Deacon (The Sovereign Mountain, #3)

by Raya Morris Edwards

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.

So, I buy it, because I’m pussy whipped for a girl I’ve never even spoken to. And I get some fern-green lace to go with it.

“Bittern says his truck got four flat tires while he was at the gas station,” she says. “That’s really strange.”

I keep quiet. It’s not that strange, considering I was the one who took a nail gun and shot the tires out while he was inside paying for gas and a six-pack.

“I will eat your pussy if I have to tie your legs open,” he says, voice harsh. “Not tonight, but I swear, I will.”

“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’m ready to fall asleep, but they snap open when I realize there was a lump in Deacon’s pocket on the drive home. I remember glancing down when he was adjusting himself and seeing it. That son of a gun took my panties.

“I’m gonna fuck you good and hard, sweetheart, so keep your head on straight for it.”

“I should have guessed you had company,” he says. “I can tell when you just got laid.” “Shut up. You can’t.” He jerks his head at my hat. “You sleep on your right side when you sleep alone. The other side is flat.” I touch the side of my head. The corner of Jack’s mouth curls. “She’s on the porch,” he says. “I’m just fucking with you.”

“I want more,” she says brokenly. “Maybe that’s selfish, but I want more than just food on my table.”

“You call me daddy, sweetheart,” he says. “At least when I’ve got my cock this far up your cunt.”

“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.”