There is very little plot to this and a whole lot of cheekiness - blame Deyna, don't blame me. If you want to get into the moody mood of the story, I listened to Faster Gun by Little Big Town on repeat while writing this, it felt like it fit with the atmosphere…
Also, I'm so aware that I have a lot of half-finished stories! I'm getting to each of them, promise, I'm so sorry for how frustrating that is. The Deyna fanfic love is VERY much alive and well though - I have more ideas for new stories than possibly ever before, and I'm so glad people are still writing and reading!
Für immer und ewig. ;)
It's been raining for three days. Not the pretty, patterns-on-your-window kind of rain; it's hot and unrelenting and it turns to steam when it hits the ground and makes your hair stick to the back of your neck. Rivers of it run down the windscreen of Deacon's truck as he drives up the highway with Rayna, his wipers trying their best.
They've loaded the backseat with groceries and overnight bags, Deacon's with a spare pair of jeans and a couple of flannels, Rayna's overflowing with more clothes than she could possibly wear in the long weekend they've planned up at the cabin, but she never has listened to Deacon when it comes to packing light.
"How long you plannin' on stayin', Ray?" he'd asked as she'd dragged the bag out of their bedroom, and she'd muttered something about always being prepared. Her stress had vanished when he'd squeezed her ass and told her he very much planned on taking off everything she put on anyway, and she'd let him take the bag from her and haul it out of the house.
The trip is stolen time, a stealth move they've narrowly cleared with Bucky, who tried his best to get them to postpone. The spotlight on Rayna has intensified lately, her label hungry for a third album, and as wonderful as it is she's exhausted - they both are. They've been working solidly since the first two albums hit the number one spot, and the thought of some time to themselves and real sleep has Deacon's foot on the gas and his eye on the clock.
He's had more of a job convincing Rayna than he has Bucky - they've worked hard to get to where they are, and in an industry filled with far more men than women, Rayna has had to fight for every drop of success. Rarely does she take a moment to pause, and Deacon of all people knows how badly she needs one. He'd had to use all of his persuasion skills - which mostly don't involve clothes, when Rayna's the one he's persuading - but she'd relented, and quickly had become impatient for the weekend to roll around.
Campfires, they've been daydreaming about, campfires and walks in the forest, a little fishing maybe. Breakfast outside by the lake, slow days and slower nights. The rain clouds get darker the further they drive though and their plans evaporate with every mile. Deacon knows Rayna is secretly pleased about one thing the weather has called off - a fresh attempt at teaching her to canoe, but he's determined to bundle her up in a jacket and get her out on the water anyway.
"Babe," she says, and he looks at her across the front seat, the heat making her cheeks glow. She's so goddamn pretty he doesn't know how to breathe sometimes.
"Uh huh?" he mumbles, his distraction obvious, and she gifts him a brilliant smile and shakes her head.
"We forgot to bring milk," she says, distracted herself now with weaving her fingers through a hole in the knee of his jeans. Her touch is light and her fingertips burn his skin, and he has to grip the steering wheel to keep the truck steady. He has no idea how she makes him feel the way she does.
"We'll have to drink our coffee black," he replies, and takes her hand when she pulls it back. She hums happily, resting her head against the seat, not a care for the milk even though she hates her coffee black. Her hand is warm in his where it idles on his thigh.
The thunder starts as they turn off the highway. It's surprisingly ferocious, and by the time they make it down the winding road that leads to the cabin, Deacon's truck has had a free carwash and the sky is alive with purple forks of lightning. He parks up sloppily and tells Rayna he'll come back for their bags, and they jump out of the truck and grab each other's hand, racing onto the porch in a fit of wild laughter. The exhilaration of their temporary freedom feels like it washes over them with the rain, and they shake themselves off like puppies in the doorway and drip all the way over the threshold.
"Little wet there Ray?" Deacon says, taking her around the waist and pulling her in to kiss her like he's wanted to every minute of the drive up. Her dress is soaked all the way through and it clings to her, ever so slightly transparent.
She gives him a throaty laugh. "If only you knew."
Before he can react she turns and slips out of his grasp, and his groan bounces off the wooden walls. He wants her like all hell - he always wants her like all hell - and he watches her pull off her cowboy boots and toss them by the door. She peels her dress up and over her head and drops it next to the boots, and in only her bra and panties she looks at him, a smile on her lips, but she says nothing.
Deacon watches as she drifts around the cabin on tiptoes, trailing her fingers over the kitchen counter, the back of a chair, reacquainting herself with the place. They've been so busy they've only made it here for fleeting visits since he bought it, and it's still sparsely furnished, though they have a couch and a bed, and that's all they really need anyway. In the back of the truck under a sheet of tarpaulin, thankfully, are some bits and pieces they've picked up over the past few months: cooking utensils, a mirror, some curtains for the bedroom. Deacon's favourite thing is an old sign they found at a flea market, Eternity painted on wood, an impulse buy that just had to be theirs.
