That was better news so I gave him a small smile.

His arm around me shifted down so he could trace random patterns on the skin just above my hip.

That felt heavenly.

Even so, inside, I felt weird.

Right and wrong. Comfortable. Sated.

And awkward.

“I don’t know what I can ask,” I blurted. “What to say. What to do.”

He bunched my hair at the back of my neck. “Do you know what to feel?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Go with that, Cassie.”

Cassie.

My family called me that, some friends back home. I liked it.

It felt disloyal but I never liked it more than the two times it came from Deacon.

Yes, I absolutely knew what to feel.

“You don’t seem to feel weird about what’s happening,” I observed.

“I’m not ’cause I’m not takin’ the risk. You are.”

“Are you a risk?” I asked cautiously.

His eyes gentled and his hand splayed flat on my hip as he chided softly, “Baby, you gotta quit askin’ questions you know the answer to.”

Baby.

I didn’t like that better than Cassie, but it worked.

Without a word, he rolled me to my back, over me, and let me go before he rolled out of bed on the side closest to the bathroom.

I pulled the sheet over me as I watched him go, but, to give him privacy, I stopped watching when he went in and I could see him because he didn’t close the door.

He was getting rid of the condom he’d slid on before coming inside, something he hadn’t slid on last night.

I was on the Pill, so that was not a concern.

Him having thirty-eight women was.

I heard the toilet flush, the tap go on and off, and not long later, he was back to me. On his side, elbow in the pillow, head in hand, he ran his other hand down my body, taking the sheet with him, his eyes watching it go, exposing me.

I felt his gaze like a touch on my skin, something I enjoyed immensely. But as much as I liked it and was glad we had a light on and I could see all of him (and there was a lot, and all of it was as beautiful as the promise that it would be), I wasn’t all that fired up with him seeing all of me when he didn’t have me panting.

Therefore, I rolled into him, pressing close, wrapping an arm around him, and nuzzling my face in his chest.

He trailed a hand down my back and again started tracing random patterns, but this time on the skin of my ass.

That felt better, enough that I shivered.

“Great ass,” he muttered like he was talking to himself. “Six years, saw it covered in shorts, jeans. Like it best like this.”

He was a guy. He would.

Then again, I was a girl and I shared this sentiment about him.

“Ditto with you,” I told his chest.

He fell to his back so he could wrap his arms around me, pull me up his chest, and get my eyes.

His were smiling.

And again, all was right in the world.

“Six years, never saw you smile,” I told him.

It was the wrong thing to say seeing as the smile died.

“Deacon?”

“Not easy, fightin’ your pull. Wantin’ to be right here. Knowin’ I was no good for you. Prayin’ you’d get a man so when I’d come back I’d have a reason to stay away.”

His words, words I liked at the same time not so much, made me slide a hand up his chest, his neck, and partly into his overlong hair where I played with the ends.

“Do you smile when you’re not here?”

“No.”

I knew it. I’d sensed it the moment I’d laid eyes on him. But the weight of that as a reality settled on me, making my head dip closer to his like I couldn’t hold it up anymore.

“So out there, you’re not happy?” I asked.

“No, Cassie.”

I held his eyes.

“Ever?” I pressed.

He didn’t reply but he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes wasn’t bleak but there was a ghost of that he let me see.

So I asked the big question. “Are you gonna let me make you happy?”

His hand came to the side of my face as his arm pulled me back down his chest in order that he could tuck my cheek to the base of his throat. He left his hand there when he got me there.

But he did all this again not answering me.

I didn’t know if this was to avoid nonverbal communication, to hide.

But it was important so I couldn’t let it slide.

“You didn’t answer me,” I stated, my question aimed at his shoulder.

“Woman, you’re naked on top of me in your bed. I just had you in this bed. This meaning I am not in cabin eleven. A place for six years that was a torture chamber but I kept comin’ back because I couldn’t stay away. Now, tell me, how’re you gonna make me happy when you already accomplished that feat?”

God.

He just gave that to me. Straight up, right out in the open, he gave me that beauty.

I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper, asking, “Okay, are you gonna let me make you more happy?”

“You wanna take on that challenge, not me gonna stop you.”

I opened my eyes and grinned.

He started playing with my hair right behind my ear. That felt nice too, sending a thrill from my ear over my scalp.

I would have preferred to just lie there, held close, letting Deacon thrill me with barely a touch, but I drew in a big breath and decided to get the ground rules out of the way.

“You’re John Priest when you’re here but not in this house.” It was a statement that was also a guess.

His fingers stopped playing and wrapped around the side of my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw, and he confirmed, “I’m John Priest when I’m with you and not in this house.”

“Okay,” I whispered and he gave my neck a squeeze.

“You gonna be able to remember that?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

His thumb stopped stroking and pressed in at the hinge of my jaw. “It’s important, Cassie.”

“I’ll remember,” I whispered, feeling the stone settle in my belly, but doing it being me.

That was, hoping one day he’d help me work it out so it didn’t weigh there, dragging me down, starving me.

I decided to move on.

“You didn’t use a condom last night, Deacon.”

“I know, baby. Things got outta hand. You on the Pill?”