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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

FREYA

I can barely drag myself out of bed the next day. My body feels heavy, my head full of static. It takes a second for my eyes to focus. Then, I see it—miles and miles of snow, so bright that I squint as I force myself to leave the warm nest I’ve made of pillows and quilts.

Deacon is gone, probably already clearing pathways to the animals. I stretch and my hips pop. That doesn’t surprise me—with the amount of sex I’m having, I’d be surprised if they didn’t.

He comes in while I’m frying eggs in the kitchen. I hear him stomp his boots on the porch and hang up his coat. Then, he’s in the doorway, arms crossed over his charcoal Henley, watching me, his dark eyes soft in the harshness of his face.

He doesn’t speak. I turn off the stove and fill the plates. When I turn, he’s still watching me.

“What?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, a little smile on his mouth. It strikes me how strange it is that a man staring at me while I cook suddenly isn’t something to be afraid of. Instead, it gives me butterflies.

We eat together, and he kisses me before he goes. It’s casual, like he knows I’ll be there when he gets back .

I stand at the sink and watch him go into the barn and come out a moment later on Silver Phantom. She’s stunning in the snow. Watching her prance makes me wish I was out there with him.

I think about that for a while. When he comes in for lunch, I bring it up.

“You want to come with me?” His brows are raised.

I nod. “Unless I’m in the way.”

He shakes his head. “I’m going to do some work in the horse barn. You can come along, sweetheart.”

I’ve never been included in anything before, not anything important. It has me smiling as I gather up my clothes. He put the chastity belt on me in my sleep but not the strap that covers my pussy. It takes me a minute to work my jeans over it, but once they’re on, I can barely feel the delicate metal.

I reach into the closet for my coat and pause. There’s a crack where the molding wasn’t installed. I rest my temple on the wall. From this vantage point, I can see right into the bathroom where the copper tub sits.

I frown.

It’s probably nothing. I shake my head, pulling on my coat and leaving. At the end of the day, if he used that to look at me, it’s not any worse than anything else he’s done. In fact, it’s pretty low on the list compared to dropping from a tree, kicking in Aiden’s windshield, and kidnapping me.

I’m at a point now where I don’t care anymore.

He’s standing on the porch when I come out. Silently, I follow him to the barn, where he has Bones and Silver Phantom saddled up. I clamber up on the mounting block and get on. I’ve ridden a little, enough to take Bones back to Aiden’s house that morning, but I’m no expert.

I can’t ride the way Deacon does. He moves with his horse like water, his center of balance firmly rooted. The reins stay slack and I don’t see him shift his feet. All he does is click his tongue, and Bones heads out of the barn. Silver Phantom goes on her own, following them out into the snow .

The air is so pure. I take a deep breath of it and release it in a frosty cloud.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Winter is my favorite season,” he says. “I like the quiet.”

“It’s always quiet here,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Not in the summer when we have buyers coming every day for the horses. You’ll see.”

Neither of us speak. Those two words hang in the air. He intends for me to be here when summer comes. I don’t rebel against the idea.

We move through the employee housing. Everything is still, and I assume the wranglers are out working. The houses are simple but well-built and comfortable. On the far side, about a half mile down, I see a portion of the ranch I’ve never encountered.

It’s a flat space with several paddocks and a huge barn. Bones recognizes it, clearly, because he breaks into a trot, prompting Silver Phantom to do the same. It takes me a moment to get the rhythm. I’m envious of Deacon, who posts easily, like he doesn’t have to think about it.

When we get to the barn, I feel like my brain is scrambled. He hits a button by the door and it rolls back. Inside is a fully heated barn with dozens of stalls. When we ride in, a few horses put their heads out and stare. Deacon dismounts and helps me down.

“These are all your horses?” I do a slow turn, taking in all the doors.

“I run a breeding and training operation,” he says. “These are the mares.”

“May I look at them?”

His dark eyes linger like a touch. “Sure, sweetheart. You look to your heart’s content.”

Every day, I like the way he calls me a sweetheart a little more. Butterflies in my stomach, I go to the nearest stall and look in. There’s a Paint horse standing on the other side. She lifts her head and snorts.

“That’s Mind Your Business,” Deacon says, leaning on the door.

“Why? ”

“Why is that her name?” He puts finger and thumb in his mouth and whistles. The mare gives him a stony look and twitches her ear. “She’s got an attitude like she’s telling me to fuck off and mind my business.”

