Page 14

DEACON

Eight Years Later

“ W hat the hell is that?”

My eyes dart to the nightstand beside our bed and the five-minute timer that is suddenly displayed on my cell phone screen.

“What?” Julian’s head peeks out from under the covers, where his head is resting awfully close to my very hard cock. “Our kids are going to roll up in here in five minutes, ten if we’re lucky, wanting breakfast, and I would like to start the day with your dick in my mouth.”

My body shakes as I laugh. “Well, I’m not opposed to it, but do we really need the timer?”

“Yes. If I can make you come in less than five minutes, I win.”

“You win what?”

“Your’re cum down my throat.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand your logic,” I say. Grabbing the edge of the duvet, I throw it off of us to ensure I get a complete view of Julian, then reach over to start the timer. “But I’m not saying no to a morning blow job.”

Julian’s mouth wraps around me almost immediately and my hips arch up off the mattress, pushing me deeper down his throat. Determined to make time, I rest my hand on the back of his head, gripping his hair, and fuck his throat.

There is no finesse in my touch, nothing but hunger and need between us. This is how it is for us, stolen touches and rushed moments. We’ve learned the hard way that intimacy with rambunctious children who have no sense of personal space is pretty much non-existent. That means, every now and then Julian and I needed to get a little bit creative, and while it’s usually Julian who gets carried away, I always go along for the ride.

With urgency and fervor, Julian’s mouth bobs up and down my length. He cradles my sac in his palm, massaging each ball, before dipping under and applying pressure to my taint. It’s the perfect combination, every touch and suck, bringing me closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” I announce as I glance at the timer that shows we have a whole two minutes left. My hips piston into Julian’s mouth, and he takes it, every short and sharp thrust.

It’s brutal and aggressive and so very desperate, but after fifteen years together, ten of those married, eight of them with two kids, I’m just grateful that every part of him still wants every part of me.

My muscles tighten as he continues to take me to the back of his throat, and the sound of him gagging on my cock has my body ready to explode.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so good at that,” I praise. “I’m right fucking there. Right. Fucking. There.”

My orgasm barrels through me, the rush and speed of it all making it almost impossible to catch my breath. My chest heaves as Julian climbs up over me. I watch him push the waistband of his boxer briefs beneath his balls, freeing his erection, before slamming his mouth down on mine.

Knowing what he needs, I wrap my hands around his dick and jerk him, hard and fast. My tongue feasts on his, the salty taste of myself adding to the carnality of it all. It’s a race to the finish line now, and I know we’ll both do anything to make it.

My cell vibrates atop the nightstand just as Julian comes apart in my hand and all over my chest. Time is up.

Heavy breaths fill the air as Julian’s gaze darts between the mess on my chest and my face. He smears his fingers through his cum, rubbing it into my skin, just as I bring my own hand to my mouth and lick up every drop of his arousal. It’s filthy and possessive, and the most perfect way to start our day.

Instead of revelling in the afterglow like I want to, we both move like a well-oiled machine, getting cleaned up in record time, only to realize Reese still hasn’t barged into our bedroom like she does every morning, and now I’m starting to worry.

“They’re not still asleep, are they?” I ask Julian.

I open the bedroom door in a hurry, only to come to a complete stop when I see Reese holding a huge, decorated poster board that says “Happy ten year anniversary!” in big neon colored letters. Her dark-blonde hair is in a braid, and she’s still dressed in her pink plaid patterned pajamas.

“Sweetheart,” I say, the smile on my face widening by the millisecond. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Maybe five minutes.” Her chocolate-colored gaze darts past me. “Is that right, Daddy?”

Julian comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “That sounds about right.”

I glance at him over my shoulder. “What’s this? Are you in on this?”

He kisses me quickly on the cheek before murmuring into my ear, “All I was told was to keep you busy this morning. And I think I did a really good job.”

I chuckle as Reese hands Julian the anniversary sign, then slips her small hand into mine. She leads me to the kitchen where the sight of Rowan flipping pancakes has my heart wanting to burst right through my chest.

At twelve years old he’s growing into such an amazing young man. Already five foot two, he’s tall and forever growing. It’s hard to think eight years have passed since Julian and I walked into that hospital room to meet him for the very first time. Naturally, it wasn’t an easy road for any of us. Navigating grief in a four-and-a-half-year-old wasn’t for the faint hearted, but our own experiences made me feel like we were somehow the perfect fit for him.

“Morning, bud,” I say as I walk toward him and kiss him on the top of his head. “These look great.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs shyly. “I know they’re your favorite.”

I kiss him again and squeeze his shoulder, the bittersweet feeling of watching him grow up sitting like a constant ache in my chest. I’m eager for him to grow and experience the world and gain independence, but I often miss the days where he didn’t want to do anything without me.

“Okay, Dad, you have to sit here.” Reese tugs on my hand, ushering me to one side of the table and then Julian to the other. “And, Daddy, you sit here.”

Julian and I wear matching smiles as we dutifully obey our daughter and watch her excitedly receive instructions from Rowan on how to set the table for our anniversary breakfast.

The bond between them makes me feel like Rowan entering our lives was kismet. We took the time to learn him while he took the time to learn her. His love language is acts of service, and there isn’t a day that passes, where he doesn’t show Reese just how much he loves her.

He’s patient and protective in a way that reminds me that your family is beyond what you were born into, it’s beyond blood and beyond lineage, and very much blossoms from the simpler, more overlooked things in life: love, adoration, and respect.

