Page 7 of Deacon (The Sovereign Mountain #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

FREYA

He shows me to a room at the start of the hall, by the stairs. There’s an attic door, but it’s locked. He stands by it while I say goodnight, says if I need anything, I should call for him.

I shut my door, lock it, and stand in the middle of the room.

It’s beautiful, like the rest of the house. The walls are the same dark wood. The furnishings are blue. The fireplace is pale stone, and it flickers a soothing orange. Between the two windows is a preserved coyote. I don’t like the thought that he killed it. I know they’re a nuisance, but it’s so pretty.

Maybe he didn’t. Even with his scars and blurry tattoos, he’s surprisingly gentle.

My skin prickles as I cross the room. I pull back the covers and climb in. The bed is so soft, I sink down. My body is tired, strung out from being so afraid. The shot of whiskey helps unwind my nerves.

Something catches my eye above the fireplace. I lean in—it’s a series of the same panels from his bedroom but different scenes. This time, the woman is wading into the water, almost to the other side. The bear nips at her heels.

I shudder, sliding back so I don’t have to look at it.

It’s probably nothing. A collectible.

My mind drifts to him downstairs. He sat at the head of the table, knees spread, body relaxed. Everything he does is big but not overwhelming. He takes up so much space, but he stays out of mine.

There’s a dark side to him. Something came out when he said he’d kill Aiden. Maybe it was a joke, but something flickered in his eyes that made me feel like…maybe it was serious.

He would protect me?

My head fills with him. Bits and pieces of his body. The stretch of his t-shirt over his broad chest and shoulders. The tattoos over his forearms that ripple when he clenches his hand on his coffee mug.

His lean fingers and broad palms…. Shame moves through me at the feeling gathering between my thighs.

I shouldn’t. I rarely do this.

But God, he makes me want to.

Quietly, as if he could hear me all the way down the hall, I slip my hand under my flannel. My pussy is wet, and I dip my finger inside.

My eyelids flutter.

I wonder what the tip of his finger would feel like inside me. Bigger than mine, the perfect amount of roughness. Touch wet, I bring it back to my clit and start circling. A little spark of heat starts deep in my hips.

The floor creaks.

I snap back to reality. There’s a single word in my head as I pull my hand up and flip to my side.

Whore.

Shame creeps over me like a shadow. I shouldn’t want men like him. They’re the kind who have made my life hell from the start—inked up, brutal, trigger-happy. They consume until there’s nothing left but dust and bruises.

And yet, when he looked at me like that from across the table, he seemed…different.

Undomesticated, yes. Like a gentle beast capable of damage but doesn’t commit it. The idea is alluring—strength without destruction.

I close my eyes. I’m alone, so it’s alright to let my feelings show, but too many years of stuffing them down makes that hard. I just lay there until my body relaxes. I’ve fallen asleep terrified and sad so many times. Falling asleep well-fed in a house with an unknown man isn’t as hard as I thought.

For the first time since leaving Kentucky, I’m anchored.

My eyes flutter and shut. My body releases all the tension it’s carrying, and I find myself melting into soft flannel. The comforter over me is heavy. My breathing slows, and the last thing I remember is giving in.

I’m on my back in the forest. The river rushes by a few feet to my right. It’s night, the moon caught in the tangled branches overhead. My body is so heavy, I can’t move an inch.

There’s something between my thighs. My hands slide down my body and slip through short hair. There’s a man down there, face buried in my pussy.

With effort, I lift my head.

Deacon Ryder.

My body jolts me wide awake, sending me gasping, upright in bed.

It’s lighter than I expected outside. The digital clock says it’s two. Heart thudding, mouth parched, I slide from bed and go to the window.

The storm has let up, and the sky's ablaze with northern lights. Shades of pink, blue, and green waver over the horizon. Down in the yard, his arms crossed and his feet planted, is Deacon. He wears his hat, but I can tell he’s watching the sky, soaking it all in.

I’ve never seen the northern lights before. It might be the most beautiful sight I’ve ever witnessed.

Without thinking, I cross the room and pull the latch down. In the hall, I go as fast as I can without tripping. Feeling my way along the wall, I make it down the stairs. My heart thuds in time with my feet as I dash along the hall and tear the door open.