"It's so warm," Rayna sighs, padding back across the room towards him.
She's right - the storm is sweaty and thick, and the glass doors that line the front porch have steamed up. The cabin is old and they haven't gotten around to having a/c installed yet, and maybe it's the heat or maybe it's Rayna, but a bead of perspiration trickles down the back of Deacon's neck on cue. He's still standing just inside the door, immobilised by his fascination with her, and Rayna stalks towards him like he's her prey.
He looks down at her in her underwear, itching to take it off her, but something tells him this is a moment to keep his hands to himself - he wants to see what she will do. He knows this woman inside and out, but sometimes her mind is an unfathomable place and she never fails to surprise and delight him when she takes him along for the ride. Rayna is Deacon's favourite curiosity.
She has the dangerous look on her face that he knows well, and he lets her scrape her fingernails across his bicep, his arms hanging dumbly down by his sides.
"Are you gonna take these off? You're dripping on the floor," she purrs, and he swallows.
"I… I'm gonna go get our bags," he says, knowing that if she reaches for his belt he's never leaving the house. She's staring at it intently and he does a quick mental calculation - he can get their stuff from the truck and get back inside and have her on her back on the couch in under two minutes if he tears himself away from her now. "I'll be right back."
He backs up to the doors, unable to take his eyes off her, and shoots for the truck, the rain hitting him like someone's pouring a bucket from the sky. The drops are hot and he tries to shake them off his eyelashes so he can see but it's a futile venture. He grabs as much as he can from the backseat blindly and kicks the truck door shut.
"Babe," Rayna says when he appears back in view, and she ushers him in and takes a bag of groceries from his arms, "did you jump in the river?"
He deposits their overnight bags, one from each shoulder, and the rest of the groceries on the floor, and stands there, defeated, laughing through the water that trickles down his face. It's too much for Rayna and she crumples into laughter too, reaching up and pushing his hair out of his eyes.
"I don't think it'd be much different if I did," he says, grateful for the feel of her hands on him. She's looking at him with such love that he can't take it, and he grips her wrists. The look on her face changes instantly - it's dark, and she wets her lips with her tongue, unconsciously aware that he's going to kiss her.
He guides her hands down by her sides, eyes trailing openly over her body, and she lets out a little burst of breath. Her bra and panties are white, an illusion of innocence, and he smirks, something primal in him wanting to do dirty things to her. He holds her arms by her sides and takes a dominant step closer, towering over her. She leans her head back to look up, exposing the creamy skin of her neck to him, and he clenches his jaw.
Who is the prey now?
"Play dangerous games, win dangerous prizes, Ray," he breathes, and Rayna shivers from head to toe.
"Take your clothes off," she tells him, and he lets go of her arms. Without moving back from her, he lifts his t-shirt and yanks it over his head; it lands in a soggy heap with her dress. His jeans and boots follow, the clatter of his belt on the floorboards echoing around the cabin.
He wants her underwear gone, and without warning unclasps her bra and drags it down her arms, filling his eyes with her breasts, nipples puckered and begging for him to take a taste. He dips his hand into her panties and swipes his fingers over her hot entrance, slick moisture coating them and making his dick ache, and he grips the sides of the material tightly. Rayna gasps as he scrapes his calloused fingers over the soft skin of her hips and pushes the panties down to her thighs; she shakes her ass to get them the rest of the way. When they hit the floor she kicks them away and he traps her between his body and the sweating glass.
She looks down at his boxers: his erection is trying to split the material. He knows she won't leave him in such a state for long, but she doesn't hurry when she rolls the waistband down and over his ass, watching his face closely. She drops to her knees to pull the boxers off him, and eye-level with his penis, she tilts her head back and gives him a look that is anything but innocent.
"Baby," he growls, and she makes a noise that sounds like sex. She opens her pretty lips and slides them over his penis, taking him into her warm mouth. Deacon hisses and presses his hands on the glass, and she starts to suck him eagerly, swirling her tongue around his tip. She's a master at blowing him, and he has to stop himself coming down her throat in seconds, the feeling of her velvet tongue exquisite beyond belief.
"Mmm," she mumbles around him and he feels her throat vibrate, to his delight. She's always vocal when she's sucking his dick, enjoying it like it's the best meal she's ever eaten, and he loses count of his blessings every single time.