And Reese is young enough that he’s always been her older brother. What started out as a semi-permanent placement, turned into us adopting Rowan, because the thought of him leaving any of us was too much to bear.

It isn’t easy, as any parent knows, but eventually they start talking and walking and feeding themselves, and your job as a parent shifts from milestone to milestone, back and forth, teacher to friend, friend to teacher.

“Are you sure you two don’t need any help?” Julian offers. “I can make coffee and hot chocolate for everyone.”

“No,” she says adamantly. “You and Dad can clean up since Rowan and I set the table and cooked.”

Julian digs his teeth into his bottom lip, hiding his smile. “Not a problem. Your Dad and I will clean up.”

“And Row knows how to make hot chocolate, don’t you Row?”

Turning the stove off, Rowan picks up the plate of hot, fresh pancakes and strides toward the table. “Yeah, Pa showed me how.”

Julian and I decided early on that we didn’t really care what the kids called us. Between the both of them, either one of us has been Dad, Dads, Papa, Daddy, or Pa. They use them all on rotation, and we respond to each of them. But over time, Rowan has gravitated to calling me Dad and Julian Pa, but even without the distinction, we each have an individual connection with each child, that no matter the moniker, you know from the sound of their voice which parent they need in that moment.

“See,” she chirps proudly. “Rowan can make it.”

“Come on,” I say, gesturing for them to sit down. “I would much rather you both eat the food before it gets cold. I’ll plate up everyone’s pancakes and your dad can make everyone’s drink of choice.”

Reese isn’t too impressed with my disruption to her celebratory breakfast, but she listens to me and sits down anyway. While I’m so grateful for their thoughtfulness, I want to take care of them. It’s my job and my purpose, Julian and parenthood giving me a sense of steadfastness I didn’t know I would or could ever experience.

“How many do you both want?” I ask them as I put one on each of their plates.

“There’s enough for all of us to have four each,” Rowan informs me. Which is code for please give everyone four . So, despite knowing Reese won’t be able to finish four, and Rowan will eat her leftovers, I stack each person’s plate four pancakes high.

Julian returns to the table only a few minutes later, placing down a drink in front of each child, only to duck back to the kitchen and grab a coffee for each of us and a thick white envelope I’ve never seen before.

Julian places it in front of me and then sets my mug of coffee beside my plate of pancakes.

“What’s this?” I ask, raising it to my face.

“Open it,” Reese shouts enthusiastically, making Rowan laugh.

Sliding my finger under the flap, I try and fail to open it without tearing it. “Shit.”

“Dad. That’s a bad word,” Reese hisses.

“Sorry,” I drawl.

I drag the rectangle-shaped cardboard out of the envelope and turn it over to see what looks like a wedding invitation.

“Isn’t this our wedding invitation?” I can feel my forehead crease in confusion as I glance up to look at Julian, who is standing beside me. “What am I missing?”

“Look again,” Rowan says.

My gaze dances over the words, finally noticing the small and subtle differences.

Deacon and Julian Reid-Sutton invite you to their ten-year anniversary party.

“ We’re having a party? Tonight?” I exclaim.

“Pa wanted it to be a surprise,” Rowan informs me. “But I told him you wouldn’t like it, because you and I are the same and we hate being the center of attention.”

Emotion lodges itself in my throat at hearing him point out our similarities. Something about him wanting to connect us, always stealing my breath.

“You’re right.” My voice cracks as I catch his gaze. “Thank you for telling him.”

“And I’m going to be the flower girl,” Reese announces. “And Rowan is going to be your best man.”

Looking over my shoulder, I smile at Julian. “You really thought of everything.”

He tips his head toward the kids as he moves around the table and takes his seat. “It was all their idea.”

Sliding the invitation back into the envelope, I move it off to the side and encourage everyone to start eating before the food gets any colder. And just like I predicted, it’s no time before Reese is holding her belly at one and a half pancakes and Rowan is on to his sixth.

“Dad,” Reese whines. “Can we give Daddy his present now?”

Julian’s head snaps up. “I thought we said no presents?”

“Hi, pot. Meet kettle.”

He rolls his eyes at me, and I turn to face the kids. “Reese, you know where it is. You want to go get it?”

She hops down off the dining table chair. “There’s an extra two boxes, be sure to bring them too.”

Excited, Reese skips down the hallway and into our home office. She comes back into view only moments later, walking carefully as she holds the presents in her small hands.

Passing them to me, I return one to her, give one to Rowan, then rise up off my chair and hand the last one to Julian.

Before I can turn to leave, he grabs my hand and keeps me standing next to him. Realizing I have the perfect view, I slowly scan my gaze over the three of them as they each open their present.

Rowan whips his head up in confusion, just as I hear Julian’s breath hitch.

“You bought us gloves.” Julian’s correct observation steals my attention. Pushing his chair out, he leaps into my arms, giving me only a fraction of a second to catch him. I hold him against me as he whispers over and over, “You bought us gloves.”

“The weather is getting colder, and you’re due for some new ones,” I explain, pretending I don’t know after all these years just how significant the simple gesture is. In the moment, he was cold, and I wanted to make sure he kept warm. In the grand scheme of things, Julian knows there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give him.

It doesn’t matter if it’s small or big, hard or easy.

“You bought us gloves,” he repeats. “For Reese and Rowan and Me.”

Looking around the room, I see how Rowan and Reese watch us with intense concentration, always curious about the life we lived before them.

“You’re my family,” I tell him. “And I buy my family gloves.”