So, a couple of months ago, a little birdie told me that more of this story was apparently in demand. Let this serve as a reminder that you should be careful what you wish for...
Deacon sighs as he pushes the door of the house open, the dim lights inside welcoming him home. It's taken him longer than he'd like to really think of it as his home instead of seeing it as merely something Rayna had without him, once upon a time. She wanted to sell it – but he hadn't let her, promised he'd get there someday, and he had. Finally, he had.
He drops his bag down – the one he'd finally caved and bought after his old one finally, finally fell apart. Change can be good, Deacon, Rayna had told him, holding up bags to him in some rundown shop off Broadway – he hates the new bag, if he's honest, hates the smell of the new leather, but god he loves her. He sets the bag by the door, closing and locking the door behind him. He tosses his keys on the entry table and then steps into the living room, inhaling as he walks, the warm familiar scent of his favorite cookies invading his olfactory senses just as the quiet sounds of an old melancholy jazz song fall into his ear.
He steps further into the house, smiling when the kitchen comes into view. Rayna stands near the oven, scooping cookies onto a cooling rack on the stove, her hips lightly swaying to the music as she hums along, her voice sweet as it echoes through the small space. She's wearing an apron, tied in a knot at her back over a flowy black dress that lands mid-calf, and her hair falls in soft waves, ending at her mid-back. She'd cut it a time or two in the years he's known her, but she's always grown it back out; she's her with her hair like this, though god he loves that woman in any form he's ever seen her. Still, soft waves like this are his favorite, and she keeps it like this for him whenever she can: I like to make you happy, babe, she'd told him. And she does – oh, how she does.
The happiness hits him all at once as he sees her, and for the thousandth time in as many days, he wonders just how in the hell he ever got so damn lucky, even as he feels the desire at seeing her course rapidly through his veins. She's just back from a sold-out tour, working non-stop same as him, and she was so exhausted when she arrived that they haven't had time to have a proper welcome home fuck. He's been dying for her – aching for her for weeks, his hand and her voice not quite enough to satisfy his intense desire for all things Rayna.
Deacon sneaks up behind Rayna quietly, and then snakes his hands around her waist, his fingers grazing lightly over her hipbones. She gasps a little in surprise before she leans her warm body into his, her back pressing against his chest. He leans his head down and nuzzles her neck, planting a little kiss against her pulse point. Rayna tilts her head to the side, allowing him better access to her throat and he places an open-mouthed kiss to the skin of her neck, sucking lightly as she sighs contentedly, her head falling back against his shoulder. He sucks harder, and her sigh turns into a moan, and god he's never been so thankful that the girls are staying with their friends for the weekend.
"Hi, baby," he whispers, bringing his mouth to her ear and speaking inside of it. He feels a light shiver run through her body and he smiles against her ear, chuckling a bit. Rayna has always loved his voice in her ear, "Did you have a good day?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly, just the way she likes it.
Rayna bites her lip, "Mm," she nods, "Better now that you're here, though." She spins in his arms and presses her lips to his in a quick kiss, "I missed you," she whispers against his lips before she slips her tongue into his mouth, her fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingernails tickling his skin.
Deacon slides his hands up her sides until he's buried them in her thick hair, his fingers dancing tantalizingly along her scalp. He groans as she deepens the kiss, arching into him. She tastes like gingerbread and something that has always tasted to him distinctly like Rayna – he could never name it, but he knows there's nothing in this world quite like it, loves nothing in this world quite like it.
She pulls away from him, giving him one last kiss as her eyes, so filled with warmth and love (and Deacon will never get over the fact that it's for him, still, again – and he deserves it this time), search his face.
"How'd I get so damn lucky?" Deacon asks, his thumb caressing her cheekbone, her skin soft under the pad of his finger.
Rayna laughs, "You asked."
Deacon laughs then, remembering the night he proposed – not for the first time, but for the last. He'd been so nervous standing there, so worried that he didn't deserve her – not after the hell he'd put her through, not after everything. But dropping down on his knee the way he did was the best thing he'd done with his life; marrying Rayna is the best thing he's done with his life.
