Show Me How (16 page)

I looked at what it was now covered with—­medicines and sports drinks and the types of foods meant for sick stomachs, none of which I had bought. “You got all this?”

He ignored my question, and instead said, “If you don't want me in here, you shouldn't have made sure that I was one of the ­people who had a spare key.”

“I told you I was walking. That should have been a sign not to come here tonight, and especially not come in uninvited!”

“You don't get to do what you did tonight,” he said in a low tone, and closed the distance between us a little more. “If you're gonna walk from me, then you better do it for a damn good reason. But you can't just take Keith from me because of a knee-­jerk response I had. You can't just take
you
from me because you've decided that I don't want you.” He gestured around us, and said, “That I don't want all of this.”

I shook my head quickly. I didn't want to listen to what he was going to tell me. I didn't want to believe his lies. “I heard you tonight, Deacon!”

“Yeah, you heard something I've said most of my life. It's gonna be hard not to automatically come back with that. But I also
panicked
tonight when Keith got sick, and I just had to stand there and watch and wait because I didn't know what to do, and you wouldn't let me help you. Do you see this?” he asked, and threw his hand behind him toward the island. “You left and I immediately began searching what Keith needed and calling my grandma for help, and then I stood in a store for nearly an hour staring at boxes and reading them trying to figure out if it would help him or not because after all that, I'm still fucking clueless. That should tell you what I want, Charlie. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I want to try. I want to learn. I want to take care of him, and I want you to let me help you. I want you to let me take care of
you
.” His last statement was full of multiple meanings, his eyes pled with me to hear every one of them.

Heard, Deacon. Lies received.

“Just last week you said—­”

“A lot can happen in a week, Charlie!” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “A lot can happen in a day, or a few hours, or even a ­couple minutes if you think everything is being taken from you.” His chest moved exaggeratedly as he stared at me.

As much as I wanted to continue denying his words, pushing them from my mind, I couldn't. Not with that look, not with those words.

Because I knew both too well.

The tortured look on his face and in his light brown eyes screamed exactly that—­that he'd felt like everything was being ripped from him. Like it still was . . .

He took a cautious step toward me, and then another. “I won't tell you that I'm in love with you, because I'm still not sure that I'll ever know what that word means. But I know that I can't lose you. I know that my life feels wrong if you and your son aren't in it. I know that I wanted to tear my damn heart out watching you walk away from me.”

He took the last step and cradled my face in his large hands, and tilted my head back so he could look directly into my eyes.

“Do you understand me, Charlie girl? I want your heart. I want it all.” Deacon's mouth fell onto mine in a burning kiss that I knew I wanted to experience again and again. His arms curled around my body, his large hands searching and gripping and teasing until I was bowing into him.

His tongue tortured mine in a slow, declaring dance that didn't match the rhythm of our hands or my pounding heart as his fingers trailed just inside the band of my shorts.

And then everything stilled.

His hands, his mouth, my heart . . .

Seconds passed before two of his fingers twitched against my bare hip, and I shuddered against him when his hands slowly moved lower, searching for underwear that he wouldn't find.

A low rumble sounded in his chest before Deacon took my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered mostly to himself, and started to pull me closer, but I skipped out of his hold and stepped back toward the hallway leading to my bedroom.

I didn't know what I was doing to him, but I knew what he was doing to me . . . what he'd done.

I'd thought I would never be able to trust anyone with my heart again, and though I had tried to keep it from Deacon Carver, it had been impossible. Even during the confusing times, even during the times when he'd broken a little piece of my heart, all I saw when I closed my eyes was him and what we could be. What we
would
be, because I knew he loved me too, and there was no longer a point in fighting it.

Deacon's eyes darkened as he watched me back away, and suddenly he was stalking toward me. His long strides didn't falter as he lifted me into his arms and walked us toward my bedroom.

His mouth never left mine. His hands gripped my body so tightly it was as if he wanted to memorize the feel of me beneath his hands, as if he wanted to make sure I was there.

The air in my lungs rushed out when my back hit the bed and Deacon's body settled on top of mine. And just as he had been doing before, I dug my fingers into his back and shoulders. I felt like I had to hold on to something real; like I had to feel his body to know I wasn't imagining this.

His mouth left a trail of hot kisses down my throat as he slowly lifted my shirt up my stomach, but both his touch and his mouth stopped when the bottom of the material teased my nipples.

“Remember what I said the other night.” His deep voice rumbled against my skin. It was more of a request than a question. “Say
wait
at the last second, and I'll wait. Charlie Girl,” he demanded after a short pause.

“I know,” I said quickly, then sucked in a sharp gasp when his head suddenly dipped and he pulled one of my exposed breasts into his mouth.

His tongue rolled around my nipple and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending little shock waves straight to my core. Over and over again until I was gripping his hair and whimpering his name and moving restlessly beneath him, needing more.

I lifted my hips from the bed when he pulled at my shorts, and exhaled shakily when he moved in a line down my stomach and spread my thighs.

“Deacon.” I swallowed thickly, and tried to ignore the way my heart was racing and chest was heaving with each ragged breath.

Because I wanted this. My body was screaming for me to let him to continue. But this . . .

I didn't know how to let him do this.

Brown eyes met mine, his face just above my hips. “Say the word.” But even though his tone held so much promise, as he spoke he pushed my legs until my knees were bent and feet were planted on the bed. “Say the word, and I'll hold you for the rest of the night.”

My head shook quickly as I fought with what I wanted and what I was too ashamed to allow to happen. “No, that's not—­I can't—­I don't—­I've never,” I said quickly, stumbling over the words. “He never . . .” I trailed off when Deacon's brows arched up, and then a determined and possessive look slowly covered that handsome, handsome face.

