Sex and the Single Vamp (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

She was burning up.

Cici wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam rising off her skin when the rain hit it. She was on fire. Deacon was here. He was alive and he was setting her aflame with his passion.

“Open your pretty legs for me, sweetheart,” Deacon growled, as he reached for the fly on his jeans.

“No, let me.” Cici said as she sat up, batting his hands away. He held them up in a sign of surrender, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes as she fumbled with the buttons and the wet denim. The last button yielded and slid through the slot and she sighed in delight.

He was commando and as soon as she pushed away the heavy, confining fabric he filled her palm. His cock was hard, velvet over stone, traced with veins and flushed with his arousal. He was hot to the touch, the rain coating him with slick and making it so easy for her to stroke him from the root to the head.

Deacon groaned, throwing his head back as he fucked into her grasp, the momentum building with each pass. She was torn then. Her dilemma of whether to watch him slide in and out of her grip or to memorize every detail of pleasure etched onto his face. She didn’t have to choose because Deacon grabbed her hand, stilling her movements. His eyes, bronze fire in black depths, were impossible to look away from as he eased her back down onto the table.

“I need you,” he said and Cici acquiesced, knowing she needed him, too.

He slid inside her in one deep thrust. He draped his hard body over hers, leaning over her to rest his forearms on the table by her head. His mouth was soft on hers, coaxing kisses that tasted of Deacon and her while his cock pulsed inside, filling her up, leaving no inch of her untouched by him.

It was overwhelming to be totally consumed by this inferno and not burn up.

He began his thrusts, deep and fast, the pace going from zero to holy shit within a few strokes. She looped her arms around his shoulders, clutching at him as he fucked her desperately. He pounded into her; she clawed at his back, unconcerned with the red welts she left behind.

Cici lifted her hips, meeting him with every surge, straining for the glowing, shimmering orgasm building in her belly, between her legs where he forced it higher and higher with each stroke.

She was yelling, her cries lost in the sounds of the rainstorm, but burning her throat raw as the climax slammed into her, shooting white-hot bolts of pleasure up and down her spine.

Deacon stiffened, his cock growing harder as he came, his shout muffled against her shoulder.

Her legs felt like jelly, the tender skin of her thighs abraded slightly by the jeans lodged halfway down his thighs. She held on tight, only releasing him enough to allow him to pull back so she could see his face.

Deacon opened his eyes, looking down at her with a slow, sexy grin that made her toes curl in anticipation.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He grinned even wider, propped up on his elbow while his fingers played idly with her hair. “For the record, this is the second time I’ve asked you so it would be rude to say no.”

“But I thought you didn’t believe in getting tied down for an eternity to one person. No strings. No baggage.”

His expression softened, the cockiness replaced with a seriousness that made her shiver. “I told you I want those strings with you. I want the baggage. The promises. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time, I hear.”

“Well, we’ve proven that ‘till death do us part’ doesn’t apply to us. So it will have to be forever.”

“I don’t think it will be long enough.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“You throw in a castle and I’m yours.”

“Done.”

Epilogue

Bruton Parish Church, Williamsburg, Virginia

It was a beautiful day to keep a promise and make a new one.

Deacon wove through the small cemetery sitting within the brick-walled yard of the church on Duke of Gloucester Street. He lingered every now and then to read the inscriptions, some barely visible after decades of exposure, to remember friends, neighbors, patriots.

The early fall weather was perfect. The air had a crispness to it that summer lacked, the trees were on fire with leaves the colors of bronze, gold, and the brightest red. After millions of days like this he’d become jaded, dismissing the miracle of the changing season as just another excuse for humans to initiate a different round of retail celebrations—a bitter, dark outlook that had kept him from really living.

But he was alive now.

He found the place he was looking for. Three stones—one large and two smaller—the stone worn, chipped in places, stained and covered in green lichen and moss. Deacon squatted down beside them, brushing away the surface grime until he could read the inscriptions that marked the births and deaths of Josiah, Benjamin, and Charles Trent. Deacon could still feel the heft of their coffins on his shoulder as he helped lay them to rest. The weight of the grief and shame that had shaped what had driven him for over two centuries. But that was gone now.

Because of her.

“Josiah.” He felt stupid speaking out loud but this needed to be said if he was really going to lay all of this to rest. “I promised you I would keep Cici safe and I royally screwed that up. I lied to her. I killed people. I was not the man you gave permission to marry your daughter.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. This was important. “Today, I promised to love, honor, and cherish her for the rest of my life and I swear to you that I will do it. I will die to make her happy and keep her safe. You have my word.”

Deacon heard the rustle of the silk of her gown against the brick walkway, smelled the sweet wintry mix of her own delicious scent, felt the way his soul reached out to hers as she drew closer.

“I thought I might find you out here,” she said softly, her voice carried to him on the slight breeze.

He smiled, still staring down at the stones. “Your father and I were having a moment.”

“I see.” She moved closer to him, her fingers running through his hair. “What about?”

“Promises made. Promises broken.”

He looked up at her, once again stunned by how beautiful she was. Dressed in ivory, her wedding dress was long, swirling around her feet like a cloud with millions of beads shimmering on the top, which dipped in, revealing the tempting curves of her breasts. The whole thing was held on by two slender wisps of fabric that he couldn’t wait to slide off her shoulders and see it all fall to the ground. Her red curls were a riot around her head, backlit by the late afternoon sun filtering through her veil. But the best part was the simple gold band, worn alongside the teardrop-shaped diamond ring he’d placed there two months ago. It matched the one on his hand, its weight heavy and warm against his skin.

Cici crouched beside him, leaning forward to place her bouquet at the foot of the stone. She traced the letters of her father’s name, lost in her own thoughts. He let her have this time with her family, having a pretty good idea of her thoughts.

“I wish he could have been here today. All of them,” Cici said. “I miss them.”

“I do, too,” Deacon agreed but then adjusted his thinking. “I think they were here.”

Her voice was wistful, quiet. “Me, too.”

Cici leaned on his shoulders, her fingers weaving tightly with his own as the sun began to dip below the horizon. “This was the perfect place to get married. It was where we should have been married all those years ago.”

“Yes. But it’s come full circle. We’re together now.”

“Forever.”

“I love you,” he said. There was nothing else. “Always have. Always will.”

About the Author

Robin Covington loves to explore the theme of fooling around and falling in love in her bestselling books. When she’s not writing sexy, sizzling romance she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello. You can find Robin at her website (
robincovingtonromance.com
), Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. Don’t send chocolate . . . send eye candy! She loves to hear from her readers! Drop her a line at [email protected].

Acknowledgements

Alethea Spiridon Hopson – thanks for being a wonderful editor and making me look good.

Avery Flynn and Kimberly Kincaid – love you guys.

Jessica Mangicaro – thank you for naming the Aura Mortis Security Agency.

The Sizzles – Big smooches. You are all the bomb diggity!

Susan Sizemore –for writing my favorite vampires.

The Main Man, Little man, and Lulu - I am so blessed to have all of you. I love you very much.

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