33. Chapter 33

My legs give out from beneath me until I'm held up only by Deacon's grip on my thighs.

The next thing I know, he's shooting to his feet and looming large at my back.

A strong hand grips the hair at the base of my neck, lifting my head from where my flushed cheek has been pressed to the cool marble of the counter.

Angling it towards the mirror again, he says roughly, "Look.

Look at you.

How could anyone, including yourself, see you as anything less than a goddess?"

Before I even have a chance to reply, he's using his free hand to pop the button on his jeans, freeing himself to the bathroom air that's gone thick and steamy in a matter of minutes.

I watch in the mirror as he fists his length, stroking once, twice, before lining the head against my entrance.

Gripping my hip, he pushes inside me in one powerful thrust.

As I cry out, I try to lower my head, but the hand in my hair tightens, pulling my upper body higher until I'm standing straight with my back pressed to his chest.

I can feel the muscles in his torso flex, just as I'm sure he can feel the muscles of my pussy clench around him as he grinds against my ass.

"Fuck, woman.

If you don't stop that, I won't even make it to become a two-pump chump."

I don't know how he can make me laugh at a time like this, but somehow, he manages to do it.

That laugh is cut off midway when he pulls back his hips, withdrawing until only the tip of his cock remains inside before pushing slowly back in.

His mouth hovers close to my ear now, and he holds my head still with the hand still fisted in my hair.

"Watch me fuck you, brat.

Watch me worship your pussy the way it deserves."

Helpless to do otherwise, I watch in the mirror as his cock slides in and out of me.

His manic energy from only minutes before seems to have disappeared, leaving in its place something else.

Something … new.

His strokes are slow and unhurried.

The sight of him transfixes me, not just his body but his face.

There's a look of, I don't know, wonder in his eyes.

As if what he's feeling is just as new to him as it is to me.

The longer I stare at his face, the slower his thrusts become until he pauses entirely.

We stand like that for a long moment, unmoving.

My entire body vibrates in his hold.

The hand in my hair releases, and slowly, he eases out of me before turning me around to face him.

Tipping my head up to meet his gaze, his eyes offer more questions than answers, but as he lowers his head and gently rubs his lips over mine, I forget what it was I was even looking for.

As my mouth opens for him, he doesn't thrust his tongue inside as I expect but instead traces my bottom lip before dipping in, as though savoring the taste.

Before I know what's happening, I'm literally being swept off my feet.

Scooping me up, he walks out of the bathroom, leaving the mirror and the scent of sex behind.

He carries me down the hall and into the bedroom as if I weigh nothing.

Kneeling on the bed, he lowers me down until I'm lying in the center of the mattress, his strong body hovering over me.

Of their own accord, my knees fall open to make space for him.

As he braces his weight on his hands on either side of my head, he lowers his towards me, and for a moment, I'm sure he's about to kiss me again.

At the last second, however, he rests his forehead against mine, our noses brushing lightly, breaths mingling.

Maybe it's the romantic side of me that I didn't know existed before I met this man, but the moment seems thick with … something.

Something that can't adequately be expressed with words.

It can only be felt.

Absorbed, reshaped, and grown in size before being given back.

Only for the process to begin again, over and over, until that feeling has grown so much that your insides can't contain it anymore, and it has no choice but to burst free.

I wonder what will be left of me when that happens.

As if sensing the mounting tension within me, he echoes his words from earlier.

"Don't think, just feel."

I am feeling.

That's the problem.

I'm feeling too much.

Desperate to break this spell that's woven its way around us, I reach up, hooking my hand behind his neck, bringing his mouth to mine.

With a helpless groan of defeat, he thrusts his tongue inside, stroking over my own.

Hips shifting, he lines himself up at my entrance and pushes inside again with one deep stroke.

The strength of that thrust pushes me several inches up the bed.

I hardly notice, but he does.

Seated deeply within me, he pauses and says, "Wait."

Reaching over, he grabs a stray pillow beside us and tucks it between my head and the headboard .

A feeling of bemusement settles over me.

No one's ever done anything like that for me before.

No one ever cared enough.

It's at this moment that every insecurity instilled in me by my parents, classmates, and even Dante … evaporate.

At least for the span of time that I'm in this bed, all doubts as to my worth vanish, and, for the first time in my life, I feel beautiful.

Blinking away the sudden film that's clouded my vision, I avert my gaze, turning my head to the side hoping he won't notice.

I should've known better.

The man sees too fucking much.

A finger on my chin tilts my head back to face him.

"Eyes on me, brat,"

he says, and the nickname that he's used to needle me all these weeks suddenly sounds less like an insult and more like an endearment.

Maybe I'm imagining that, or maybe the gentle way he says it has me questioning every life choice that led me to this moment.

To this bed and this man.

Regardless, I give him my eyes just as one useless tear escapes.

His gaze tracks the movement of the drop until it disappears into the hair at my temple.

He says nothing but reaches up to brush the wetness away with his thumb.

Then he begins to move.

Hips rolling, he strokes in and out of me at an agonizing pace.

Every time he pushes inside, little sparks of electricity light up my entire body.

He watches me the whole time, blue eyes practically sparkling.

Soon, our breathing is becoming choppy, and I can feel the tightening in my lower stomach that signals my impending orgasm.

Weight still braced on his arms, each thrust comes a little faster, a little harder until I'm arching my hips up to meet him.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes in the quiet room, the only other sounds coming from the wild night outside the bedroom window.

Crickets sing in time with my moans.

Frogs croak in time with his.

A rhythm of sounds, all merging into a song unlike any I've ever heard before, the melody unique and ours alone.

As the music swells, I keep my eyes on his, just like he wanted.

So bright, so blue.

I'm suddenly hit with a memory of two bright blue spots on a blood-stained wall.

Those spots kept me grounded when all I wanted to do was float away.

A similar desire strikes me now but in a completely different way.

Just like before, I focus on those bright spots, but, unlike the last time, it's not because I fear the elevation.

Quite the opposite.

This man makes me want to fly .

But I don't want to soar alone.

I want nothing more in this moment than to take him with me.

Reaching up, I place my hands on either side of his face, this time ensuring his eyes stay open and on mine.

Soon, the movements of his hips become increasingly uncoordinated, our breaths coming out in a series of grunts and gasps.

With every passing second, that blue becomes brighter and brighter until it's nearly blinding in intensity.

"Just like stars … "

The whisper escapes me before I even realize I've spoken.

Something flashes behind his eyes.

Surprise? Confusion? Fear? I'm not sure, but I'm too far gone to care.

My body goes rigid; I open my mouth and cry out, the release tearing through me in a way that has little pinpricks of light swimming in my vision.

But those spots are bright and blue and constant.

I don't wanna close my eyes or risk losing them altogether.

I want to feel like this for the rest of my life.

Worshiped, adored, protected.

All too soon, however, Deacon's head is lowering into the crook of my neck, and with one last hard thrust, he presses firmly against me, emptying himself inside me with a groan.