A wicked grin tugged at his mouth as he pushed himself farther back, and then lowered himself until I could feel his breath against me when he said, “Wrong word.”

My back arched away from the bed and my hands fisted in the comforter when his tongue moved from my entrance to my clit. My skin covered with goose bumps as his tongue continued to torture me in a way I'd never imagined possible, and the warmth in my belly suddenly felt white-­hot.

One of my hands shot to his head, my fingers wove into his hair and gripped when he pressed two fingers inside me. “Oh God!” I said breathlessly. “Deacon!”

I felt him smile against me before he resumed the sweet suffering.

It was too much. The soft and the hard and the feel of his smiles and silent laughters when I would gasp out a plea or curse from it all.

Something low in my stomach tightened, and that warmth burned hotter and hotter until that too felt like it was too much. My breathing hitched and my toes curled, trying to find some purchase in the comforter. My chest moved raggedly with my uneven breaths until it halted as my breathing stopped altogether . . .

And then came out with a rush when Deacon's mouth and hand disappeared.

I felt his loss on more than a physical level. It felt like my body was screaming at him to come back and continue, when I couldn't speak at all.

I threw one of my hands over my face when his wicked grin came into view as he moved over me. I needed to block that heated stare from seeing exactly how much I'd enjoyed that, when I was still completely mortified by it and embarrassed by the way my body
craved
more. I didn't want to know that my inexperience was amusing to him when I knew all too well about his experience.

The sound of clothes being removed and hitting the floor was the only thing that joined my uneven breathing for a while before I felt his hands gently moving my shirt that he'd left rolled up on my chest earlier.

“Beautiful. You're so damn beautiful, Charlie.” Deacon sounded like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. My name left his lips like a prayer.

None of the teasing I'd expected. No condescending tone.

None of the old Deacon I kept worrying would show up again.

Relief flooded me at his words, and my lips twitched into a smile. I kept my eyes shut when he slid the shirt over my arms and head, and let it fall to the floor as well.

He settled himself between my legs, a soft whimper moved up my throat when he pressed his length against me. “You walking?” he murmured as his mouth brushed across mine in the softest, sweetest kiss.

I curled my hands around his face when he rested his forehead on mine, and shook my head. “No.”

No, I was seeing everything Deacon couldn't admit because he didn't know how. I was enjoying living in this moment and being loved by a man like Deacon Carver while loving him the best way I knew how . . . with my eyes shut.

A low growl built in his chest when I curled my legs around his waist and lifted my hips so the tip of him slid against my entrance. “Christ, Charlie.”

He pushed in the slightest bit, and reached between our bodies to brush his fingers against where I was aching and craving him, but stopped when I attempted to bite back a moan.

“Tell me if you're not ready,” he pled gently. “Tell me, or I'm making you mine, and you're done walking away from me.”

“Are you waiting for me to change my mind or trying to give me time to remember my promise to myself?” I whispered, and slowly opened my eyes and found his directly above me. I continued to cradle his face for a brief moment, then let my hands slide to his neck and across his shoulders. “If you have no intention of giving me your heart, then don't do this to mine. But my heart was yours even when you weren't ready for it, so take it or let me—­”

Deacon's mouth crashed down onto mine, swallowing my shocked cry when he forced his thick length inside me.

Like no time had passed at all, that tight feeling in my stomach was back, and the heat felt like it might consume me as my body adjusted to his.

But, oh God, when he moved . . .

I never knew it could be like that. I never knew it could feel like it was not enough and too much, and like he was holding back—­leaving me seconds from begging for more—­while high-­pitched moans kept escaping me from the intensity of it all, all at once.

Sex with Ben had been fast and to the point, and I'd thought at the time that it had been everything I could ever want. But he had never touched me. He'd never left my body feeling like it might burst if he didn't continue touching me, and like it might fall apart if he didn't stop.

This was perfection.

Deacon's movements slowed, the unhurried roll of his hips brought him deeper and deeper inside.

That heat swirled and built until my body felt like it was strung so tightly I was sure I was going to shatter.

My breathing grew ragged and uneven, and one by one I pressed my fingers firmly against his shoulders and back, somehow knowing that I was going to need to hold on.

A short, broken huff was forced from my chest when he pushed in harder, and my grip tightened, eyes fluttered shut, and head fell back onto the bed. “Deacon,” I breathed, my voice barely making a sound. “Deac—­” My arms and legs locked up and my fingers dug into his skin just as my body began vibrating.

“That's it,” he breathed against my neck, and slid himself into me again and again. “That's it, Charlie, let go.”

Before I could grasp his demand, he pulled all the way out then slammed back into me, and my body felt like it went up in flames.

A warm shiver shot down my spine and that white-­hot heat shot through my veins. The vibrating turned into trembling and then shaking as warm shivers continued to torment my body.

Deacon hissed and bit down on my collarbone to muffle his sudden curse. His body felt rigid against mine for only a moment before his hips moved harder and faster than before, then harder still.

Each movement from him prolonged what was happening inside me, and I both loved and hated it. I never wanted it to end, but I felt out of control and terrified by that.

A shudder rolled through Deacon's back, and he groaned against my neck as his hips jerked against mine when he found his release inside me. His back shook from his exaggerated breaths, the muscles there rippled beneath the tips of my fingers as we both tried to find our way back to ourselves.

He lifted his head, and his eyes met and searched mine as he slowly rolled onto his side, taking me with him. “You okay?”

Exhausted, wanted him again, and never felt more alive, but “okay” would do. I nodded once, but wasn't able to voice the response he needed. The way Deacon was looking at me was all I could focus on. “Why are you looking at me like that?”