I laugh. “I like her.”

“Over here, we’ve got one of my favorites, Envy of the Angels,” Deacon says, crossing to the opposite end. I join him, peering under his arm.

There’s a stunning white horse standing just inside. She comes right up and nuzzles Deacon’s shoulder, knocking his hat askew. He rights it, taking something from his pocket and feeding it to her.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Dried apple,” he says. He steps back, walking a few doors down.

I follow, frowning. “What happens to them when they retire?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Most I sell off for hobby horses. Others just retire here until they keel over from old age.”

I lean over to look into the newest stall. Inside is a gangly chestnut horse, clearly not an adult yet. Deacon takes more dried apple out, and it comes over, nuzzling his palm.

“Who’s this?” I ask, reaching in to pet its head.

“Whoopsie Baby,” he says. “One of the stallions got out, didn’t know the dam was in heat. Bam, Whoopsie Baby.”

I laugh, unable to hold it back. Deacon is just so…well, he’s himself through and through. There’s a glitter in his eyes that tells me he likes it when he can make me laugh.

I love this, just being with him.

We get back to the house around five. I put a stew in the crock pot, and we eat it with bread. Then, Deacon says he has paperwork and disappears down the hall. I try to let him work, but after pacing the house for a while, a familiar restlessness seeps in.

I creep down the hall and peer into his office. He’s at his desk, laptop open, a stack of folders next to it. I watch him silently. He has this habit of clicking his pen wildly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

I clear my throat. He looks up .

“Need something, sweetheart?”

The words catch in my throat. How can I tell him I’m addicted to him? I need to borrow his big body to bring me back down to Earth when I blow away.

“Just you,” I whisper.

He clears his throat. “Run upstairs, change, and bring me the strap for your belt.”

As I climb the stairs, I realize I’m starting to understand that nothing he does is by accident. It’s all by design.

I drift. He grounds me.

Upstairs, I change into one of his big shirts and take the strap from his bedside table. He’s back to typing on his laptop when I return. I knock on the doorway, and he beckons me without looking up. Heart pattering, I stand by his elbow and wait.

He takes his time. Then, eyes like hot coals rest on me.

“Lift your shirt,” he says.

Obediently, I raise the hem, exposing my pussy and the metal around my hips. He’s taken the strap on and off enough for me to know he needs me to shift my legs apart. When I do it without being told, he gives me an approving nod.

He sets the strap over my pussy and locks it.

“I’ve got to finish this up, sweetheart,” he says. “Then I’ll play with you for a while.”

He guides my hips to set me on his knee. Then, he goes back to whatever boring thing he has on his screen—some kind of spreadsheet. Occasionally, he rubs my thigh and waist absently.

He doesn’t have to tell me what this is for—his words were a deliberate choice. I’m his toy, locked up and obedient until he decides he wants to play with me.

I shift my hips. I’m soaked against the strap, and I’m anchored to him, no longer drifting into the dark parts of my mind. He keeps me there with his touch. Absent, lingering. Rough callouses, worn ink. Fingertips that dig into the soft swell of my hips around the harness.

After a while, he sits back.

“You wet for me?” he asks, closing his laptop .

“Yes,” I whisper, face warm.

He turns my face up. “Yes…what?”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he says, lifting me from his lap. “You go on up to the attic and I’ll be there in a minute.”

My stomach flutters. How many times has he made it do that today? His eyes follow me as I leave the room and head up the attic stairs. I turn on the light and sink down on the reading chair and pull a blanket over me. Overhead, through the exposed skylights, I can see that the clouds have cleared.

The sky is breathtaking.

I’ve never seen the world the way I do from Ryder Ranch. It’s a little closer to heaven than the rest. Here, I can keep both feet on the ground but still be in the stars.

He comes up in a while, carrying a length of rolled up rope and the box he left in the bathroom. I sit up, my heartbeat increasing. There’s a familiar tingle between my legs.

“Get up and strip, sweetheart,” he says.

Obediently, I stand and remove my shirt. It falls to the floor, and I put it on the chair. He opens the box and takes out the lingerie. His hands are rough, firm, when he pulls the panties over the harness. Before he settles them, he unlocks the strap and bends in to kiss my wet pussy.

Right then, I realize something I can’t say aloud.

He loves me.

It’s in the tremor of his mouth, hot over my clit for a fleeting second. It’s in the depths of his eyes as he looks up at me. It’s in how gently he clasps the bra over my spine before putting another kiss above my navel.

