Bittersweet (8 page)
Authors: Sommer Marsden
Like before. And look what happened that time. With that woman...
He ignored the thought and delivered another kiss. Rayka squinted up at him. “You sure you’re okay? You look awfully pensive. You don’t have to stay—”
Deacon put his finger over her lips. “No.” He barked it at her. He didn’t mean to, but she was pissing him off with that stuff. “Do not say it.”
Her eyes grew wide and she nodded. Then put her head down until he kissed her again.
“As for my resiliency, it’s you. You do that to me. I am all man and my abilities—” he chuckled, “—are directly related to the company I am keeping.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure if I buy that, but I am awfully tired and you are awfully warm and it’s getting very dark in here and...” Her voice tapered off and soon she had snuggled back against him.
Deacon pulled her closer. He wouldn’t listen to all of the arguments and worries his brain was suddenly pulling out. He would just be with her and not think. Deacon draped her leg over his and tucked her head under his chin. He gave his own yawn and watched the fire die down to nothing but embers. “Rayka,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear or answer, “you snore, baby.” Deacon closed his eyes and let himself relax.
He woke to a note and a hot decanter of coffee on the kitchen table. She had even taken the time to lay out some croissants, a bottle of honey, some butter and jam.
I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so cute. Eat up and have a great day. I’ll see you tonight. Dress well. Mrs. S. likes her men refined. Remember it’s all your fault.
XOXO
Ray
PS: I like my bruises. I don’t know why.
His cock jumped at that. The postscript. She liked the marks he had left on her. He wondered if she would admire them in the mirror. Push on them with her fingers. If she would prompt the skin to sing with a little bit of pain so she could remember the pleasure that had followed.
He hoped so. He read the line again and smiled. Actually, he was almost certain she would.
Chapter 13
“I cannot believe he did this to me,” Rayka muttered. “I was duped. Roped into this party. He better look good.” She slid the black skirt into place and topped it with a wrap-around blouse in shades of roses, mauve, and cranberry. Black sling-back heels and a big pair of hammered silver earrings and she was set. Hair up? Down?
She piled it up on top of her head and shoved a few clips in. She was going for stylishly messy but ended up with a wind tunnel effect. She put it down and it strayed in several different directions. She flopped on the bed and dialed Mo.
“Is he there?” her best friend hissed. Caller ID strikes again.
“No. I am having a hair crisis.”
“Windy day crisis or Medusa crisis?”
“Medusa.” Rayka snapped her fingers.
Snap
,
snap
,
snap
. When she felt really stressed, she craved a cigarette, even after all these years, so she snapped to keep her hands busy.
“Oh shit. Do you need me to come over? I have a straightening wand and I’m not afraid to use it.” She heard Mo chomping and then the resounding pop of her bubble gum. God. Maybe she needed to chew some bubble gum.
“As tempting as that is, I don’t think there’s time. We’re due there in less than a half an hour. Deacon should be here to get me any minute now.”
“Did you try piling it up?”
“Yep.”
“So it didn’t turn out like that time at Josh’s Labor Day cookout?”
“Nope. More like Christmas 1999.”
“Dear God, I’m surprised you didn’t just hang yourself from the shame,” Mo snorted. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know. You’re nervous, right?”
“Well, who the hell knows who Mrs. S. invited to this shindig. Probably other designers and rich people and I can’t even imagine who else. Probably her horrible grandchildren and her sticky and rude great-grandchildren. And of course there is Petunia.”
Petunia was Mrs. Shapiro’s pug. Petunia hated Rayka. Petunia thought it amusing to sprinkle just a bit on Rayka’s shoes from time to time.
“Ah, punt that canine football a good one when she isn’t looking.”
“Mo!”
“I’m joking. Calm down. It was a joke. Mostly.”
“Do you think I have time to shave my head?”
“Do not! And do not trim. You remember the junior prom? When you trimmed?”
“Shut up.”
“Christ, your bangs made Cyndi Lauper’s hair look symmetrical.”
“You are not helping me, Mo.”
“How about a smooth, low pony tail?”
“It never looks right. I always look...unkempt.”
“Hmm. Then I say you go with it. Put a spritz in that hair, a bit of water, turn your head upside down and make it as bed-head sexy as possible.”
“It’s my only option, isn’t it?” Rayka sighed.
“Pretty much. You’re running out of time.”
“Okay. Here I go.”
“Go with God, young one,” Mo said and hung up.
Rayka stared at her hair. Maybe if she...
The doorbell rang.
“Shit.”
“Jesus.”
“I know. It’s the hair. It’s like a science experiment gone awry.”
But then he wasn’t staring slack-jawed at the mess of tangles and waves any more. He had his hand planted in the blonde mess and was tugging her forward. Tugging her to his mouth. Rayka let him kiss her. Kiss her so hard she felt her lips bruise right then and there. And it wasn’t only her lips, but her scalp. Pain sang along the nerves and follicles, danced along her top of her head with wild abandon until her heart knocked against her chest like a war drum. He was hurting her. The pain was very real but the pleasure overshadowed it. Her body was a war of sensations. Pain, pleasure, dread, excitement. One big tug of war to be won by the most dominant nerve endings.
The crotch of her satin panties crew moist, and she moaned into Deacon’s hot mouth. She had a winner. Pleasure had won. Now all she had to do was convince him to stop playing caveman, release her hair, and get her to the party.
“We have to go,” she managed.
“Not yet,” he said. His voice was barely a voice. More animal than man.
“We’ll be late.”
“So we’re late.” He pulled her in and kissed her harder. Rayka let her head fall back. Let her body go limp as he kissed her until she thought she’d die. What a wonderful death it would be.