He twines a hand into her hair and holds her steady, and she grips his thighs while he pumps into her for a moment, squeezing her legs together. He knows she's so wet he could slip right inside her, and he wants to tease her as much as he can get away with: he pulls out up to his tip and lets it sit on the edge of her tongue. She looks up at him, and with as much of a grin as she can give him with her mouth wide open, she wraps her hand around his base and slides her lips back down his shaft, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Oh baby, you're so fuckin' good at that," he tells her, hoping someone happens to pass by on a boat so they can witness how magnificent she is, her ass against the glass, head moving back and forth. "Do you like my dick in your mouth Ray?"
He's made her come before by talking dirty to her while she's giving him head, without touching her at all, and from the way she tries to gasp around him he knows she could go off any second.
She moans loudly, the sound muffled with her mouth so stuffed, and sucks him harder, dropping her free hand between her legs. Deacon swears with fervor, and he can't see her fingers but he listens to the sounds the moisture from her mouth and her entrance make together, surely the sweetest of duets he's heard. Knowing she's touching herself while she blows him has him seeing stars, and he feels the head of his penis bump the back of her throat and slaps the glass hard.
She drags her mouth all the way off him and licks his tip, gripping him firmly with her hand. He pants so hard as he watches her that he gets lightheaded, and locks eyes with her as she starts to smooth the flat of her tongue over his shaft in all the right places.
"Oh Deacon," she groans, and moves her head back enough to give him an unobstructed view of her fingers sliding in and out of her opening. She grants him only a few seconds before her mouth is back on him and she's working him again.
He can't take even another minute and he drags himself slowly out, letting her savour him, but it's never enough for Rayna. She whines softly and tries to catch her breath, and he takes her hands and pulls her to her feet, his dick wet with her saliva. He presses her into the glass door and kisses her hard, tasting himself on her tongue, grabbing her ass and rubbing himself against her. She pulls his hair and bites his lip hard, so feverishly worked up he knows she'll come fast and hard.
"Fuck me," she commands of him, and he lifts her by her ass and gives her a second to wrap her legs around him. Her breasts are close to his face and Deacon is a simple man, he never passes up an opportunity to make the most of them. She arches her back and gives him the best access she can and he sucks hard on her nipples, one arm under her ass and his free hand cupping her breasts in turn.
"Are you ready for me Ray?" he asks, knowing the answer, but he loves how she grinds her centre against him. She's wide open for him, already swollen and so inviting he can barely hold himself back long enough to stroke his penis through her folds. She coats him with her wetness and he curses softly, and pushes himself solidly into her.
"Ohyeah," she moans, breathing heavily, and he starts to fuck her with deep, powerful thrusts into her depths. She's silky and hot, so tight he can barely take it.
Just as he predicted she comes in moments, crying out his name and clutching him, sweat rolling between her breasts, and he kisses her, slowing while she rides it out. She keeps her mouth pressed to his and tightens her legs around him, wanting more, and of all the ways he fears disappointing her in life, satisfying her isn't one.
He holds her ass and starts to pump his hips, but he can't get enough friction and he needs more of her; he shifts her and carries her to the couch, his strong arms under her as she breathes heavily and nibbles on his ear.
He lays her down on the couch and kisses her, and she bites his lip hard. He's overcome with the thought that he gets to be alone with her now for the next few days, and he brushes his stubble against her neck, pressing kisses below her ear, consumed by her completely. He slips back inside her and starts to move, but after a few moments Rayna arches her back and shakes her head, and he feels her body tense.
"What's the matter baby?" he asks, stopping immediately.
"I can't," she says, frustrated at her difficulty getting words out. "I can't breathe, Deacon."
He sits up quickly, giving her some room, concern gripping him. "I'm so sorry, baby," he says, but again Rayna shakes her head and pushes herself up.
"No, it's not you, babe." She gestures around at nothing. "I need…"
He understands, then - she can't breathe metaphorically, not because of him. She can't breathe because everything is just too much.
"It's okay, Ray. We're here, nobody else - just you and me."
She nods, reassured that she doesn't need to explain - he knows. Even if she can't express whatever it is she's feeling, he knows. Her eyes flash and she twists from him.
"I need you," she tries, "I need you to…"
He understands this too. "On your knees, Ray," he tells her, and Rayna licks her lips, turning away from him with a devil of a smile. She spreads herself out for him on all fours, looking back at him. Whatever it is that's gotten into her, it's hot.
Deacon makes a low, dark sound and eases between her legs. Her entrance is exposed for him, her ass pushed up towards him - right where he wants her, He takes hold of her hips and runs his hands over her, but Rayna isn't in the mood to wait. She bucks back at him, and reaches between her legs to grab him.