Deacon grins, "Yes, I did." He kisses her forehead gently, "I'd ask you a thousand times over again, too." He sits back on a barstool at the kitchen counter, still facing her. He lets out a heavy sigh, relieved to be home, but the day still weighing on him a bit heavily.
"How was it?" Rayna asks, concern evident in her voice.
Deacon leans against the bar, the edge of the counter pressing into his back. "It was good," he nods his head, "Good. But when I decided to do this entire album – write, produce, play, sing, I guess somewhere along the line I didn't realize I'd have to make so many damn decisions." He sighs again, running a hand through his hair.
Rayna steps toward him, her abdomen brushing against his knees. She reaches her hand up, her palm smoothing over his cheek, "You look exhausted, babe."
Deacon sighs again, leaning into her touch. Her palm is soft and warm against his cheek and he nestles into it, breathing in deeply. He can smell her scent, the one that envelops him in their bed at night even when she's on tour, taking the world by storm. It comforts him when she's gone, lulls him to sleep, reminds him that she will always come back to him. She smells like soap and something darker than that, heady and intoxicating, with light notes of gardenia cutting through – it comforts him now. He presses a kiss to her palm, his eyes fluttering closed.
"I am, baby." He opens his eyes and gives her a weary smile, "I am."
Rayna reaches up and smooths her thumbs over his brow bone, "I'm sorry," she whispers quietly, "Worth it?"
He shrugs, "I guess we'll see when it's released." He looks at the stove, at the perfectly round gingerbread cookies, "What's all this?"
Rayna laughs, stepping away from him, "I meant to cook for you, but I imagined things would run late," she picks a cookie up off of the cooling rack, "So, cookies." She explains, holding one out to him, poised between her thumb and index finger.
Deacon leans forward and takes the small cookie into his mouth. His tongue darts out and grazes across Rayna's index finger and he does not miss the way her eyes latch on to his tongue, her gaze darkening. He bites into the cookie once it's safely inside his mouth and the flavor explodes across his tongue. The ginger is sharp and bright as the cookie melts on his tongue. He moans a bit as he finishes chewing.
"My favorite type of cookie, no less," he leans over and grabs another cookie, popping it into his mouth. "You know," he speaks around the cookie before chewing and swallowing again. He doesn't continue, just looks at Rayna as she moves to put the baking sheet in the sink. When she turns to look at him expectantly, he smirks, dropping his voice low, "These cookies, they're my second favorite thing to eat in the world."
Rayna's eyes widen a bit, and her nostrils flare, "Deacon!" She shakes her head.
Deacon slowly licks the cookie crumbs off his fingers, his eyes never leaving Rayna's, "Any guesses as to what my first favorite is, Rayna?"
Deacon slides off the barstool and crosses the kitchen to stand in front of Rayna. He tucks her hair behind her ear and leans forward, his tongue dancing along the shell of her ear, "Do you have any idea what my favorite thing to eat is?" He nips at her ear, and she shudders. He chuckles lowly in her ear, watching as her skin prickles, "Say it, Rayna." He tugs on her ear with his teeth, "I want to hear you say it."
"Me?" she asks, her voice breathy with desire; she's slightly panting now, and the sight sends a wave of arousal through Deacon's body.
"Yes," he confirms, nodding, "Which part of you, Rayna?" his voice is still in her ear, his hands on her forearms, and he can feel the gooseflesh pucker her skin again.
Rayna pulls back to look at him, her eyes hooded, "My cunt?" she asks, and Deacon feels her word directly in his groin. There is something so inherently sexy about hearing Rayna – his Rayna – use words like that; he's always loved when she talks dirty. Her voice is pure sex, anyway, but to hear her talk like that does unholy things to him.
Deacon nods in the affirmative, leaning in to her lips, kissing her, his tongue darting in her mouth, "Yes. I love the taste of you, Rayna, the taste of your cunt; my favorite thing in the world." He speaks against her lips and he's just about to kiss her again when the kettle goes off, the sound echoing through the kitchen.
Rayna pulls back from him at the sound, her eyes still a little dazed, "Tea?"