Do I love him?

And if I do, who speaks first?

He circles me. His mouth brushes my nape. “Do you trust me, sweetheart?”

I nod.

“Words.” His voice is firm .

“Yes, daddy,” I whisper.

Silk slips over my eyes, blocking everything out. My heart pumps. My fingers clench at my sides.

“That’s my girl.”

He picks me up and lays me on my back on the floor. I feel it creak as his weight shifts, and then the familiar softness of the ropes slip around my limbs.

I don’t know what he’s doing, but I trust him.

His hands leave my body. There’s several minutes of him moving around me. Then, slowly, I feel myself lifted, and I’m no longer grounded.

I’m drifting through dark space.

“Deacon,” I gasp.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re safe.”

I’m so helpless; he’s in complete control. All I can do is hang from the ropes and let him lift me up. How high, it’s impossible to tell.

Then, all movement stops. The pressure is pleasant. I don’t think I could take it for longer than a half hour or so, but it feels stable, comforting. I’m weightless. My ankles are tied, my arms behind my back. The ropes cradle me without cutting into my skin.

My head falls back. His hand cups the back of my neck. I startle when his mouth meets mine, upside down. He kisses me deeply. Sparks go off in the darkness. Heat coils up, white hot, glimmering through my veins.

Slowly, my body relaxes.

He pulls back, his fingers brush my hair, and then the blindfold falls away. I blink, focusing my eyes.

Then, I gasp.

Overhead, all I see are a million stars through the skylights, softly pale, brightly glittering. Black, blue, and silver in a cascade. This is how I imagined it might be to float up into the sky, to leave the world behind.

No pain, no sadness.

Just floating, breathing, heart beating.

“You alright? ”

I can’t tear my eyes from the sky. He’s near. I sense him.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

With difficulty, I stretch my neck back and see him standing over me, looking down. From this angle, the stars are behind his head. He’s half shadowed, and I can’t read his dark eyes, but I don’t have to anymore.

I trust him.

“Breathe, Freya,” he says. “Slow. Sink into the ropes.”

He brings his hand up and cups the nape of my neck. His other hand slides down and pushes the cup of my bra aside. His thumb circles my nipples. I’m bound and suspended, and the sensation is so strong that I try to squirm, but I can’t. There’s nothing to do but take it and feel everything.

He eases my head back so I’m hanging again. His clothes brush my side, moving around to stand beside me. His rough palm moves over my left breast. Fingertips stroke down my stomach, under my panties, between my thighs.

God, I might die.

It’s too much but not enough.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, dipping his fingertips into my pussy. “You want to come for me?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

He brings two fingers up and finds my clit, circling it. “Tell me who makes you come.”

“You make me come, daddy,” I whisper without thinking.

The hot coil deep inside me burns brighter until it spreads through my body like electricity. He doesn’t stop. His thumb circles my nipple. His fingers brush back and forth over my clit.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

I close my eyes, letting go of the stars for a moment. Here, my heart is raw, and it reaches out for him in the dark.

Pleasure blossoms, ink dripping into water. My muscles tighten and release in my bonds. Distantly, I hear him praise me as he slides his fingers inside so I can grip them. All the tension I’ve carried for so long pops like a bubble.

I’m spinning, falling slowly.

Pleasure is a warm, soft force, reminding me I still have a body. It flows, it ebbs. It leaves me shivering in the ropes as he pulls his fingers from inside me. Then, he’s letting me down, unhooking the rope from somewhere I can’t see and reeling me gently to the floor.

The ropes are worked off me, and then I’m in his arms. He’s on his knees, my legs wrapping around his waist.

“Who am I?” he says.

My nails dig into his shoulders. “Mine,” I whisper.

His chest rumbles. “That’s right. What do you call me?”

I press my face into his shoulder. He smells like Deacon—solid, unyielding. My entire world. “Daddy,” I manage.

He strokes up my back, taking me by the nape. “That’s my girl.”

He picks me up easily and carries me back to our bedroom. Neither of us speak as he lays me down. I know what he wants, and I obediently spread my legs so he can press inside me.

It feels like coming home after being gone for so, so long. I know him by touch now. All the ridges, the veins, the fullness.

I know him by scent. By heartbeat.

Our eyes connect, our foreheads brush. There’s a warmth that could last forever in my veins. We’re both broken in two, but together, I think the two halves could make up the whole world.