He closes his fist over her hand and together they push his length inside her. Rayna hisses and lets go of him - she needs both hands to grip the couch cushions. He starts to thrust, murmuring nonsensical words at the sensation of her, and Rayna urges him on. He speeds up, slamming into her, the slap of their bodies wet and visceral.
"Deacon," she gasps, and he pulls her up, his hands covering her breasts and holding onto them for grip as he pulses his penis inside her hot opening. He moves a hand down to her clit and rubs it in tempo, and she mewls in primal, searing pleasure.
They both need more though, and they claw their way forward on the couch so that Deacon has more room behind her. He drives into her, and she drops her head and pushes her face into the cushions, the muffle of her moans so sexy he can feel himself about to lose it. He presses into her deeper and hits her favourite spot relentlessly until she comes so hard her whole body spasms, and he's right behind her.
He's careful when they collapse in a heap to give her space and love in equal parts, and he holds her hand to his chest as he lies beside her and tries to catch his breath.
/
They eat dinner on the floor, cross-legged with cans of cold spaghetti, too ravenous to bother cooking it.
Darkness is on its way and the murk of twilight descends over the river bank, snaking through the trees and licking at the doors of the cabin, And still the rain pours, rendering the glass near-opaque with humid mist as it bounces off the porch.
When they'd managed to let go of each other, Rayna hadn't put her own underwear back on, picking up Deacon's discarded boxers instead. He can't stop looking at her in them, the way they sit loosely on her hips. She's topless, and her breasts sway gently as she shifts to get comfortable, her skin flushed in the heat. In these moments when he's satiated, however briefly, he likes to admire her body almost objectively, like a work of art in a gallery he can look at in awe without touching. She's incredible.
They drink soda water from coffee mugs and digest the notion that they're free, for the moment at least. There's something about Rayna though that Deacon recognises, although he can't put his finger on it - she's restless, a bouncing knee here, a flick of her hair there. It's subtle and it's less about her body language than it is something less tangible, less visible to the eye. He knows the speed of Rayna's every breath, every shift of her eyes, how she feels on the inside, somehow, just by being around her; he doesn't even need to look at her.
She drops her fork into the now-empty can of spaghetti and leans back, propping her hands on the floor behind her, and fixes Deacon with a look.
"What is it, baby?"
She chews something over, leaving her eyes on him, He waits, his knee solid against hers. The contact comforts him.
"Do you think they'll ever not be watching us?"
Deacon glances out of the windows behind her. With the porch now in complete darkness, he sees only his own reflection. "Who?" he asks softly.
"Everyone," Rayna replies. Her eyes are a little wild. "The label, the paparazzi, people who know who we are. Bucky, even. There are always eyes, every step we take."
He lets out a long breath, considering. It makes him uncomfortable, the scrutiny. She deals with it much better than he does, but it's starting to get to her and he's glad she's voicing it. He's sensed it in her, but as good as Rayna is with words, she hasn't found the ones for this. It's hard to say if there are words for this; their situation sure is a unique one.
"Are you feelin' like it's a little too much lately, Ray?"
She sighs and rolls her neck, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't know. I mean, I asked for this - this is exactly what we've been workin' so hard for, it's what I've wanted since I was old enough to remember. I want all of it, and it's so wonderful Deacon, it's exactly like I always dreamed it would be, I just…" She throws her hands up, and looks at him like she can't quite decipher it herself.
He nods, giving her space to feel it out. The drumming of the rain outside is hypnotic, and it's heavy, but it catches him off guard all the same when the thunder rolls. It's close, and it's quickly followed by a bright flash that momentarily spotlights the land outside the cabin. Rayna shivers.
"Gettin' pretty bad out there," Deacon muses, and she trails a finger along his forearm. His elbows are resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, and her touch sends electricity shooting up his arm.
"I like it."
"Oh you do, huh?" She's so damn gorgeous in her post-sex haze that it takes his breath away. Having her all to himself for the next few days is such a treat: Rayna, all his - not Rayna Jaymes, adored by everyone and in demand at all moments of the day. His Rayna. Adored by him.
He leans in to kiss her, and she cups his face with a warm hand and relaxes into his lips.
"C'mere," he says after a moment, and scoops her into his lap.
She loops her arms around his neck and kisses him lazily, and he wraps his arms around her slender waist. They take their time, nowhere they need to be, no one to walk in on them; as the thunder rumbles above and around them, they kiss and kiss, consumed with each other.
/
It's 3am when Deacon opens his eyes. His feet are tangled in sheets that he's kicked to the bottom of the bed and the pillow under his head is too stuffy; he tosses it aside, sweat coating the back of his neck, and rolls onto his side to envelop himself in Rayna.