Deacon laughs, stepping back so she can move closer to the kettle. He slides back up on the barstool and watches as she turns the kettle off, stands on her tiptoes and removes two mismatched teacups, one chipped, and both a little worse for the wear from the top cupboard. Rayna refuses to get rid of them, though, since they're the cups they drank from the night, so many years ago now, when Rayna got her first record deal. And even though it was technically Rayna's victory, it was one of the happiest nights of Deacon's life, honestly – she'd given him so much since the day they met, and she still does. She loves him with a fierceness and completeness he'd never before known. She loves him in spite of everything that's happened to her, everything he's done to her, his Rayna.
As he watches her prepare the tea, moving around the kitchen, jazz music still playing softly in the background, Deacon can't help but think about how beautiful she is. His eyes follow the lines of her waist, tracing over the curves he used to dream about even before he felt them under his palms; the curves he used to dream about long after he finally did. He watches her delicate tiny hands place cookies on a small saucer, and he's struck by the notion that he's never seen anyone so damn sexy in all of his life. Rayna Jaymes moving around the kitchen in their shared house is sexier than any half-naked woman Deacon has ever seen, and what a gift she is – what a gift she gives him.
Suddenly, though, he realizes there's something else he wants from her tonight. He's been run absolutely ragged with this album – everyone looking to him for answers, looking to him to take charge and make decisions. He wants – he needs – the exact opposite of that tonight.
He clears his throat nervously, "Rayna?" He starts, and her eyes snap to his, "Can I ask you…something?" He can hear the trepidation in his own voice. It's been a long time since they've played like this.
Rayna freezes at his tone, setting the saucer holding the cookies down on the counter. She smooths her hands over the front of her apron before jamming her hands in the front pockets. Deacon can see the apprehension in her eyes as she looks at him and he curses himself.
He rushes to assure her, "No, it's nothing bad, baby." He smiles and watches as the tension eases out of her frame, "At least, I don't think it is…" she tilts her head curiously at him, "I… Can I ask you to do something for me?" his voice is quiet even to his own ears.
Rayna looks at him, concern etched in her brow, "Of course you can, Deacon. You know you can ask me anything, babe."
Deacon takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the nerves that settle in his stomach. This is Rayna, he reminds himself. He trusts her implicitly, loves her even more than that, "It's just been a rough couple of days – everyone looking for me to give them answers, make decisions. So many decisions." He explains, "So damned exhausting," She raises her brows at him, patiently waiting for him to continue, "So… I was wondering… if you could, if you would… take control." He clears his throat again, "Tonight."
Rayna stares at him, her brow furrowed in thought, "What are you asking me, Deacon?" she queries, her voice quiet, pensive.
Deacon watches her, trying to suss out how she feels about it, certain she's gotten the picture, but she's giving nothing away.
"I want you to… control me." He says, and just verbalizing it sends a rush of adrenaline through his body.
Her eyes darken a bit, but otherwise she doesn't react, "What do you want, Deacon?"
She's going to make him say it. The thought sends a little thrill through him. They'd dabbled in power play here and there, mostly with him in control, but it had been awhile; watching her doing something as inane as make tea tonight, though, had suddenly given way to a very serious and intense desire for her to control him.
He looks at her, at her still body standing in front of him, and he knows she'll give it to him, what he wants, if he asks.
He scrubs his hand down his face, "I don't want to think tonight, Rayna. I want to turn my mind off and just feel. I want you to tell me what to do," he trails off, looking at her face – not enough, he can tell, but almost, "I want you to make me beg," an involuntary shiver shoots through him, and when he speaks next his voice is so gravelly with desire he nearly doesn't recognize it, "I want you to use me for your pleasure, Rayna. However you want."
A slow smirk curls her lips, and Deacon can read the desire that blooms across her face, "I thought you'd never ask, Deacon," Her voice sounds thick and honeyed, and he nearly groans at the sound of it; she bites her lip, "You're sure?"
Deacon nods. If he hadn't been, he damn sure would be now, "So damn sure."
