“I-I want you to kiss me.” A smile that can only be described as a blinding light crosses his face. There is something about him that gives me an immediate sense of trust.
“Yes, ma’am.” His hands remain on my cheeks when he tilts his head just slightly and presses his lips to mine.
The kiss is slow and sweet. Over and over again, he kisses me with such reverence it brings tears to my eyes and causes a moan to slip past my lips. That seems to fuel him. One hand slides behind my neck, pulling me closer while the other remains on my cheek. When he nips at my bottom lip, I gasp in surprise, but I don’t hate it.
All too quickly, he removes his lips from mine. Slowly, I open my eyes to see that his are closed. His hand still grips the back of my neck while the other rests tenderly against my cheek. His chest rises rapidly with each breath.
When his tongue darts out to lick his lips, his name falls past mine. “Deacon,” I murmur.
His eyes pop open. Gold pools of desire stare back at me. I watch as he smiles and shakes his head. “Come on, darlin’.” With that, he moves his hands toward my waist. “I’m going to lift you from the wall.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Okay.”
“Hey.” Once again, his index finger gently lifts my chin so my gaze meets his. “Not because I don’t want to be standing here with you. Not because I don’t want to kiss the breath from your lungs. But because I want to do those things. This isn’t the place for that. Not with an audience.”
His words are like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. Palmer is capturing all of this. My face heats. She’s my best friend, and here I am, mauling her brother.
He smiles, and I feel my world tilt. “Come on, Ramsey. We have a show to put on.” His smile is big, and his eyes sparkle, and I don’t hate today. I don’t hate it at all. “I’m going to lift you,” he reminds me. His hands are back on my hips, and he effortlessly lifts me from the wall.
Instead of placing me on my feet, he lifts me higher over his head. His face is tilted back, smiling up at me. On instinct, I brace my hands on his shoulders for support.
“Oh, very Dirty Dancing, big brother,” Palmer calls out. “This is gold.” I don’t bother to look toward my best friend. I already know she’s circling us, trying to capture the moment from every angle.
Deacon’s deep, throaty laugh sends heat between my thighs. Slowly, he lowers me, letting my body slide against his until my feet are once again firmly planted on the ground. He leans in close, his lips hovering next to my ear. “You’re beautiful,” he says, quickly pulling back.
“Tell us where you want us,” he says to his sister.
“Um, y’all are doing fine on your own.” Palmer makes a show of fanning her face with her hand.
Deacon turns to look at me. “I’m going to hold you,” he says as his arm slides behind my back. He’s still staring down at me. I barely come to his shoulders, and that’s with my wedges that I’m wearing. “Swings?” he asks.
“I’m wearing a dress.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, I’m well aware that you’re wearing a sexy-as-fuck dress.” He bites down on his bottom lip. “That’s all that was between us sitting on that wall,” he reminds me.
“I’m sorry?” It’s posed as a question. I’m not sure how to read him.
“Darlin’,” he drawls, bending to place his lips next to my ear. “Never apologize for your pussy being nestled against my cock.” His voice is gravelly and deep and causes goose bumps to break out on my skin.
He clears his throat and adjusts his stance. I want to look down, but I can’t do it. I already felt him on the wall, and when my body slid over his when he set me on my feet. Deacon is unlike any man I’ve ever met. He’s open and polite and apparently, a little dirty too, if his most recent confession is an indication.
“Come.” With his arm still wrapped around my waist, he guides us toward the swings. “I’ll push you.” He releases me and holds a swing for me to sit on.
“You’re not going to swing with me?” I ask him.
He steps in front of me, where I perch on the swing. Tilting my head back, I peer up at him. He grips the chains and bends in close. “If I swing with you, I can’t touch you.”
I swallow hard. “Is that what you want to do?”
“More than I should,” he replies, leaning in closer. “Can I touch you, Ramsey?”
“Yes.” This time my voice is clear. There’s no hesitation or stutter of my words.