But Rayna isn't there.
His hand finds empty mattress and he sits up. Outside the wind is ferocious, the rain still lashing at the side of the cabin, and the temperature seems to have skyrocketed. They really should get a/c installed, but it's a little late for that now.
"Baby?" he rasps, his voice thick with sleep. He rubs at his face, trying to focus in the dark. No answer comes. He frees his feet from the covers and gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers from a half-open drawer.
She isn't in the bathroom, and he calls her name again but only silence answers, so he shuffles out into the living room. It's still, and quiet. He feels a flicker of unease.
"Ray?"
That's when he spots the door. It's cracked ajar ever so slightly, as though someone has opened it and hasn't slid it back all the way. He eases out onto the porch; the humidity that hits him is stifling, and the air smells of earthy, wet heat.
Sudden lightning makes him jump, and it turns the dark to almost daylight for a few seconds. It illuminates the riverbank and the choppy water beyond.
And Rayna.
She's standing on the grass, completely still, looking out at the river.
He calls her name but she doesn't move. Worried, he strides across the grass towards her, and when he's a few feet away he realises she's completely naked. Her skin glows in the little visibility there is from a moon almost hidden by thunder clouds.
He starts to run, but when he reaches her she still doesn't turn around. He's soaked to the bone with hot rain and she is too; her hair is plastered to her back, water rolling down her body.
"Baby? Are you okay?" He's crazed with concern for her, but she's calm when she turns to him.
"I couldn't sleep." She doesn't seem at all fazed, as though it's entirely normal to be outside in a storm without a stitch of clothing.
"You should've woken me up," Deacon tells her, reaching for her hand. She lets him take it, but she stays rooted to the spot. Her feet are covered in mud.
Thunder bursts like a firework and startles Deacon, but Rayna doesn't flinch. Wind whips her hair around, and she starts to laugh. Not a gentle laugh; it peels from her, and she doesn't stop. It's carried up and into the storm, as though she's part of it. As though it's feeding off her.
"What are we doin', Deacon?"
He'll be damned if he knows. He holds tighter to her hand. "I ain't got a clue, baby. We should get inside, this is pretty dangerous."
A fork of lightning hits somewhere on the opposite bank as though to punctuate his point, far too close for comfort, but Rayna pulls her hand away and lifts her arms into the air.
"I don't wanna go inside."
He can do nothing but watch as she tips her head towards the falling drops and closes her eyes as they pelt her face. And then she spins to face him and grabs at his boxers.
"Ray, what are you doin'?"
"Take these off," she says, and as though he would do anything but oblige her anyway, he's too slow to react, too stunned at whatever is going on with her, and she has them over his ass and around his ankles while he's still trying to process what she's said.
"What…" he starts to say, but she pulls on his hand and he steps out of them, leaving them on the ground. He wonders if she came outside naked, or if somewhere there's a pair of her panties lost to the mud.
"It's better this way." She smiles at him. "Don't you feel free like this, Deacon?"
He has to admit, it is freeing. After a few moments of getting used to the rain lashing against his whole body, something in him starts to unravel, and he laughs too. Rayna joins in, and together they laugh so hard they lose their breath, heads thrown back, arms wide. It feels like being washed clean of the stress, the responsibilities, the scrutiny of their lives.
If anyone could see them, naked and hysterical, they'd think they were crazy. Maybe they'd be right.
"I love you," Rayna yells through the roar of the storm, and she steps in front of him and presses her body against him.
"God I love you too, Ray," he says, intoxicated with her, this astounding woman. She never ceases to surprise the hell out of him; life with Rayna is as exciting as it is grounding.
He takes her in his arms and she kisses him, and his whole body vibrates with the thrill of holding her bare and brazen in the wide open. Her breasts are pushed tightly against his chest and he slides a hand down to her ass, the other into her soaked hair to cup the back of her head and hold her against his lips. He can't get enough of her - he wants to devour every addictive inch of her, and he strains against her, deliriously hard.
The storm rages around them and it only spurs their urgency; Rayna grabs fistfuls of his hair, trying to get closer to him, huffing in frustration at the impossibility of it. Their bodies can't get any closer on the outside - Deacon needs to get inside her, right where she needs him too.
"Out here?" he gasps, and Rayna claws at him and tries to pull him to the ground.
"Right here," she tells him, and he hoists her up; she automatically wraps her legs around him, and he lays her down right there in the mud.
He hovers above her, trying to shield some of the rain from her, but Rayna doesn't give a damn about the rain; she drags his head down to kiss him and pulls her legs up on either side of him, and he knows her body so well that he can be sure of two things: she's soaked and more than ready for him, and she wants him now.