He turns, but I run right past him and come to a halt.

The sky is astounding. Everything is bathed in a pink glow, tinged with the suggestion of green and deep blue, so vast it takes my breath away.

I turn. He’s a shadow against the house .

The world feels upside down, like the sky is on fire. I don’t feel like Freya Hatfield. There’s no Aiden to remind me I’m a whore like my mother. My first time feels light years away. It’s all because he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

I am alive. Fire roars in my bones.

Right now, I know desire without shame. It’s an animal hunger that doesn’t care about my past or future. All it knows is right now. All it wants is his hard, hot body against mine. He’s no Braxton Whitaker. He won’t leave me used. No, I think this man will eat me whole with nothing left to feel when he’s done.

My chest heaves as I creep closer. He towers over me, not moving.

“Why are you looking at me like…that?” I breathe.

He swallows, sweat etching down his neck. “I want you,” he says.

It’s so straightforward. There’s no trying to trick me, no lying about what he wants.

My hands ball. I’m fighting between the desire to protect myself and this need. It’s a losing battle. This is all new. I’ve never felt lust for another person before tonight.

It’s shocking. I don’t know how to control this.

“Why?” My voice cracks.

He doesn’t speak. His boots crunch on the driveway. His body comes so close, I feel his heat at my front. Around us, the northern lights swirl. He takes off his hat and runs a hand over his hair.

I see him in profile for a second. Harsh, broken nose. Face like it was carved from stone. Eyes that flip from predator to something I’ve never seen in a man’s face—softness.

“Deacon,” I whisper.

His name hangs between us. Intimate. His rough palm cradles my face. He smells good, feels good. Tonight, I’m desperate for pleasure. The thought of touching him, of letting him touch me, is spine tingling.

His body curves over mine, my skin tingling with his warmth. His presence is coal on fire, black as night and hot as the sun.

“Freya,” he says, his voice cracking .

Boldly, I lift my hand and lay my fingers over his lips. “I don’t want to think,” I whisper. “I just…want.”

His mouth is firm and warm. Distracted, I trace it with my middle finger, from one end to the other. My heart flutters so fast, it reminds me of a butterfly encased in my prison of ribs.

I skim my touch down his chin, over the rough hair of his short beard. Down his throat where his pulse thrums. Between the collar of his shirt.

Down to where it’s bare skin and dark hair.

His hand encircles my wrist. A shock moves along my arm. With his other hand, he pulls me close. His mouth comes down on mine. A moan bursts from me at the same moment a groan rumbles in his chest.

His kiss is so brilliant, it makes the northern lights go quiet. He’s rough and hungry, consuming me with his mouth. It isn’t the first time I’ve been kissed, but it feels like it.

I’m reeling, just letting him have his way. Dimly, I feel his hand on the back of my neck.

My fingers grip the front of his shirt. The world spins. I’m a limp mess in his arms. There’s no need for me to shift my thighs together—I can tell how shamefully wet I am.

He forces my lips apart, swiping his tongue over them. I let him in, and his tongue touches mine for a second before he withdraws.

Our eyes meet. He’s tousled, the front of his shirt halfway open. At some point, I ripped those top buttons. My palms are pressed to the messy ink beneath his bare skin.

I’m burning. I want to rake my nails down his chest, to rip his clothes off. His eyes are feverish as he grips my wrist, dragging my hand from his chest to his groin.

I gasp as he presses my palm to the front of his pants.

I can feel him under the fabric. Big, thick. Instinctively, I try to wrap my hand around it through the front of his work pants. I can’t, but I can feel he’s bigger than I can hold properly. His heartbeat thumps beneath my palm .

I shudder but don’t let go. Flushed, I drag my gaze over his big body. It’s clear now. He’s going to fuck me. It’s going to hurt.

“Take me upstairs,” I gasp, before I can lose my nerve.

I don’t have to ask him twice. He picks me up in his arms and carries me with quick strides up the walkway and through the front door. His boot kicks the door shut and the bar falls. Then, we’re going up the stairs, the dark wood ceiling circling overhead. My arms wrap around his neck.

