Deacon (The Sovereign Mountain, #3)

by Raya Morris Edwards

“I want to know about her,” I say firmly. Tracy sets my cup down, brow raised. “No.” “What?” “No,” she says. “You’re a bit of a whore. And a menace.”

She could be mine. All I have to do is play my cards right, and I can make it happen. I have a place for her already built. She’s the missing piece, I’m sure of it.

It’s been a while since I got laid, and I have a feeling it’ll be a while until I do again. I’m going to wait for her.

it occurred to me that this is more than attraction. I have an obsession.

“You want to be fucked dirty?” he presses. Flushed, wet, my pussy spread for him, I nod hard. The corner of his mouth turns up and, in one movement, he slides an arm under me and flips me onto my hands and knees. The wind knocks from me. I don’t have time to recover before his hand goes to the back of my head. His fingers fist in my hair, dragging my head back. I see myself reflected a dozen times in the mirrors inlaid in the headboard. I’ve never seen myself so desperate. “Let’s fuck then, sweetheart.”

There’s no going back for me. She’s worth everything I’m going to do to make her mine.

I want the small business of living more than anything. I want her time, every minute of it. The boring parts, the hard parts, the difficult parts.

Deacon Ryder will do what it takes to get what he wants.

I know two things for certain now. One—Deacon Ryder is a damn psycho. Two—I’m glad he’s on my side.

“Why put flowers in my hair?” she whispers. “Because I’m about to give you the most disrespectful fucking you’ve ever had, and I want you to feel beautiful for it,” I say. “Remember when you’re gasping for air and begging like a whore that I can be gentle.”

Up until now, we’ve fucked and haphazardly tried to avoid pregnancy. Maybe that’s a stretch, but I’ve never tried to get her pregnant. That changes tonight.

If I am the girl who wanted to live in the stars, he’s the mountains down below. Together, we feel like that place where the heavens and the Earth meet. Beautiful, perfect. Meant to exist.

First, he taught me sex could feel good. Then, that it could be safe. Now, he’s shown me it can be so intimate, I feel it in my heart.

“I’m trusting you,” she whispers. “Please, please don’t break my heart.” “I love you, sweetheart,” I say, the words tumbling out. “You can trust me. I swear, I won’t hurt you or let you down.”

It’s time to pin that motherfucker to a wall like one of the bugs he crushed to dust from her collection.

I found somebody to love me the way my heart wants to be loved. For the first time, I’m a girl with a future worth living for.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” he says. “Just love me.”