Rayna chews on her lip, "Safe word?"
Deacon smirks, "Bowling?"
She rolls her eyes, "You're ridiculous," she chews on her lip again, and Deacon wants to take it between his own teeth, "Anything you don't want to do?"
Deacon swallows thickly – he hadn't really thought about it, in all his fantasies of Rayna taking control, he hadn't thought of anything that would be off limits. "No," he shakes his head, "I trust you."
She smiles at that, and he can see the happiness in her eyes, "And you've got a safe word." She reaches behind her and unties her apron, pulling it over her head and placing it on a hook next to the refrigerator.
Deacon chuckles, "And I've got a safe word."
His eyes take in the expanse of her chest, the enticing cleavage displayed by the low-cut dress she's wearing. She has fantastic breasts, and even just the sight of them causes arousal to thrum through his blood.
Rayna, noticing his gaze, steps forward and presses a chaste kiss to his lips, "Before tea, or after tea?" She asks, amusement in her voice.
"Screw the damn tea," Deacon says, his arms snaking out to wrap around her waist, aiming to pull her close to him.
Her hands grasp his forearms, her small hands wrapping tightly around him as she pulls his hands from her waist. He looks at her for a moment, confused, before he sees a flash of desire cloud her face.
"Don't touch me again without permission, Deacon." she orders, sternly.
He'd never been a man who particularly cared for his name, but the way she said it just now like it's a dirty secret only the two of them share, makes him want to change his mind. For her.
"Understand?" She asks archly.
Deacon nods, his mouth too dry to speak.
"Use your words, Deacon."
He clears his throat, "Yes."
"Good," she praises, her eyes dark and wilder than he's ever seen them before – oh, Rayna likes this role. "Bedroom." she commands, "Now." When he hesitates, unsure if he should lead or follow, she tuts at him, "Now," she reiterates, "I won't ask a third time."
Deacon springs into action, scrambling off the barstool, unable to contain the grin that spreads across his face as he goes. He breezes past Rayna, walking through the living room and up the stairs, his pace slow and steady, the anticipation of whatever is to come shooting little jolts of electricity through his body. When he enters the bedroom, he stands by the corner of the bed, turning around to watch Rayna enter.
"I love watching your ass, love watching you walk," she steps into the room and closes the door behind her, even though they're alone in the house tonight. Her eyes skate over his body, stopping for a moment at the bulge in his pants, and she smirks, "I actually like watching you do a lot of things." She leans against the door, still watching him, "Strip." She commands, her voice carrying through the air and settling a deeper pang of arousal low in his stomach.
Deacon toes off his shoes, and then brings his hand up to his shirt, unbuttoning the collar and slowly working on the buttons one by one, his eyes never leaving Rayna's. When it's unbuttoned all the way, he shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He sees Rayna's eyes graze his chest, and he sees the hunger there. His hands move to his jeans, and he unbuttons them, unzips the fly, and pushes them over his hips, stepping out of them when they pool around his feet. He reaches down and peels his socks off one by one, then hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs, his erection tenting the front.
Rayna's eyes drop down, and she licks her lips – he bites his lip to keep a groan from escaping as he pushes his boxer briefs down over his hips, letting them fall to the ground and stepping out of them as his cock springs free.
He glances down at himself, he is so hard it hurts and they've only just begun. He's sure now he's never been so damn hard in his life. Rayna is watching him, still, her eyes on his erection, her eyes cloudy with lust.
"Touch yourself." she orders, "But don't come, Deacon."
Deacon does as she says, wraps his hand around the base of his cock, then slides his hand up, circling the tip just the way he likes before bringing his hand back down to his base. He repeats the action, his eyes locked on hers, but this time he eases off the pressure just a bit, has to if he's to obey her orders – and he has every intention of obeying her orders.
"Good." She praises, and Deacon feels his cock twitch in his own hand. "What do you think about when you do that?"
"You." He confesses, his eyes sliding closed, "Always you."
"Eyes open, Deacon." His eyes fly open, "Eyes on me when you tell me what you jack off to."
