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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FREYA

I can’t stop thinking about how he danced with me in the kitchen.

Yes, the sex is unbelievable, but that dance shook me up.

The house is as tense as it always is under Aiden’s dictatorship. There’s something going on that I don’t know about. Aiden makes Bittern take his land surveying equipment out and work on something from dawn until dusk. That strikes me as strange. Bittern got his surveyor's certification years ago but never did anything with it. Now, all of a sudden, Aiden’s got him putting in for lost time.

I watch them from the corner of my eyes.

Aiden can’t be trusted. If he’s not being outwardly horrible, he’s got something cooking up in his head to be horrible for later.

At least he’s gone a lot. Ryland goes with him, and I see their trucks disappear toward the road that leads up to the McClaine ranch. He has to head west and double back to avoid trespassing on Deacon’s land. I know that grinds his gears. I silently enjoy his annoyance.

I spend most of my time at work. Autumn brings the fall festivals, the farmer’s markets, and the auctions to the towns and cities. It’s good for Tracy’s businesses, and she’s often pulled away, leaving me in charge of the café. I don’t mind working alone. The townspeople are curious about me. I make up better stories to tell them about my past than the truth.

Most of them call me church girl. I’m not sure why.

The men never write their numbers on napkins and leave them. That’s confusing. Back at home, I had boys hanging on my window at the ice cream shop now and then. Here, the men from Knifley are respectful when they order, and they don’t flirt with me much.

The days slip by. It feels like dozens, but it’s been less than a week since I saw Deacon.

I wonder why it feels so long.

The café keeps me company. I sell coffee and chat with people I know but not well enough to say we’re friends. It’s late afternoon, one day that feels like fall and the pumpkin pastries are flying off the shelves, when I’ve got a few customers left and I’m thinking about closing thirty minutes early. There’s a young man talking to me, leaning on the counter. He’s a cowboy from one of the neighboring farms. They like to stand around and shoot the shit so they don’t have to get back to work.

I smile and nod where it’s appropriate.

The door swings open. The little café is filled with a strong presence that makes me lift my head.

My stomach flutters. I tuck a curl behind my ear.

Deacon Ryder walks in, the bell ringing in his wake. He’s as tall as the door and more than half as broad. As usual, he’s in that charcoal gray Henley that clings to his shoulders, frayed at the collar where it touches his neck. Over it is his Carhartt jacket, and on his feet are his work boots.

My mind is filled with images of what he did to me that night in the blacksmith shop. The fire flickering, his dark eyes on me, lids heavy with desire. The dizzying and exhilarating experience of being bent backward over the anvil. The fence stake was a little…unexpected. It woke me up to the fact that I think Deacon is a little wilder in the bedroom than he’s been letting on.

My face flames just thinking about it .

Deacon crosses the room, boots loud on the wooden floor. The man looks up, shifting over a few steps. Deacon sends him a sideways glance.

“You flirting with my girl?” he asks.

The cowboy shakes his head. “Nope, just leaving.”

Alright, it makes more sense as to why no man in Knifley gives me more than a polite nod. The man leaves, and it’s just Deacon and me in the café. He takes his hat off and sets it on the counter.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I say.

“Have to establish my territory.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “What’s got you so full of it today?”

“I’ve just got a whole lot of something,” he says, “and now I got somewhere for it to be.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Can I get a coffee, sweetheart?”

I turn to fill a paper cup, and he lets out a low whistle. Startled, I let the carafe go and turn on my heel. “Don’t whistle at me.”

“Why?” His eyes glint with a smile. “You look pretty good in that short little skirt.”

I pull at the hem of my skirt. It’s new. Tracy gave me a bag of her grown daughter’s clothes. This morning, I was feeling a little bolder than usual, so I put on a plaid skirt that hugs my hips and upper thighs and tucked in a black sweater with a dipped neckline. Nothing’s showing, and I’m wearing a thick pair of black tights underneath, but it’s still a little sassier than what I’m used to.

His eyes run up and down.

“You look pretty good,” he says again.

That look steals over his face, the one that makes his head cock and his lips part.

I turn back around to fill his cup, but knowing he’s looking me up and down, probably hard under his zipper, has me flustered. I take my time getting a lid and fitting it on. Then, I hand it to him.

He gives me two dollars. Our fingers brush. The sensation tingles up my arm.

“Don’t you close up soon?” he says .

“In a few minutes,” I say.

He glances over the empty room. “Can’t you close up early?”

I lean over the counter, looking up at him through my lashes. The part of me that tells me not to get involved with him has been quiet lately. Or I’m ignoring it on purpose.

Truthfully, I’m horny for him. He did something to my brain when he ate me out in the blacksmith shop. It hasn’t been the same since.