He drives his dick into her and she lets rip a moan that echoes through the night and grabs his ass, pushing herself against him to get him even deeper, as deep as he can go. She's slick and hot around him and as she sucks him in he throws a hand onto the grass to steady himself, digging his fingers into the dirt.
"Yeah," she urges, and he pumps furiously into her, opening her up again and again.
He takes her hands and lifts them above her head, linking their fingers and almost coming at the way she moans, how it turns into a pant as he speeds up. She's loud, not a care for who could hear, and who would out here anyway?
"Rayna," he grunts, sliding a hand over one of her breasts and covering it in mud. She digs her fingernails into his back, scratching him and sending jolts straight to his dick.
He's so hard he can barely breathe, and Rayna's eyes roll back in her head, her mouth open. There's a burst of lightning and deafening thunder follows right behind it, and he fucks her harder, faster, making her cry out in desperate pleasure. When she comes it ripples through her whole body and she jerks against him, grabbing onto his back, his head, holding onto him while she falls apart. He shoots his load inside her, biting her neck and bringing his hands down her arms, still stretched above her head, over her collarbone, finding her breasts and squeezing them as he comes down.
The last bolt of lightning they see before they scramble up on shaky legs and run inside hits the bank just yards away, and they don't wait for another.
/
The shower cools their heated, dirt-caked skin, and washes the telltale evidence of their antics down the drain.
They stand under the spray for a long time, kissing and calming each other with their hands. Rayna's nipples pucker in the cool water and Deacon can't stop rolling his thumbs over the hardened peaks and murmuring into her mouth.
He takes her again, slowly this time, her hands on the glass wall as he holds her hips from behind and runs his hands over her soapy body. When they tumble back into bed they're spent, clean, cooled for now. They fall asleep to the static of the rain.
/
Morning breaks, and in its light steam rises from the ground, a hangover from last night's storm. There's a lull in the chaotic weather, but it feels more like a pause than an end, and birds sing harmonies in the trees outside, either in tentative celebration or in warning that more is to come.
Deacon lifts his head just enough to look out of the windows, expecting to see felled trees, broken branches at least, but all there is is green. The trees, the grass, it all looks lush and vibrant, licked in a strange overcast hue. There's a rumble far in the distance, and he relaxes his neck and shifts his focus to the sleeping form next to him.
After tossing and turning for most of the night Rayna is finally still, and she looks like she's dreaming, her eyebrows furrowed. Deacon is overcome with love for her; he quells the urge to kiss her frown, not wanting to wake her. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple and he swipes at it, suddenly parched.
He trails his eyes over Rayna's body: she's on her front, twisted a little so he can see the side of one perfect breast, and one of her knees is pulled up, her other leg stretched out, toes neatly pointed. Her supple, rounded ass is too much for him and he clenches his jaw, longing to run his hands over it. At some point in the night they've again kicked the covers away and they lay in a heap on the floor, and he's thankful for the unobstructed view of how beautiful Rayna is.
It's hard to drag himself away from her, but his thirst and his need to pee force him to. He creeps into the quiet kitchen; it's thick with sticky heat, and he gulps down a glass of cold water and sprinkles some on the back of his neck, and puts a pot of coffee on to brew.
"I hope that's strong," Rayna says, padding into the kitchen just as it starts to bubble. She's in one of his t-shirts, hair in every direction it pleases.
"You're pretty," he tells her, handing her a cup, and she gives him a smile that makes his chest ache. "It's very strong."
"Mmm." She rises on her tiptoes and kisses him, snaking an arm around his neck and lingering there. She tastes of toothpaste.
"What do you want to do today baby?" he asks when she pulls away and takes a sip. Her eyes close as she savours the coffee, the caffeine hitting her veins.
"You," she says, her eyes glinting. Deacon sniggers.
"I was hoping that'd be your answer." He gestures outside. "Looks like it's about to come down again, so our options are kinda… limited."
"This damn storm just doesn't wanna quit, does it?" She leans back against the counter, cradling her cup. "We could watch a movie? We have that old projector up here, right?"
"Uh huh. If I remember correctly, we got a couple of chick flicks and Arnold Schwarzenegger's entire back catalogue, for some reason."
Rayna screws up her nose. "It's a chick flick or I'm gonna get you all muddy again."
He moves closer to her and flirts with the hem of her t-shirt. "I sure as hell didn't mind that last night…"
When she smiles it's smug, and it turns him on. "Oh I know you didn't."
"I got mud in places I ain't never got mud before." His hand inches up under the material and brushes her thigh.
Before he can get any higher she slips out of his reach, and sashays back to the bedroom with her coffee and a look over her shoulder that makes him weak in the knees.