He groans, his right hand speeding up without his own permission. He bites his lip and slows his pace again, "You."
"Be specific." Rayna instructs, and god her voice could make him come all over his hand right this second if he's not careful.
Rayna likes when he talks, he knows, likes to hear him say dirty things to her, and he loves that this little trait of hers – kink as it were – apparently carries over into their little role-play tonight.
"Licking you," Deacon answers, honestly. It's his favorite fantasy about Rayna, his go-to. He loves her down on her knees in front of him, riding him, on all fours in front of him, but licking her has always been his favorite thing. He loves feeling her under his tongue, and on nights when he's alone, it doesn't take long for him to come in his own hand imagining his face between her thighs.
"Is that what you want tonight, Deacon?" She asks, pushing herself up from the door, "Do you want me to tie you to that big bed of ours and sit on your face?" She's in front of him now, and he's holding his breath, his hand stilled on his cock; she drops her gaze to his hand, "Did I say you could stop?" His hand moves again slowly over himself, "Is that what you want? Me to ride your face until I come? Hmm? Do you want me to make you use your tongue on me, grind myself against that face of yours?" She tilts her head to the side, considering him, "Do you want me to fuck your face?"
"Ohsweetchristyes," Deacon exhales, the images she's calling to mind playing rapid-fire in his mind's eye. He loves when she talks to him, too, how could he not when her voice sounds the way that it does?
"You'll have to earn it, and then ask." Rayna whispers, "You know how to ask, don't you, Deacon?" Deacon nods, "Good," She smirks at him, "Undress me."
Deacon stops touching himself, bringing his hand up to the side zip of her dress, easing it down. He pushes the dress from her shoulders and it pools at her already bare feet. She steps out of the pool of fabric and Deacon stares at her for a moment, taking in her mauvey-pink lace bra and matching panties. He reaches out and unsnaps her bra, his eyes locked on her breasts as she shrugs it down her arms and drops it on the floor. His thumbs hook into her panties and he pushes those over her hips and down her thighs, the back of his fingers skirting along her soft skin. She steps out of her panties and away from him, and his fingers nearly burn from where he touched her.
His eyes roam her body, her golden skin glowing in the dim light of their bedroom. God, he loves looking at her – and he loves how much she let him look. The first time they'd made love after over a decade apart, he'd expected to have to convince her to leave the light on, to convince her that he wanted to see every inch of her, but she didn't even try to turn it off. She lay on the bed, naked, watching as his eyes devoured every part of her body, lingering on his very favorite parts. She'd told him days later that the look in his eyes, dark and lustful, had made her feel so beautiful and wanted, so safe and loved, and she hadn't felt all of those things together in nearly a decade.
It's how he's looking at her now, he knows, and he can see the flash of recognition in her eyes.
"Touch yourself," she whispers again, less commanding, more reverent, but still hot as hell.
He obeys, his hand reaching down to stroke his length as he looks at her, his eyes raking over every inch of her body. Her nipples pucker in the cool air of their bedroom, and he longs to feel one between his lips, to coat one with his tongue, to tug one with his teeth.
As though she can read his thoughts, she breathes out, "Go on."
Deacon leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it before he tugs on it gently with his teeth. The noise she makes in the back of her throat as he bites down makes his cock twitch, and he groans around her nipple as his hand circles his tip, spreading his precum over his head with his thumb. It feels too good, it all feels too good and he picks up his pace, stroking himself a bit more rapidly and moaning around her breast in his mouth before Rayna's hand darts out, catching him by his wrist.
"What did I say, Deacon?" She admonishes, "Do you want to know what happens to naughty boys who break the rules?" She asks.
You know, he kind of does. But there will be time for all of that – right now, he doesn't want this to be over quite so soon. He wants her to make good on her promise, wants her to make him beg.
As if reading his thoughts again, Rayna tugs on his wrist, his hand falling from his cock, "You've got plenty of time to find that out, don't you?" She asks, bringing his hand to her mouth. She brings his thumb to her lips and slips her tongue out, tracing it over his flesh before she draws his thumb in, sucking lightly as she moans. She releases his thumb with a pop, then licks her lips, "I love the way you taste," she whispers, her voice quiet and serious. "On the bed."