He smells so good, so real, like a man—sweat, skin, soap.

At the end of the hall, he elbows the door open. I turn my head, taking everything in.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the northern lights ripple in shades of pink and green. The outline of the mountains runs like ink through them.

He lets me fall onto the bed. It’s soft flannel, and everything smells like him. Then, his big body is against mine. It’s glorious, but I need more.

I’ve been so sad for so long. Tonight, I’m free.

His mouth works its way down my neck. Hot, slow. His hips work mindlessly against my leg. His body is so big, I don’t know how this is going to work.

That doesn’t matter, it turns out. He’s already shifting me up the bed and sliding between my thighs. My flannel shirt hitches up. A groan sounds in his chest as he kisses over my mouth, biting my lower lip and chin.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice low and raspy.

My mouth trembles, wanting to say his name. It feels too personal, but there’s nothing impersonal about the way he’s grinding his hips against my leg.

“Deacon,” I whisper, head back.

The word rises to the ceiling, smoke in the wind. That wind is nothing in comparison to the mountain shifting as his body moves against mine. His hands unfasten the flannel covering my breasts, pushing it aside to bare them.

My nipples prickle, going hard .

There’s a second where he doesn’t react. Then, his dark eyes glint and his mouth parts. Reverently, he cups my left breast, though there’s more than he can hold.

I’m not lonely. No, I’m moored to his shoreline.

He bends and kisses between my breasts. My spine arches. He moves an inch lower and kisses me again. God, I can’t bite back my whimpers. His mouth is soft, passionate. Gentle. I didn’t know it was possible for a man to be this gentle.

He goes lower. Down over my naval. Down to—

Everything comes to a halt. I want to be fucked, but the thought of letting him pleasure me fills me with familiar shame. No, I need this to be about him. I’m not ready to be in the spotlight. Just the thought triggers that voice in my head Aiden planted there.

Whore.

“I need to taste you,” he says, voice thick with a guttural rasp.

I shake my head. “That’s not what I need now. Please.”

He glances up, dark gaze locking on mine. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

My hips roll up against his groin. One hand grips my thigh, right above my knee, and drags it up. Calluses are rough on my skin. My eyelids flutter when he takes the edge of my panties and pulls them down. They tangle on my right ankle, and I give a frustrated kick to get them free.

Cool air grazes my aching pussy.

He’s still wearing his shirt and pants. His boots must have ended up on the floor. My thighs spread wide as he pushes his knee up and reaches down between our bodies.

He’s undoing his belt, and it clinks at his hips. I catch my breath, biting my lip. The hiss of his zipper cuts the darkness. He lets out a harsh breath, like it’s a relief to let the monster in his pants out of its cage.

My pussy throbs. Do I ache for pain, to be punished for what I’m about to do ?

My hands come up and grip his shoulders. His skin burns hot through his shirt. Our eyes meet, and he leans in, brushing his mouth against mine, nuzzling me with his crooked nose.

My head falls to the side. Through my hazy vision, I see the waves of pink and green around us like a dream.

I think, even if we never do this again, I’ll remember this forever.

His arm shifts. Rough, hard fingers graze my bare pussy. A whimper slips free as my hips lift from the bed. I can’t control it, this lust. It burns and burns.

“You’re soaked,” he groans.

That’s the final piece of permission I need to give in completely. He pushes, and I feel him, enormous, as the head of his cock forces itself into my pussy.

At least, it tries to, but he meets resistance right away. We both gasp. He’s notched just inside, stretching me until it burns. My thighs twitch. My nails rake at his shirt. I’m not sure if I want to cry or come.

Slowly, I become aware of something I didn’t expect. Something hard, warm, smooth.

“What is that?” I gasp.

He glances down. “It’s pierced.”

Confused, I stare. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Lost a bet, pierced my dick,” he says. “You don’t like it?”

I’m so turned on, I don’t care about anything but getting him inside me. Frantically, I shake my head. Then nod. “Just put it in.”

His hand goes down to where the final button of my shirt is fastened and releases it. A bare palm drags across my stomach and grips my hip, stroking me like he’s trying to get me to ease up.