He cooks her eggs just how she likes them, scrambled and peppered and spread over hot buttered toast, and they listen to an old Merle Haggard vinyl as they eat. The sky turns a heavy grey, and it looks more like twilight than 11am; it makes them sleepy, and Deacon digs out the projector. They sprawl on the couch, the opening credits of Kindergarten Cop rolling as Rayna tries in vain to get comfortable.
"We gotta get a/c installed in here," she says, and fans herself with her hand, to no avail.
"We're shit outta luck on that right now baby. Nobody would be able to make it up here in this weather." He reaches for a newspaper from the coffee table. "I'll be your a/c."
He starts to wave it up and down in her direction and she laughs, but closes her eyes as the stagnant air starts to flow and gives her some relief, however minimal. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is sticking to her neck, and Deacon thinks she looks like something he could eat.
"That better?"
"Mmm," she hums, "a little." His arm aches but he carries on, and she thanks him with a kiss, warm lips on his cheek that drift languidly to his mouth.
They start to write a song on the rug in front of the couch as the afternoon rolls on, and manage a chorus and a first verse before Rayna tosses her notebook down and gets to her feet.
"I don't think it's workin'." They haven't bothered to get dressed, and she's still in Deacon's t-shirt; he can't help admiring her as she paces back and forth, hands on hips.
"It sounds pretty good to me," he says, but she's irritable, and he waits for her to elaborate.
Rayna sighs and strides to the glass doors, and for a moment she pauses, looking out. Deacon watches her; she taps her foot, and he's reminded of a caged bird. He knows where all of this is coming from, the curious mood that's settled over her while they've been up here; he knows her.
She's grown up with the eyes of Lamar and his henchmen on her every move, expectations and judgements put on her, impossibly high standards she never wanted to meet anyway. This life, now, the one they're living together, is what she loves. Deacon knows that without a shred of doubt. But the pressure on her, the tabs kept on her every moment of the day… It's pushed a button somewhere in her. He knows she'll get a handle on it, she'll master it like she does with everything, but this weekend, in this cabin, he needs to let her work through it. It strikes him that she can let this out with him because she trusts him implicitly; she feels safe with him.
It's torrential outside and she whirls around, coming back to him but flitting away again before he can get her to sit down and focus. As she meanders around the room aimlessly, he picks up his guitar and starts to play. The opening notes of the verse-and-a-chorus song catch her attention, and she stops to listen.
"It needs a bridge," she says, and sits down beside him.
They don't make it to a bridge, though. They get half of a second verse down on paper and Rayna pulls away again to seek relief in the chill from the open refrigerator door on her bare ass cheeks.
She's staring out of the glass again when Deacon sets aside his guitar and joins her. The rain has eased slightly and there's a break in the intensity of the wind; he watches the movement of the river, trying to judge how strong the current is.
"Come on," he says, holding out his hand. Rayna looks at him.
"Where are we goin'?"
"To put on some swim gear. I'm gonna take you canoein'."
/
"That's it, baby. You gotta heave it."
The water is alive with ripples from the rain and the disordered whipping of the wind. Up on the banks small streams trickle downhill, making them slippery as hell. They'd had a job to get down to the small jetty near the cabin without landing on their asses, Deacon trying to help Rayna while his own feet had threatened to slip right out from under him. The canoe had thankfully been upturned, right where Deacon had left it the last time they'd made a brief trip.
"It's so hard," Rayna hisses, and a flash of her saying the same thing to him last night makes Deacon 's grip on his oar falter momentarily.
"You're doin' just great," he says, and she looks at him like he's full of shit. He is, truth be told, but she's putting a relative amount of oomph into it and he wants to encourage her.
"This is like you tryin' to teach me to play guitar all over again." A trickle of water drips from her hair and rolls down one bikini-clad breast. "You gave up on that."
"You told me you'd shove my favourite Gibson up my ass if I kept tryin'."
Rayna sniggers, pleased with herself. She's perched opposite him, her skin coated with sweat and her face bare of make-up. He'd let her do whatever the hell she wanted to his favourite Gibson, and to him.
"Get that oar oarin'," he tells her, nodding to the piece of wood she's letting idle in the water. She gives him a facetious little salute and pushes on it half-heartedly.
"Yes captain," she purrs, and Deacon's dick thinks she's talking directly to it. She is, if the way she drags her eyes over his shorts is anything to go by. He shifts on the wooden bench that's carving grooves into his ass.
"That's it. Now move it at the same time as I do, okay? One, two, three…"
"My arm's tired."
Deacon laughs. "We've gone not twenty metres down this river."
"That's twenty metres I could've been doin' other things with this arm. I can think of better ways to tire it out."