Deacon feels the adrenaline rushing through him again as he follows her orders, laying on the bed and watching the curve of her ass as she walks to their closet, emerging with two long strips of fabric.
"Arms out," she says, and he obeys, spreading his arms out and up toward the corners of the headboard. Rayna loops one of the fabric pieces around his right wrist, then ties the other end of the fabric securely to the headboard before she moves to secure his other hand. When she's satisfied, she looks at him, "Okay?" She asks, her tone gentle.
Deacon smiles, and nods, "Very okay."
She nods once, then kneels on the edge of the bed, her fingers creeping down her body until he watches them slide between her legs, her head falling back as her fingers slide through her own wetness. "Oh, I'm so wet, Deacon – watching you touch yourself made me so wet. It always does." She looks at his erection, straining toward the ceiling, "I could just slide right down over your cock right now, take you inside me so easily." Deacon watches as she dips a finger into herself, "But I don't think that's what you want right now, is it? What do you want, Deacon?" She echoes her earlier question, and Deacon groans, watching her fingers work against herself.
He can't find any damn words; she's left him speechless.
"Oh," she says, feigning disappointment, "If you can't ask for what you want like a good boy, maybe I should just go finish this in the other room? Or maybe I should finish here, then leave you just as you are until I've decided how I'd like to use you?"
"God, no," Deacon pleads, though the thought of Rayna leaving him tied up and wanting for however long she saw fit was unexpectedly arousing to him, that's not what he wants. Not tonight.
"Then ask for what you want, Deacon," her voice is stern, and her fingers slide in and out of herself. He watches them slip in and out, glistening in the light, mesmerized by the repeated action, and he groans.
"I want to taste you," his voice is gruff, his cock already aching for release.
Rayna smirks, drawing her fingers out of herself. She brings them to Deacon's face, and he can smell her, the scent so lovely and arousing, and he leans his head up to catch her fingers in his mouth.
"Ah, ah," she says, pulling her fingers away from his mouth so that they're just out of his reach, "What do you say, Deacon?"
"Please," he groans, his head falling back to the pillow, desperate.
"Please what?"
"Please let me taste you, Rayna, please." Deacon pleads, his voice harsh and breathy. He's begging, and he doesn't care. His cock is throbbing, and he doesn't care, he only cares that he tastes her now.
"That's a good boy," Rayna says, thrusting her three fingers forward and into his mouth.
His tongue sweeps over her fingers, and her flavor bursts across his tongue, tangy and tart, and he realizes that three months is too long to go without tasting her on his tongue; hell, a damn day is too long. He licks her fingers clean, his tongue cleaning every trace of her from her fingers as he licks eagerly, moaning as the taste of her begins to fade. She pulls her fingers from his mouth, smirking as he runs his tongue across his lips chasing her taste.
"So eager," she purrs, her hand finding its way back between her thighs, "I like that," she works her fingers inside herself again, and Deacon watches as her thumb teases her clit, a moan falling from her lips as she works her fingers in and out of herself. She brings herself to the edge of orgasm, but stops herself, dropping her gaze back down to him, looking at him innocently.
"Was there something else that you wanted?" She moves her fingers in and out of herself again, this time languidly before she withdraws her fingers and brings them up to her own lips, her eyes locked on Deacon's as she slides her fingers slowly into her mouth.
"Christ, Rayna," he pulls at his restraints, desperate to get his hands on her, wanting nothing more than to hold her down on the bed and shove his head between her thighs, but he can't move. He's at her mercy, and god if it's not right where he wants to be. "Let me… lick you," his eyes dart down between her legs, and he licks his lips, his mouth watering at the sight.
"Is that what you want, Deacon?" She asks, and his name feels somehow dangerous as it slides off her tongue. "How?" She blinks at him, "You're all tied up."
"Sit on my face, Rayna," he groans, "Please sit on my face."
"Oh, come on, Deacon," she chastises, "You can do better than that."