It keeps me awake, my hand tucked between my thighs, trying to rub out the same feeling and failing. Deep down, it gets me a little pissed that it’s this man who pulled it out of me.

“What are you asking?” I say.

He bends in, kissing me briefly. “Lock up the shop, sweetheart. I want to fuck you before I head home.”

My brows shoot to my hairline. “You really know how to romance me.”

The corner of his mouth jerks up.

“I’m not trying to romance you,” he says. “I’m trying to fuck you up against the wall in the back alley so I don’t have to jerk off too many times before I can fall asleep.”

My jaw is on the floor.

“Is that how you get all your women?” I ask.

He leans in and gives me those big, dark puppy eyes. “I don’t have women, sweetheart. I just got you.”

That goes right down my spine like warm water. If I hadn’t spent the whole week thinking about him and all the dirty things he’s done to me, I would know better. I would, and I’d say no, I’m not letting him have a quickie in an alley with me.

I forget that I should know better.

I take the key from under the counter and lock the front door and pull the shades. He sets his coffee down, watching me as I turn off the sign and walk right by him to the back door. Then, he snaps into action and follows me into the narrow alleyway.

It’s colder than it was this morning. I wrap my arms around myself.

“Someone will see,” I whisper .

He takes my hand, pulling me to the dead end by the big air conditioning unit that comes to the middle of my thigh. His jaw is hard. There’s a visible pulse in the vein in his neck.

“Nobody’s walking down here at this time,” he says.

“What happens if they see us?”

He shrugs. “They get a show, I guess, but they won’t see you. Turn around, put your hands on the wall.”

This is the riskiest thing I’ve ever done. There’s a rushing in my ears as I turn and spread my palms on the brick wall. It’s a little dirty, smudged with soot, and cold. There are leaves gathered on the concrete at our feet. I glance down, distracted, as he moves up behind me.

His mouth touches my neck, heat on cold skin.

“God,” I whisper, my body coming alive.

My hair is loose today. He buries a hand in it and fists it at the roots, holding me still. I close my eyes, focusing on his other hand dragging down my hip and pushing my skirt up over my ass. He gives me a little spank that stings deliciously.

“So pretty,” he murmurs.

I open my eyes as he tugs down my tights and panties. The brick wavers in front of me, and cold air stings my bare skin. His belt clinks before he spits in his hand and dips it between my legs.

“That’s a little bit wet, sweetheart,” he says.

I nod, unable to speak. There’s a fever coming over me, wiping my mind clean. He rubs the wetness into my sex, dipping his middle finger in briefly. Then, he braces his boot on the concrete, and the tip of his cock notches against my opening.

He pushes, giving a frustrated grunt.

“Arch your back,” he murmurs. “Like that… Good girl. Relax. Let me in.”

I’m doing my best not to clamp down on him, but it’s difficult. He pushes, and I start panting as the first inch slides in. It hits right on that sensitive spot he touches with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing,” he says under his breath .

He says these things like they’re nothing, like they don’t have my pussy fluttering around him. All I can do is moan as he presses all the way inside, deep enough that I get that sweet ache again. He thrusts, and I cry out, loud enough that he lets my hair go and covers my mouth.

“You need to adjust?”

I nod, eyes rolling back to look at him. He’s hovering over me, body pressing hard and hot against mine. With his other hand, he pushes under the front of my skirt and into my panties. His fingers find my clit, and he pulls out an inch and fucks back in.

“Better?”

I nod, unable to speak through his grip. He groans in his chest, and I know he’s hungry. I feel it in his next thrust; it’s rough, almost bruising.

“Fuck,” he groans from between his teeth. “Goddamn, that’s good.”

I shut my eyes again, just letting my body feel pleasure in waves. His fingers circle my clit fast, wet from my pussy. His cock thrusts in deep and holds for a half beat. I can feel his piercings as he drags out, teasing me deep inside.

Everything falls away.

I’m not Freya, scared and unsure. I’m beautiful, desirable, wanted so badly that I bring this man to his knees, all two hundred and fifty plus tattooed pounds of him.

That’s powerful.

Heat bursts between my thighs. My eyes fly open, and I can’t keep from crying out into his hand. He makes a rough sound in his throat. His hips speed up, taking me harshly through my orgasm.

“Good girl,” he pants. “You come on my cock, sweetheart.”

Once again, there’s no shame, just breathless pleasure throbbing where our bodies meet. I should tell him to pull out. Now, before it’s too late.

I might not have been taught much about birth control, but I know we can’t do this anymore. He needs to start wearing a condom, or come on something that isn’t the inside of my pussy. Otherwise, I’m going to be in over my head in trouble. There’s no way Aiden will let me stay if I wind up pregnant. He’s been clear on that account.