“Relax and I will,” he says. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

His voice, deep and hoarse, sends another surge of lust through me. The muscles in my lower body loosen a little—enough that he slips in another inch.

Hard, thick—God, oh God.

It’s stretching me where I’m so sensitive. The clawing desire deep inside me purrs as he fills me. I’m shattering into a thousand pieces, and yet, he’s at the center, holding me together. Our eyes connect. Sweat drags down his jaw in the dark.

I love this forcefulness. It’s violent, but somehow, it’s not violent at all. I can just taste what he’s capable of on the edge of my tongue.

And I want more.

“Please,” I burst out.

His mouth meets mine. It’s as good as it was the first time. Warm, real, rough. Visceral in the way I’ve always thought sex should be. My hips rise, he pushes back.

“Sweetheart, you’re fucking tight. We’re going slow,” he says.

“I don’t care,” I gasp.

I’m not sure of that, but I’m so desperate, I can deal with the consequences as they come. He laughs softly and shifts his body, bracing his weight on his knees. Then, in one, even stroke, he pushes himself all the way in.

Stars pop behind my eyes. I arch up into him and my claws come out. They tear down his arms. There’s a split second of pain. Then, it ebbs to a throb, replaced by pleasure that makes me want to writhe.

Instead, I keep perfectly still. He twitches—God, that feels good.

He’s heavy—I didn’t expect that. He shifts his hips and his cock moves. Soft tingles of warmth spread through my belly. My eyes flutter shut, and I release all the air in my lungs.

“Do that again,” I whisper.

“Do what?”

“Move, but just a little.”

He obliges. The smooth, hard head of his cock strokes my deepest point. It makes me want to whimper and curl my toes all at once.

“Oh God,” I gasp out.

He nuzzles my neck, beard rough. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

My lips tremble, and I can’t get anything past them. He pushes deep, holding it for a second, grinding gently against my clit and sparking that burning heat that makes me go wild. I hear myself moan, my hips shaking hard.

“Fuck, that’s so sweet,” he breathes. “All out of words. ”

My cheeks burn. “Do it again,” I manage. “Please.”

He obliges, grinding on my clit. I shudder, letting myself moan again so he knows how good it feels. A glitter of sweat drags down his neck. His body ripples as he moves back, disengaging his cock from me. My hips twinge, from want more than pain. He sits back, and my eyes fall to his lap.

God, he’s big. It’s hard to tear my gaze away.

“Want you to sit on my face, sweetheart,” he says.

My stomach drops. I clamp my thighs shut and push up on my elbows.

“What?”

He shakes his head once. “Been thinking about it. I want you to put that pretty cunt on my face, suffocate me. I see you riding your hips and thighs up on me, so do it with my head in between them.”

My lips part. I’m locking up, and shame trickles in.

“No,” I whisper.

His forehead creases in thought. “You think it won’t feel good?” he asks.

Shame is strong again. It was gone for a second, but now it’s back. And with it is that word— whore . I hear it in Aiden’s voice, an echo in my head. I’m a whore for wanting to be touched. Selfish, a slut without trying to be. He taught me that, ground it into my head. Now, even alone with Deacon, I can’t get away.

“I just want you to fuck me,” I whisper. “Hard.”

He doesn’t argue. I appreciate that. I don’t want to think anymore. I want every confusing, conflicting thought fucked from my head.

I spread my thighs, hoping I can tempt him into pushing his cock back in. He leans in, and his hard hand wraps around my neck as his mouth brushes mine.

Yes, please. Turn my brain off. Don’t let me think about this.

“I will eat your pussy if I have to tie your legs open,” he says, voice harsh. “Not tonight, but I swear, I will.”

My shame disappears as he takes control from my hands. This isn’t my fault, after all. He’s the one in charge.

“You want to be fucked dirty?” he presses .

Flushed, wet, my pussy spread for him, I nod hard. The corner of his mouth turns up and, in one movement, he slides an arm under me and flips me onto my hands and knees.

The wind knocks from me. I don’t have time to recover before his hand goes to the back of my head. His fingers fist in my hair, dragging my head back. I see myself reflected a dozen times in the mirrors inlaid in the headboard.

I’ve never seen myself so desperate.

“Let’s fuck then, sweetheart.”