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.

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.

My pussy throbs. Do I ache for pain, to be punished for what I’m about to do?

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

“You going to be a good girl for me and take it like a whore?” he asks. My body buzzes. “Yes, sir,” I gasp.

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

There’s no pain. No anxiety. No fear. Just this endless pounding drum. I have no desire to be anywhere but here. The stars hang in the sky, blurry in my vision, but I don’t long for them. The hole in my heart, the disjointed piece of me, is whole for tonight.

“Say it out loud, or I’ll put you on your knees and fuck it out of you,” he says.

“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.”

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.

It’s my job to know her heart. To keep it, to protect it.

I find so much peace in this exchange of power and care. It’s the same with bondage. It feels like the eye of the hurricane—a place to rest, to breathe, to feel together.

“I know he hurt you,” I say, my voice hushed, “but I’m not him. Been waiting all my life for you, sweetheart. I promise.”

He might be a hurricane, but I was always safe in the eye of it.