"Right," he prompted when I said no more.

I got closer, my heart squeezing as I gave it to him.

"I'd really like it if you worked it out with your jobs so you could be here when they are."

"Then that's where I'll be."

I sat motionless atop him, staring in his handsome face, shocked but filled with glee that that wasn't only his answer, but it also came quickly.

"You're not..." I shook my head. "That doesn't freak you?"

"They come with you?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

The skin around his eyes softened and his fingers dug in my ass.

"I think I've made it pretty clear I want you, woman. They come with you, I want that too."

Oh God. I was so falling in love with this man.

"Dad'll like you," I whispered.

"Yeah. I had a daughter in the middle of nowhere, states away, and a guy worked on her roof in the heat so it wouldn't eventually cave in, I'd like him too."

I smiled, tamping down the idea of Deacon having a daughter.

And how he would get one.

"Though," he kept going, "that would only be until I was reminded he was sleepin' with her. Then I'd go back to wantin' to shoot him."

That was when I burst out laughing.

While I was doing it, Deacon slid a hand up my spine until he had it curved around the back of my neck.

And when I quit laughing, I noticed that he was not sharing in my amusement.

When he spoke, I'd know why.

"Means a lot, baby, you want me to meet your family."

I leaned closer to him. "Yeah," I agreed.

"You give me the dates, I'll make sure I'm free."

"Okay."

He slid his hand to the side of my neck, the tips of his fingers in my hair, his eyes moving over my face.

I let him. He had these moments occasionally, when he was feeling something, something beautiful and big, something about me, and since it was that, I wanted him to have them.

When he shifted his thumb so it swept my lower lip, I knew it was leaving him so I said, "I need to get down to frying the chops."

His eyes went from my lips to mine. "You need a grill."

He wasn't wrong.

"Can you grill?"

"Do I have a dick?"

I smiled again.

"We'll fight about who's payin' for that tomorrow, on the way back from gettin' the dog."

I kept smiling. "You're on."

His eyes crinkled.

I leaned in and kissed him. It was meant to be a touch but his hand at my neck tightened, his other arm lifted to round me, and it became a whole lot more.

This meant I was breathing heavily when I climbed off him and went into the kitchen to start the chops.

Hours later, after dinner (I was not wrong, Deacon loved the casserole; he even said that, of a sort, while forking it into his mouth, "This shit's the shit, Cassidy,") and cuddling on the couch watching a movie, Deacon turned on the news.

I tilted my chin to catch his eyes.

He felt mine and looked down at me.

"I'm turning in."

"Gonna watch the top of the newscast then I'll be up."

"Okay."

He bent his head to touch his mouth to mine and let me go.

I rolled off the couch and went upstairs.

When I got to my bedroom, I closed the door, leaned against it, sucked in a massive breath, and took in the room.

After I had the bathroom remodeled, this was the first room I'd refinished.

The wood floors were gleaming. The threadbare rugs had been removed and a large, thick, attractive one in soft beige with muted pastel green, blue, yellow, and pink swirls on it was under the bed. The two dressers were a mish-mosh I'd located for a deal at an antique store, the wood light and battered but they burnished in way that I thought was pretty. Matching iron nightstands with drawers that had mismatching but lovely lights on them. There were old, framed pieces of faded, but awesome embroidered flowers I'd bought for five bucks each on the walls. Walls that I'd painted a warm, soft oyster.

A year ago, I'd bought a new mattress. On it was a down comforter with a feminine paisley cover that had a cream background and subdued green, yellow, and blue design. Matching shams. Cream sheets. But minimal toss pillows since they finished the look of the bed but were a pain in the patoot to arrange every day.

And my bed had a slatted head and footboard.

Staring at it, I bit my lower lip.

Then I did what I decided I'd do during the movie.

I went to the nightstands and turned on both lights. After that, I went to the closet, got the ropes, took them to the bed, and dropped them in the middle. That done, I went to my drawer and pulled out one of only three sexy nighties that I owned. A skintight red number made entirely of lace. I also snatched out the matching satin panties.

I took them to the bathroom, changed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, put the toilet seat down, and sat on it, trying not to hyperventilate.

And there I sat.

Waiting.

And just like me, I did it hoping.

But (maybe for the first time in my life), I didn't have to hope.

Because I had a strong feeling that what I wanted so badly was about to be given to me.

Chapter Thirteen.

Give the Gratitude.

I heard the bedroom door open and my body strung tight.

I waited.

I waited some more.

Then I sucked in a huge breath, got up, and walked to the door.

I opened it, walked out, and stopped, my eyes glued to Deacon.

He was standing by the bed, his eyes to me, and it was a wonder they didn't incinerate me on the spot.

"Nightie's sweet," he said quietly. "I'll enjoy it another time. Now, take it off, baby."

He'd seen the ropes.

My heart skipped in my chest and I held his gaze as I took two steps to the bed, stopped, and put my hands to the hem of the nightie. Continuing to hold his eyes, I lifted my arms, pulling it off.

"Panties," he ordered, his voice getting rough. Just that sound doing good things to my body, I hooked my thumbs in the sides of the panties and pushed them down until they fell to the floor.

I stepped out of them.

"Here," he demanded, voice now gruff.

I didn't hesitate and I didn't backtalk.

I went to him.

He also didn't hesitate. He put both hands to my hips and slid them back to my ass, leaning in to me to do it.

"You sure you're ready?" he asked, tone still gruff, but now also sweet.

"Yes," I answered, and I was. I also wasn't. There was fear. But there was mostly excited anticipation.

"I play with you, you talk to me. Do not allow shit you don't want because you think I want it. We go somewhere you don't like, you say, it ends. Immediately."

That was what I needed-just what I needed-to beat back the fear.

I leaned in to him, putting my hands on his chest. "Okay, baby."

"Climb in bed, Cassie. I tie you down first then I play."

Oh God.

I immediately got wet.

Yeah, no more fear.

I climbed into bed.

Surprising me, Deacon didn't delay in tying me down. By that I meant he didn't take his clothes off before he did it.

That said, he did it slow. There were caresses, like when he lifted my arm high and wide, he ran his fingertips up the inside, a ticklish, soft touch that was nevertheless effective.

And then he tied my wrist to the headboard.

To the other side, where he ran his lips up the inside of my arm. No tickle but the touch was definitely effective.

And then he tied that wrist to the headboard.

I had my legs closed, bent, my hips turned slightly to the side, and he ran a hand down my chest, my belly, and up to my hip where he put mild pressure but didn't force me to move.

He looked from my hip to my face. "Trust me."

"I do."

"Then spread for me, Cassie."

I held his gaze, dropped my hip, uncurled my legs, and spread for him.