I twist my head. He lets my mouth go.

“Don’t come in me,” I gasp.

He groans through his teeth and pulls out. His knuckles go white against the brick. I press my legs together and feel him between them, jerking and spilling his cum over my naked thighs. The wind picks up, cold. The faint soapy scent of his pleasure hits my nose.

God, there’s something so raw and easy about fucking him.

I can’t let it go. It’s the complete opposite of the feeling I get when I look up at the sky and want to be anywhere else. Like being whole, like being in love with being alive and everything my body feels because of it.

I’ve never loved being alive. It’s usually just bearable.

Being alive has always consisted of just getting through the day, for me and everyone around me. But not Deacon, no. He eats up life the way he does my cooking. He lives big and confident in a way I can only dream of.

Buried beneath him, I taste the raw pleasure of living, and it makes me want to cave the next time he begs me to stay.

“Jesus, I made a mess of you, sweetheart,” he says.

He zips up and turns me around, kneeling. From his coat pocket, he takes a creased bandana and wipes my thighs. Then, he leans in, and I tense. But all he does is kiss my clit and pull my panties and tights up and my skirt down.

Oh, I’m a goner.

He gets up, belt still hanging open. “I think I need a smoke.”

Sex like that has me considering acquiring a few vices too. I lean against the wall, arms crossed over my chest. He takes a bent cigarette out of his pants pocket, puts it straight, and lights up. There’s a long silence before he exhales and gives me a stare that makes my stomach flutter.

“I don’t want to go, but I got to,” he says.

“Where are you going?” I ask softly.

“To see your stepfather. ”

All the butterflies in my belly go cold and die out. “Why’re you talking to Aiden?”

He sighs. “I haven’t really brought it up, but I think we got a land dispute coming down the pipes and heading straight for us.”

I wrack my mind. Is this the reason Bittern’s been out surveying the land? Is there some kind of property line issue with the farm?

“Why?” I say.

He studies me for a second. Then, he takes a drag.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I got it handled,” he says. “But given that I’m being summoned to some kind of mediation with him and I got to have my lawyer there, I’d say it’s good he doesn’t know I’m coming in his stepdaughter on the regular.”

“Deacon,” I gasp.

He gives me that halfway grin. “What? Like it isn’t true.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does summoned mean in this context?”

“It means I got a letter from his fuckass lawyer with a date I have to show up,” he says, like it doesn’t matter much to him.

“When is that?”

He flips his hand, showing his worn leather watch. “About forty minutes from now.”

It scares me that he’s talking to Aiden. He doesn’t know my family, and I don’t want him to. Arms still around my body, I turn and walk up the alley and go inside. It takes a second, but he comes in through the back door.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he says.

I turn, chewing my lip. “Aiden’s not…nice. You shouldn’t be talking to him.”

“I know he’s not nice,” he says. “We’re talking legal shit, not trying to be friends. What’s really wrong?”

I go behind the cash register and start counting out the money for the night. He thinks I’m ignoring him, I know, but I just need a second to figure out what I feel. He leans on the countertop, his eyes searing the top of my head.

“Come on, talk to me,” he says, voice low .

“I just…I’ve never known Aiden to go up against somebody and lose,” I say.

I stack the ones in a pile next to the fives. I wish he wasn’t so damn charming. It might make staying away easier. The last thing I need is to get tangled up with a man Aiden’s got it out for.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me.” His voice is all gentle and rumbly, and it’s making it hard to keep a wall up.

Reluctantly, I obey, looking right into those dark eyes, a crease through his forehead. It occurs to me that if anybody can take on Aiden, it’s probably Deacon. He’s got an inch or two on him, and he’s broader in the shoulders.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he says.

I stare at him, gears turning in my head.

Maybe the reason my mother married Aiden was because he had some muscle on her drunk of a father. There’s a practicality in getting with a man who, no matter his character, can punch an asshole in the jaw, especially if there’s an asshole around who needs it.

I have a couple of them, but I have no desire to be so involved as to see Deacon give Aiden or Ryland a beat down.

I just want out of this mess. I need everybody to go back to ignoring me. Getting noticed all the time is stressing me too much. The problem is, Deacon won’t go away. And I don’t want him to.

“You’d better go,” I say quietly.

He sighs. “Give me a kiss before I do.”

Obediently, I offer my mouth, and he kisses it. It’s just as nice as it was the first time—the right amount of pressure, a little heat, a hint of tongue. But my stomach is all twisted up in knots, and I can’t enjoy it.

He puts on his hat and goes. I stand in the door, arms crossed tightly, and watch him swing into his truck.

Part of me is so wrapped up in him that I don’t want to think too hard about this. The other part wonders if I’m just another turn in a cycle I never wanted to be part of.