“How the fuck is it different?”
“Put one of your hands on my waist. Then put the other in my hand.” Once he did that, I smiled up at him. “Good job. Now you can either sway like this or do a box step.”
“I think I’d rather sway,” he replied, his hand tightening on my waist. Even beneath the fabric of my skirt, my skin felt inflamed by his simple touch. It was the first time we had been this close, touched this intimately, since the night we’d let our personal skeletons dance precariously around the room.
It wasn’t the first time a man had had his hands on me, but something about Deacon’s touch felt different. Nervousness, coupled with anticipation, tingled through my body. Although I had tried to ignore his magnetism before, there was no denying it now. While he was so incredibly good-looking, it was his strong, all-male presence that overwhelmed me. Good sense told me that a woman like me should never want to be in a room alone with a man like him, but I chose to ignore the voices of doubt in my head. Instead, I decided to just let myself feel.
As he stared down at me, the expression on his face changed. I swallowed hard at the intensity of the look burning in his eyes. I didn’t know how something so innocent had changed over to something so illicit. Since the night we’d shared a bed, everything had changed between us.
The crackling pop of the vinyl changed over to another song. As the sultry beat came out of the speakers, I immediately recognized it. Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man.” At that moment, there couldn’t have been a song better suited to us. I stood before a Preacher Man’s son, desperately wanting him to do some of the things in the song. Just the thought sent an ache spreading between my legs.
The only one who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man.
Deacon’s eyes met mine, and I couldn’t help noticing the lustful gleam flickering bright in them. “Don’t look at me like that,” he growled.
“How am I looking at you?” I panted.
“Like you want to fuck me.”
The electricity in the air around us crackled and popped the same as the vinyl coming out of the stereo speakers. I knew I should turn and run away. I had a job to do with Willow, which didn’t include fucking her father. While I knew that being with Deacon would be an unforgettable experience, it was an emotional land mine that I didn’t think I could escape from unscathed. Everything within me screamed to pry myself from his tight embrace and run upstairs to the safe sanctuary of Beth’s kitchen.
Being good isn’t always easy. No matter how hard I try.
But as Deacon continued to stare at me like a predator would with its prey, I wanted nothing more than to be consumed. Without a word, Deacon’s thumb inched slowly over my bottom lip. Acting on its own volition, my tongue snaked out to flick against his skin. Deacon’s dark eyes flared before he ducked his head and crushed his lips to mine. The force took me off guard, and I staggered back. His strong arms caught me and dragged me closer to him. Just as I had imagined, he knew what he was doing when it came to kissing.
Deacon’s tongue plunged into my mouth as his fingers came to tangle through the strands of my hair. When he tugged them, I moaned into his mouth, enjoying the sting of pain. My hands slid up his back to grip the tops of his shoulders for dear life. His lips, along with the strength of his body and feel of his fingers, had the ability to liquefy my bones and muscles. At any moment, I expected to melt down his body and collapse into a puddle on the floor.
When he finally tore his mouth from mine, both of our chests heaved. He gazed down at me with hooded eyes. “What do you want from me, Alexandra?”
“I want you to fuck me.” Instantly, warmth flooded my cheeks. I’d never been this brazen or direct with a man before. Deacon’s domineering presence had the ability to bring out a part of me I didn’t know existed. Even if it ruined everything between us, everything for Willow, I still wanted him to consume me.
With a groan, he slid his hands down my back to cup my buttocks. Pressing me forward, he ground the hardened bulge in his jeans against me. I gasped at the friction the contact caused. “Please, Deacon.”
Bending me back, he kissed down my neck, his tongue swirling on my skin. I shivered.
Crashing back against the mirrored wall, I gasped in both pleasure and pain. Deacon didn’t apologize. Instead, his hands came to roughly palm my breasts beneath my shirt. Within seconds, he had the buttons undone and was jerking down the cups of my bra. At the feel of his scorching-hot mouth on my nipple, I moaned and closed my eyes. As he pinched the other between his fingers, I began to rub my pelvis against him, desperate for friction to ease the ache. “What do you need, babe?” Deacon questioned in a gravelly voice.
“You. I need you,” I whimpered.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
I gave a shake of my head, warmth filling my cheeks. Dirty talk usually embarrassed me, so I couldn’t imagine saying what Deacon wanted me to.
With his eyes on mine, Deacon snaked a hand underneath my skirt. When one of his fingers skimmed the outside of my panties, I bucked my hips against him only to have him pull away. Frustration filled me. His breath scorched against my earlobe as he repeated, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Please, Deacon.”
“Please, Deacon, what?” He pulled his head up to pin me with his gaze. “Please kiss me? Please suck my nipples? Please finger fuck my pussy so I can come?”
Wanting to resist saying such horrible things, I clamped my teeth down on my lip. But then, as the seconds ticked agonizingly by, the desire grew too great. “Please finger me,” I whispered.