Without You (Without You Duet Book 1)

by Marley Valentine

If someone makes you feel, let them.

With every salty drop of emotion, I feel understood. With every salty drop of emotion, I feel a little less lost. With every salty drop of emotion, I feel tethered to a man I’ve spent my whole life hating. And with that last salty drop of emotion, I know I need to get the fuck out of here.

Sometimes I wonder if death really is the worst thing, because being alive and feeling so empty and hollow seems to be much worse.

I did not anticipate Deacon. In any way, shape, or form, did I expect Deacon Sutton to be the very last thing I thought about before I finally fell asleep.

But the storm in his eyes is now a swirl of curiosity, with the slightest undercurrent of desire. I may have only ever been with one man, but I’d know how to identify the kindling of attraction anywhere.

The service is to honor his memory, but what it really is, is a day to acknowledge that time doesn’t heal a single fucking thing. It’s a cruel promise. One the universe repeatedly doles out, only to repeatedly break.

My hand finds the small of Julian’s back, guiding him in front of me. The move is automatic. Instinctual. Muscle memory. It feels natural, understated almost. Like something I’ve done my whole life.

Except there’s the warmth that explodes inside my chest as soon as my palm presses against him, and it... it definitely suggests otherwise.

His empathy. His sincerity. His generosity. It’s taking up space inside my chest. Space that isn’t his, and space I shouldn’t want to give.

Right now, I really just want to be around him. I want him to invade my space and push my boundaries. For the first time, the unknown is much more appealing than everything I thought I knew, and I love the way it feels. I love that I’m feeling something.

He—my best friend’s brother—was staring at my lips. He—my boyfriend’s brother—was staring at my lips. He—my boyfriend’s straight brother—was staring at my lips. He was staring at my lips.

This pull to Deacon is the complete opposite of that. It’s nothing but the shell of a house standing on shaky ground. It only needs one thing to fall apart, and any progress he and I made would turn into dust—like it never really happened.

I try to feign indifference, to ward him off, but the inferno blazing inside his eyes makes it impossible. He angles his head, lowering his mouth to my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

But right now, I want nothing more than to crush my whole body against his. To meld my mouth with his and find out if his lips taste as good as they look.

Unceremoniously, I slam my mouth to his, extinguishing any second thoughts and pressing pause on all of the confusion. I expect to be thrown off by the unfamiliarity of kissing another man, or for the trepidation that comes with the unknown to slow me down, but the gravitational pull I feel toward him is too strong.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, but his kiss is hard. It’s a balancing act of push and pull, want and need, yes and no. It’s a frenzied rush of frustration and desire as we both fight for control. Control over our bodies. Control over our minds. Control over each other.

How do you know someone for more than half of your life and feel nothing, only to look at them one day and wonder how you got by without ever noticing them before?

“You don’t think I’m trying?” His voice is like lava, nothing but thick heat. He leans in, his hands trailing up my arms as he moves closer. “You don’t think I’m trying to forget how you feel against me? How you taste? How perfect your goddamn mouth is?”

The kiss is fueled with pain and passion as he spills his secrets into my mouth, and my tongue greedily hoards them for safekeeping. The regret. The guilt. The shame. I kiss him hard enough to forget them. I kiss him hard enough so he’ll remember me.

With every swipe of his tongue, I feel understood. With every swipe of his tongue, I feel a little less lost. With every swipe of his tongue, I feel tethered to a man I can’t have. And with that last tantalizing swipe of my tongue against his, I know I’ll never be alone again.

“Are you asking if my dick likes dick?”

“I’m not attracted to men,” I say boldly. “I’m only attracted to you.”

“You think after the last two weeks, and the longest twelve hours of my fucking life,” he says hoarsely, “you weren’t the first person I wanted to see?”

My lust-filled pulse continues to ratchet underneath my skin, and my dick relentlessly throbs for this man before me. I lower my hand to my stiff cock, but a commanding voice stops me. “Don’t fucking touch what’s mine.”

Emotion gets stuck in my throat; how did I ever think this man was indifferent and unfeeling? Love pours out of him, like he’s been waiting his whole life to shower someone with it.

“Come here,” he says. When I sit beside him, he holds up two fingers to my mouth. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Is this a requirement?” “You saying you don’t want to taste us?”

It’s not just the orgasms, it’s all the little things. The before and afters and everything else in between.

“Get on your back,” he demands. “I want you to remember my face when I fuck you. So you know exactly who you’re walking away from, and the man you better fucking come back to.”

“Fuck,” I grunt out. “I can’t stop,” I admit. “How do you ever expect me to stop this? Stop you?”

“It’s right there, baby,” I confess. “Like a fucking neon sign across my heart.”

Consumed by lust and love and pure wanton need, my body ruthlessly slams against his—showing him. With every thrust I’m branding him, taunting him. Daring him to forget this. Daring him to go back home and fucking forget me.

When he finally melds his mouth to mine, I let my timid, fearful heart kiss for me. I kiss him till my heart has made its way into his chest, and then some. I kiss him till he’s breathless. I kiss him till all he can see is me.

“But around you I run on instinct and feelings, and for a long time it didn’t necessarily make sense.” “And now?” “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“What’s my Christmas present?” I ask jokingly. Deacon nips at my earlobe and lowers his voice. “Me. It’s always going to be me.”

“But this, with you…” He pauses, catching his breath. “My heart didn’t beat for him the way it does for you. The rush, the ferocity, the desperation to be with you—I have never felt anything with such strength and conviction, about anybody or anything.”

“So, you want to know if you’re enough for me?” He grips my chin in a tight and commanding hold. “You’re the beat of my heart, the blood in my veins, the strength in my bones. None of me works without you. And if you need me to tell you every fucking day for the rest of our lives, then I will, because you are more than enough. You’re everything.”

own it. It’s yours till the day you say you don’t want it.” “Never,” I breathe into his neck. “I will never not want you.”

“You are not less than or undeserving of anything, Deacon Sutton. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to feel whole, and I won’t let anyone, not even your mom, take this away from us.”

Julian was it for me, and after the way he made me feel today, even forever wouldn’t be enough.

“Make love to me, Julian.” I beg longingly. “I need you inside me. I need you to love me back to life.”

“You want to quit your job and spend all day on my dick?”

“I know you’re not familiar with how this piece of the puzzle works, but you’re mine. You are always going to be mine.” My lips turn upward at his hint of possessiveness. “So, if you think I’m going to let anyone treat the man I love with anything less than the respect he deserves, and then think I’m still keeping them around?” He clicks his tongue. “Then maybe you’re underestimating how much I love you.”

“I love you more than my past,” he says. “I love you more than the obstacles the present has thrown in our way. Because you’re my future. And I’m going to love you forever because you’re my always.”