He slid his tongue out and tasted my lips.

I tried to capture it in my mouth but he took it away.

"Deacon." His name came out as a plea.

He made no reply. Just brushed my nose with his before he buried his face in my neck and went faster, harder, driving deep, his breathing going uneven, the sound and feel of it further tipping my excitement, thrilling through me.

I'd loved what he'd been giving me before but I needed what he was giving me now. So much, I turned my head and my gentle pants became ragged breaths rasping against the skin of his neck. My hand stopped roaming so I could curve my arm around him and hold on as my fingers in his hair fisted, holding him to me.

His hand suddenly left my breast, smoothing down my skin, and then his thumb was at my clit as he started thrusting harder, faster, the power taking me with it, the bed shuddering beneath us.

He lifted his head and I saw what I'd missed last night. Not blank. No mask. He was giving it all to me. His face dark, his eyes heated, his focus entirely on me, what he was taking, what he was giving, what I was giving, how he felt about it, all written in his expression.

"Fuck, I'm fuckin' beauty," he growled.

Oh God, I liked that.

"Deacon."

He rammed in, stayed in, and ground in as his thumb at my clit put on pressure.

So freaking amazing.

"Buried inside beauty," he grunted.

"Baby."

I got the word out then he took my mouth in a rough, wet kiss and I took his cock driving fast, hard, and deep.

He gave it to me before he took it, and he might have taken it hard, but what he gave me was sweet.

After we came down he astonished me by nuzzling me, stroking me.

Loving me.

Deacon. This new man I'd known for years was nuzzling me. Stroking me.

Loving me.

I had no choice but to return the favor.

It wasn't a hardship.

It was early evening. I'd made Deacon and I a sandwich, and after we'd eaten them, while he moved his stuff from cabin eleven to my place at my request, I went down to cabin six to get the comforters and tell Milagros cabin eleven needed cleaned and that I needed her to stop by and check in on things tomorrow while I was away for a few hours. I also told her I had something going so I couldn't have a cup of coffee with her when she was done.

I didn't tell her about Deacon. Mostly because there wasn't yet anything to say. But also because I didn't know if I'd ever be able to tell her about Deacon.

I had to admit, this troubled me, but not enough to deter me from the choice I'd made.

We were changed. That was all I needed.

For now.

We'd find out how it was going to go.

Luckily, I often had something going so Milagros didn't blink that I couldn't have a cup of coffee. She also didn't mind popping by tomorrow to make sure all was well at Glacier Lily while Deacon and I went to put a deposit down on a puppy.

I dealt with the laundry and when I got back, Deacon told me he had something to deal with. He didn't tell me what. He also didn't tell me that whatever it was required his complete attention, as in, his presence. I found that out after he cupped my jaw and told me he had something to deal with and then he walked out of my house.

He came back for dinner, something I had ready in hopes he'd be back.

We ate it with not a lot of muss and fuss, time taken, or conversation.

He helped me do the dishes just like he had at Christmas (this being surprising, then and now, but I'd had a lot of surprises that day so I rolled with it).

Then he took my hand again and led me upstairs.

Which brought me to now, lying naked in my bed with a naked Deacon on top of me, still inside me, nuzzling me and stroking me after sex.

He was mellow. I was mellow. The decision was made by the both of us.

We were beginning.

Thus I decided it was time to take a chance.

So I asked, "How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight."

His answer seared through me in a happy way, getting it and the ease with which in came.

He lifted his head and looked down at me. "You?"

"Thirty."

He grinned.

I saw it and stilled.

Completely.

Taking in his magnificence, I wondered how I ever could have been frightened of this man.

"Just a baby," he said softly.

"No, I'm not," I disagreed.

"Yeah, you are," he disagreed with me.

"You're barely older than me."

He lifted a hand, framed the side of my face, and started stroking my cheekbone with his thumb, but he made no reply.

I slid a hand up his chest, encountering dips and swells, firm and supple, and the tickle of the sprinkling of dark hair along his pectorals that was scattered to perfection.

"What's your last name?" I asked quietly.

"Deacon."

I tipped my head to the side. "What's your first?"

"Deacon."

I stared. "Your parents named you Deacon Deacon?"

That got me the gift of another grin but this one didn't reach his eyes.

"No, Cassidy. Was a man. Not that man anymore. Now I'm just Deacon."

That didn't make sense, or not any good sense.

Just bad.

"Did your parents give you the name Deacon one way or another?"

"Yes."

"So that's you."

"Yep."

"And always has been, in a way," I pressed and he dipped his face closer to mine.

"No, baby. The man I am is not the man I was."

This confused me.

"I don't get it."

He didn't give it to me. His thumb swept to my mouth and he glided it across my lower lip then he pulled out but rolled, taking us both to a new position, him on his back, me on top.

It seemed he was going to say something but before he did, he gathered my hair away from either side of my face and I watched, my insides melting, as he lost track of what he was doing when he became fascinated with my hair, looking at it, feeling it.

I knew by the way he did it that he'd wanted that. He'd wanted this.

He'd wanted me.

For a long, long time.

That made me happy. Happy enough not to push about his name and instead give him his moment with my hair and make it a long one.

Then I decided to take my own moment and I slid a hand up his chest to his neck so I could glide the tips of my fingers along his jaw, letting the stubble scrape my skin.

I watched my hand then I slid my eyes to his to see him watching me.

"I still can't believe you're here," I whispered.

He didn't reply but this time he didn't have to. The warmth in his eyes that warmed me said all he needed to say.

"Are you gonna stay?" I asked.

"For two more days."

This did not make me happy.

My eyes went to the pillow by his head and I stopped stroking his jaw.

My hair was released, falling down, curtaining our faces, and this happened so Deacon could wrap his arms around me.

I looked again to him.

"I'll be back," he said quietly.

"When?"

"Got a job. I do the job, I'll be back."

My eyes drifted away again but came back when one of his arms gave me a squeeze and his other hand moved up and again pulled one side of my hair away from my face.

Then he kept talking.

"Not in three months, not in eight. When the job is done. Could be a few days, a few weeks, maybe a month. But when it's done, I'll be back."

That was better news so I gave him a small smile.

His arm around me shifted down so he could trace random patterns on the skin just above my hip.

That felt heavenly.

Even so, inside, I felt weird.

Right and wrong. Comfortable. Sated.

And awkward.

"I don't know what I can ask," I blurted. "What to say. What to do."

He bunched my hair at the back of my neck. "Do you know what to feel?"