Her voice – her fucking voice kicks his desire into overdrive, and suddenly he doesn't damn well care, he will beg her a thousand times, a thousand different ways if she will just sit on his fucking face and use his tongue.
"Please sit on my face, Rayna," he begs, "Please sit on my face and use my tongue however you like – god, let me taste you, please – let me lick your cunt, Rayna." His cock is throbbing, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't even know what he's saying, anything to get her to agree.
"You're so pretty when you beg, Deacon," she observes, "Do you think you deserve it?" She asks, feigning disinterest, "Do you deserve my cunt on your face?"
Her words go straight to his cock, "Fucking hell, yes," he nods, "Give me your cunt, Rayna, fucking please."
She leans forward, her breasts brushing against his bare chest, her breath on his lips, "I think you're right, Deacon – you do deserve my cunt; such a good boy, begging me like that." She presses her lips to his and slides her tongue in his mouth, just for a moment, but it's enough – he can taste her on her own tongue and it sends a shiver through his body as he moans into her mouth before she pulls away.
"I wonder," she sits up, inching closer to his head on the bed, "Can you come from this, Deacon?" She asks, "Can you come just from licking me?" Deacon closes his eyes and groans; he feels like he could damn well come now, just from her talking about it, "I hope so," she says, throwing one knee over his chest so she's straddling him. She's so close to him, he can smell her – he could lift his head up and lick her, but he doesn't, too scared that if he does she'll not let him lick her at all, and he needs this, "Because it's the only chance you'll get." Her voice is stern and Deacon groans at her tone, "And if you can, don't you dare come until I do, Deacon." She looks down at him and Deacon nods his assent, "Good. Are you ready?" She asks, her voice gentle. "Ready for me to fuck your face?"
"God, yes."
She rises up on her knees, and then lowers herself over his face. The minute she's within reach, Deacon licks at her greedily, his tongue sweeping along her folds, licking her wetness. His tongue slips inside her and he hears her moan above him. He keeps his eyes trained on her face, watching her pleasure as it ripples across her face. She grinds herself against him, her hands reaching down into his hair, clutching at the strands almost painfully. It feels fucking amazing – everything about this feels fucking amazing, and he moans against her, his nose digging into her clit. He breathes her in, her scent enveloping him and he doesn't care if he never breathes again, because this is fucking enough.
"That's it," Rayna moans, as his tongue searches inside her, her flavor filling his mouth as she writhes against him.
She is taking what she needs from him, and as Deacon watches her face contort in pleasure, he's never seen anything so fucking sexy in his life. His Rayna, writhing above him after making him beg to lick her, after making him beg for her to fuck his face – he can feel his cock swell at the thought, and the realization that yes, he actually can come from this and will spurs him on. He moves his tongue with more fervor, burying his face in Rayna's cunt even as she grinds down on him.
His face is wet, her scent all he can smell, and when her fingers tighten in his hair and she grinds fervently down on his face, rocking over and over again as she rides his tongue, he knows she's painfully close to release.
He spurs her on, making sounds of approval and encouragement at the back of his throat, and when he sees her throw her head back and hears her moan long and hard, his name spilling from her lips as she holds his head in place and rocks greedily against his mouth, Deacon feels his own orgasm crest over him, feels warmth spread through his body and he cries out, the sound muffled by Rayna's cunt still pulsing around his tongue.
As he shivers, the last aftershocks of his rather powerful orgasm dissipating, he feels his cock softening, and he feels momentarily stunned. Rayna pulls slightly away from him, and he laps at her gently, his tongue reverent against her flesh. The air comes into his lungs unobstructed now, but he already misses the way she surrounded him just seconds before.
"Wow," he breathes out, awestruck.
Rayna looks suddenly bashful, her gaze flicking down to him as she leans back on shaky legs, "Good wow?"
Deacon chuckles, his tongue darting out to lick the traces of her from his lips, "See for yourself, baby," he lifts his head a bit, indicating his now soft cock.
Rayna moves herself from his chest, then looks down at Deacon's cock. His view now unobstructed, he follows her gaze, then looks at her, watching her take in the sight.