Deacon’s hands slid up her legs, dragging the skirt with him. He found her bare above her thigh-highs and slid his palms over her skin. The cold night air found her naked flesh and pebbled it instantly. His hands felt so hot, like he was branding her.
“We’re outside,” she said and tried to worm back from him. On the front porch with the light on. Might as well be a stage with a spotlight. Plus they were late. Her mind was whirling with shoulds and should nots. Her body didn’t care. Her body was at Deacon’s mercy as it called up all the memories of the pleasure he had already delivered.
“Shhhh. Do not move.” His voice left no room for argument.
As he continued to kiss her, branding her throat with his mouth and tongue. Surely marking her with his teeth as he bit her here and there. Hard in some spots. Hard enough that her cunt clenched up around nothing. His fingers moved higher and Rayka felt her skirt drape across his wrist like a curtain. Felt the fabric tickling along her stockings as his hand traveled higher still. He clutched her tight to his body with his free arm, played his lips brutally hard across her own. Then slid two fingers effortlessly inside of her. High into her pussy. And there, he stroked her, hooking the pads of his fingers against her swollen G-spot over and over again until she felt the inevitable begin. The tightening of orgasm. Right there, in the cold, on the porch, under the light.
“Come for me, Rayka. Come on. I know you want to,” he hissed in her ear and yanked her tighter against him. Deacon nudged her blouse off her shoulder with his chin, and with one more hard stroke inside of her, he bit her.
Rayka came, and there was no subtlety. Whoever had been missing the performance before surely was watching then. The cry swelled out of her before she could stop it and no matter how hard she tried to swallow the sound, it kept going. Growing. The orgasm was pulsing through her with such an intensity she couldn’t make herself be quiet.
When the last flicker worked through her, Deacon pulled his hand free and kissed her. He slid her blouse back into place and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Now,” he said.
“Now what?” Rayka asked. Heart fluttering, pulse pounding, body in a beautiful state of chaos, she was thoroughly confused.
“Now we can leave.”
“Right. Now we can leave,” she repeated stupidly. “Just let me wash up and lock up and we’ll go.”
“Lock up but don’t wash up,” he said. His face handsome and serious and something else she couldn’t put her finger on.
“What?”
“Do not wash up. Stay that way.”
“But I smell like...sex,” she said.
“I know.”
“Won’t people smell it on me?”
“Maybe. Do you care?”
“Well...” Did she? She wasn’t sure.
“It doesn’t smell bad,” he said. “It smells like sex. Your sex. And trust me, sweetheart, your sex smells good.”
Rayka opened her mouth and then when nothing would come to her, shut it again. What could she say?
“Um...okay.” That’s what.
“Good girl.”
Rayka shut off all the lights except the hall and locked the door. Half way down the steps, she froze. “Shit.”
“What?” Deacon hit the remote and unlocked his car.
“I forgot! My hair!”
His dark eyes flooded with humor as she ran her hands through the wild tangle. “Leave it. It’s bed head. Sexy as hell.”
“Bed head, smelling like sex. Fuck, I’m going to lose my job.”
“Nah. You’ll be the envy of all the women.”
“You think?” she asked, not even a little bit serious. He was being crazy.
“Hell, yeah.” He started the car.
Rayka shrugged. There wasn’t much to do but to go with the flow. “Hell, yeah.”
Chapter 14
He was thoroughly and seriously fucked. Deacon shook his head and tried to keep his eyes on the road. Not on her knee or the length of her thigh under that skirt. He took a deep breath to steady himself and failed. All that filled his head was the scent of her and that made him nearly stupid with want. It had been all he could do not to slam her against the brick façade and fuck her right there on the porch. Right under that porch light she was so worried about. Jesus. When was the last time a woman had made him so crazy? His gut seized up and he wished the thought had never passed through his mind. But it had.
Lisa. Lisa had been the last woman to make him so crazy. Lisa had stolen his heart and his mind it seemed. Stupid in love with her. That was how he had been. And then he had everything. Lisa and a baby on the way and a life ahead of him.
He shook his head again and gripped the steering wheel harder. Just look how that had turned out for him. Here he was, past thirty, no family, not even Gideon. Gideon had been the last shred of family he had had. The last person he could say he’d loved. And he had gone out at the mercy of a debilitating disease that stole his dignity and his life.
“Fuck,” he muttered without realizing.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Rayka put her hand on his leg and he felt his body respond. That was fine. His body could respond, but not his heart. What he had said to her the other night about sticking around, about her being his, had been stupid. Reckless and crazy for both of them. He had been talking with his dick, not his head. There was no room for love or anything that even slightly resembled love. He had to squash that before it even started. He could like her, marvel at her, dominate her and fuck her ’til the cows came home. But under no circumstances could he fall in love with Rayka.
“I’m fine. Just sorry you’ll be late. I’ll make sure Mrs. Shapiro knows it was my fault.”
“Oh, it will be fine. I’m not on the clock. It’s a party,” she laughed. He watched her pat at her hair, trying to smooth the wildness away. He almost smiled at it but caught himself.
She caught him looking. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look so serious.”
“I’m a serious guy,” he said, trying to make light. Just keep it on the surface. Keep it superficial. Dates. Sex. Dinner. Some laughs. And then get the fuck out of Dodge.
“I know.” She didn’t smile. She wasn’t joking. His heart hurt for just a second that she saw mostly that side of him. Not the funny side. Or the softer side.
Hard to see it when it’s all locked away.
That’s what Gideon would have said. He shook his head again. Great. Now he was channeling his dead, gay uncle.
