled as my cells woke up, it was all happening faster than I was ready for.
The tender way he kissed my throat made me gasp, his breath cool on searing flesh. I should have been relieved when he leaned over me, tracing down to the hem of my sweater to pull it off. Why am I so worried, I wanted this, remember? Letting him tug it over my head, mussing up my hair, we finally looked each other in the face.
“Wait,” I said a second time, pink cheeks glowing, my breathing short and quick. “I—are you sure you want...”
“Yes,” he mumbled, holding my chin tightly, lips tangling with mine. He stole the thought I had, the concern, for another moment. But the taste of alcohol on his tongue brought back my buzzing worry, enough to finally voice it.
Pressing my fingers into his shoulders harder, I pushed him back, ending the wild, head rushing kiss. “Are you drunk, even a bit?” I asked, staring imploringly into his electric eyes. “I can't, I can't do this if--”
“No, I'm fine.” He sounded serious, unblinking as he stared me down. The pure heat in his face, the solid line of his delicious mouth, it drew me in like a black hole.
That time, I hooked fingers into his scalp, crushing my lips to his in a moment of raw need. That's what this is, I need this. Holding him still, I sat up, knocking him onto his back, my body cradling his hips without my mouth ever abandoning his.
My jean skirt rose up my thighs, I didn't notice until I felt his hands sliding down my skin. Shivering, I leaned away, my body needing oxygen, demanding it. “You're so smooth,” he whispered into my ear, raising more goosebumps before he even grazed my lower back.
His jeans scratched at me, rubbing my sensitive flesh raw as I ground against him thoughtlessly. Deacon dug his hands into me, pulling me against him, his pelvis rolling with his own burst of excitement. “Should we slow down?” He asked me, a hint of that side of him, ever concerned for others, glinting through.
I answered him by reaching down, scooting his shirt up and exposing his chest. The sight of him like that, his firm muscles, his flexing shoulders when I pulled it over his head, it sent a tingle to my lower belly. Perhaps I had inspired him, before I had even begun to drag my shaking hands over his naked arms, he curled his fingers into the hem of my top.
Suddenly self-conscious, I grabbed his wrists, sitting up on him, straddling his waist. “W—wait, I'm not... can I keep it on?” It was impossible not to remember those moments with Owen, his words sharp, his observations of my flaws so casual and cruel whenever he saw me so vulnerable.
“I want to see you,” Deacon said sincerely, watching me with melting heat, his southern drawl heavy with his eagerness.
Swallowing nervously, I let my grip fall away from him, looking away in embarrassment. Deacon slid the purple material high, revealing my dark bra, messing my long hair even further. I made a note of where my shirt fell when he dropped it, wanting to be ready to put it back on as if it were my armor.
Touching my cheeks, he held me steady, forcing me to look down at him. “Leah, you're beautiful. More beautiful than I even...” He cut himself off, roughly yanking me down to press his mouth to mine. His tongue swirled, I felt a hint of his perfect teeth.
He thinks I'm beautiful? The very concept filled me with budding delight, my body relaxing against his, becoming more comfortable with him seeing me like this. Owen never once called me that. Leaning away, swallowing the hard lump in my throat, I kissed his forehead, inhaling his scent. “I wanted so badly to kiss you last night, so much, I--”
“Shh,” he hushed me, fingers running through my hair, then down my spine. He touched the clasp of my bra, my heart skipping when he undid the hooks. Easily, he slid it down my arms, leaving me bristling all the way down to my wrists.
Sitting on him, I held myself up, elbows locked and hands buried in the blanket on either side of his head. Deacon smiled at me, his focus moving down to my chest. I couldn't take it, I bit the inside of my cheek and shut my eyes, my blood pulsing quick. Does he still think I'm beautiful, all of me?
“Are you okay?” He asked gently.
“I'm nervous,” I admitted, shifting on him, feeling his growing lust between us.
“Am I moving too fast?”
His concern left me amazed, his tender face, worried frown, I almost laughed. Is he moving too fast? No, no he isn't, I want this. I know I do. I'm just worried I want it more than he does. Unable to hold back, I pressed my naked breasts against his chest, his hard muscles sending a ripple up my vertebra.
Deacon groaned, thick and baritone, exciting me with the very sound of it. Grinding against him, his grip tight on my waist, I knew we weren't going to stop. Abruptly, he rolled me to the side, coming up on top, crushing me deliciously into the mattress. The weight of him, his desirable heat, I arched my back and gasped.
The sound of a zipper cut the air, his jeans finally sliding down his legs. Earlier, I had wished the room was darker to help hide me. Now, looking up, seeing his fit body leaning over me, I was grateful for the lights.
Kissing the side of my mouth, I felt him pulling my skirt down, this time I didn't bother watching where it fell. Digging his fingers into my sides, tracing my ribs and down to my legs, I heard him breathe loudly, hungrily. “Leah,” he said softly, frustrated. “I don't... I wasn't prepared, I don't have any condoms.”
For a second, a flicker of disappointment hit me, twisting in my belly. But then I remembered, sitting up under him, pushing him off gently. “Hold on, I do. I have one in my purse.” In only my panties, I bent over the side of the bed, sure he had a good view of my rear end as I did so. Digging in my bag, it took me only a second to find the foil wrapper. Beaming, I spun back around on my knees, holding it to him triumphantly. In that moment, I
saw something on his face, visible disturbance that he buried when he caught me looking.
What was that about?
“Fantastic,” he said hurriedly, taking it, turning it in his fingers. His green eyes flicked to me, rolling over me, leaving me feeling aroused by his blatant appreciation. Still, I hugged myself shyly, my smile crooked. “No no,” he mused, touching my shoulders softly. “Relax, just relax.”
Staring at him kneeling in front of me, his body bare save for the tight black briefs he wore, my entire being was feverish. He was stunning, every inch of him, and it struck me silent.
Easily, he pressed me back down, kissing me lightly on my temple. Then, as I removed my hands from my body, feeling the muscles of his back, he let his lips touch my own.
Kissing him drove me wild, my center boiling, my legs squeezing against his sides as it went on. I wondered if it was possible to become addicted to a person, to crave them completely.
Through the sound of our breathing, the blood in my ears, I heard him unwrap the condom. Seconds later, he reached between us, stroking the outside of my thighs. The sensation made me tingle, a hot pressure deep in my belly. I was shaking, entirely too worked up, my emotions in turmoil.
Deacon gripped my panties, sliding them down in one strong motion. There, finally naked in his bed, I opened my eyes and saw how he was looking at me. The wild heat, the way the air vibrated around us, we were both ready. Really, truly ready, my worries forgotten in a surge of passion.
Between my legs, he pressed, closing his eyes, tensing his jaw. Already I was panting, wanting him to hurry, my nails leaving half-moon marks on his shoulders. “Please,” I breathed, my honest desire making him grunt. Firm, warm, he pushed against my entrance until I gave in and cried out.
Buried inside of me, Deacon breathed deeply, his eyes shut from controlling himself. I didn't want him to control himself, I wanted him to grab me, to gasp, to hold me so hard I could hardly take it. I wanted him, I wanted all of him, and he seemed wary to give it.
Lifting my hips, I held onto him, feeling the damp nape of his neck. Thrusting, I tried to coax him, to make him drive into me. Still Deacon resisted, even as my core was begging him to dive in. Tossing my head back, my hair tickling my cheeks, my whine reached my ears from far away.