She bites her lip, "Wow," she leans down and kisses him; softly, gently, and Deacon smiles against her mouth, "Take it you liked that?"
Deacon chuckles again, "Obviously," Rayna reaches up and unties his wrists from the headboard one after the other, and then Deacon watches as she slowly crawls down the bed, "What are you doing?" He asks, as her head gets closer and closer to his cock.
She grins at him wickedly, "Cleaning you up," she states, matter-of-factly, before dipping her head and running her tongue along his length, cleaning up the mess from his orgasm. Her tongue is wet and warm, and Deacon sighs, his hands slipping into her curls as she laves him, making sure she doesn't leave a single trace of his come behind.
When she's done licking him clean, she crawls back up the bed, a dirty smirk on her face, and Deacon grins at her.
"Jesus Christ, Rayna, you're a fucking treasure."
Rayna laughs, burying her head in his chest, her hair tickling the bottom of his chin. She pulls his arm around her, and her fingers dance across his chest, her fingernails lightly scratching little patterns into his skin.
"I'm glad you think so, babe," she whispers, her breath hot on his skin.
"I know so, Rayna," he confirms, his fingers tugging lightly on a strand of her hair.
The silence stretches between them, and Deacon feels sated and happy, and she didn't even damn well touch him. She's black magic, this woman in his arms, everything he never believed in but hoped was real. She's a fucking revelation.
"Go on tour with me." The words slip out into the air, and he hadn't known he was going to say them, but they feel right between them, leave a sweet taste in his mouth, a flavor similar to the one she leaves behind on his tongue.
Rayna laughs, the sound bright and brilliant – how he loves that laugh, but he isn't joking, and she hasn't realized it yet.
She taps his chest with her index finger, "I thought I was the one giving the directives tonight." At his silence, she looks up at him, her eyes casting over his face; she arches a brow at him, "Deacon, you're – you're not serious?" Her tone is incredulous. "Babe, we've talked about this."
And she's right – he knows she's right. They have talked about this, at length. She doesn't want to overshadow any success he has – doesn't want him to feel like any less of the solo artist he rightfully is and deserves to be. They'd spent so many years touring and traveling together, and she doesn't want him to think he needs her, at least not in that way.
"I know," Deacon whispers, "But, Jesus, Rayna, I don't care that I can do it without you, – " he sighs, "It's that I don't want to. Haven't wanted to since the day I met you."
She sits up a bit at that, her eyes shining as she leans in and presses a kiss to his temple, "I'll go anywhere in the world with you, and you know that. But… I thought that we agreed you'd do this one alone," At his silence, she smiles, "I love you, Deacon."
"I love you, too. So damn much. So…"
Rayna sighs, "How much of this has to do with the fact that you just came and are in a post-orgasmic haze?"
"I just came without you even touching me, Rayna, and surprisingly it has, very, very little to do with it." Deacon sighs, "Look, I'll go regardless when I launch the album– I just – I want you. Lord knows I spent enough time without you. And I want you, baby, however I can get you." He smirks, "Especially if it's writhing on my face while you call out my name." He reaches out and taps her nose, "You're good at that, you know," he says, grinning, "Giving directives."
Rayna watches him quietly, her face unreadable, and she licks her lips. Deacon sees her breaths come quicker, and he looks at her curiously. He watches emotions play over her face, each one coming and going too quickly for him to name them.
Finally, she inhales sharply, and her tone is stern, just like it had been earlier, "Ask me again."
His mouth drops open in surprise, "What?"
Her voice softens, a slow smile spreading across her face, "Ask me again, babe."
Deacon feels his heart quicken in his chest, feels his entire body go cold then hot with adrenaline, "Go on tour with me?"
He braces himself for the inevitable no, but it doesn't come.
"Yes," Falls from her lips slow like molasses, "Yes, babe." Rayna leans down and kisses him, her palm cupping the side of his face.
Yes.
Deacon kisses Rayna back, his tongue slipping into her mouth and she sighs, melting into him.
This woman is black magic, he knows, a strange kind of voodoo and he'll gladly spend the rest of his life under her damn spells.