She looks down at his crotch again and through the playfulness on her face, there it is again - the hint of danger rolling off her. She raises her eyes to his face and smiles at him like a cat. He swallows, his mouth dry.
"You're tryin' to distract me," he says, kicking himself for sounding like it's working. He clears his throat.
"Now why would I wanna do that?" She bats her eyelids. Thunder grumbles a few miles away and she rolls her shoulders, not taking her eyes from him.
No thanks to Rayna's rowing efforts, the cabin is no longer in view, and they drift - slowly - past others sparsely dotted on one side of the bank. Some are large and neat, with wide porches and upper storeys, others are older, rough dark logs piled into modest frames. Deacon is determined to teach Rayna the canoeing basics, no matter how distracting she is, and as they bob past a jetty with two rowboats thrashing against their ropes on the choppy water, he tears his gaze from the scraps of red fabric concealing the most intimate parts of her body and covers her hand on the oar.
"Like this," he says, moving it back and forth.
Rayna looks evenly at him, not helping his focus at all. He's sitting with his feet splayed wide for balance and she stretches her legs out between them. Her feet are bare, like his, and she rubs a foot up the inside of his leg. His shorts feel suddenly flimsy, like they might nosedive into the water at any moment and leave him defenseless against her scheming toes.
"Like this?" she breathes, and drags her foot up his calf in time to their rowing. He feels an erection growing and tries to will it down.
"You're gonna take both oars now," he says through gritted teeth.
She pouts, her pretty lips trying to persuade him otherwise. Those lips could persuade him the earth is a triangle if she pouts hard enough.
"If we drown, I'm pinnin' this on you."
He grins. "That's what they'll write in the tabloids anyway. Dumb guitar player sinks boat with Rayna Jaymes in it." He nudges her knee with his.
"Rayna Jaymes swims to shore and swears off canoeing forever." She moves her foot further up the inside of his leg.
"Rayna," he breathes, halfway between willing her to continue and warning her to stop. Either way, she doesn't. And then her toes brush his dick.
"What are you doin', Ray?" His voice is low; he knows full well what she's doing.
"I'm canoein'," she says, not missing a beat. She rubs over his tip in just the right way, and Deacon sucks in a breath. Even her feet are skillful.
"This ain't helpin' me teach you," he replies, but his own rowing is getting sloppier by the second.
She pulls her foot back and stands up, unconcerned about her lack of diligence. The boat rocks from side to side and Deacon tries to steady it, impressed with her footing. "Baby, what are you doin'?" he asks again.
She smiles at him and steps closer, standing between his legs. He forgets how to row altogether, her proximity chasing all other thoughts from his mind. Rain pounds down around them like the whole sky is a steam-filled shower, no nozzle to turn it off.
"I'm too hot," she says, and Deacon smirks.
"You're damn right there," he tells her, and if he thinks he's prepared for the many different moods of Rayna Jaymes, the things she might do, he's dead wrong
She reaches behind her neck and unties the strings of her bikini top, and as Deacon watches with a mouth so wide-open he could catch whole dragonflies, she lets the material fall away.
"Rayna," he hisses, "people in those houses… they'll see,"
"They'll see what?" She unties the back and pulls it off, and dangles in front of his face. "Are you gonna fuck me Deacon?"
His dick throbs wildly. "Is that what you want?" She says nothing. The bikini hits the floor of the canoe and he stares at it in shock. "You want me to fuck you, Ray? Right here in this boat?"
Again, she doesn't answer him. She works the knot on one side of her bikini bottoms, and when it comes loose, she moves to the other side. They fall off her and pool at his feet.
"Jesus fuck Rayna," he rasps, very nearly dropping the oars into the water. His breathing is rapid, and he can smell her. He's addicted to the smell of her; his mouth waters. He's never been on a better canoe ride in his life.
All notion of teaching her a damn thing vanishes from Deacon's mind, and he tries to strain his head to capture one of her nipples. She stays just out of reach of his mouth though, and threads a hand through his soaked hair. With just enough force to be sexy as hell, she pulls on a fistful and tips his head back.
She still doesn't say anything, and Deacon waits, wanting to guess what she's thinking, to work out what she's going to do. Her face is impenetrable though, and a thrill shoots through him.
There's more thunder, closer now, and a brilliant burst of sheet lightning electrifies the sky above them and the water below, but it doesn't deter Rayna in the slightest. Slowly, as steadily as she can, she sinks to her knees. Deacon's chest heaves as her fingers claw at the waistband of his shorts and lift it over his now-swollen erection.
He can't muster a single word as she takes him into her mouth, as much of him as she can fit in one smooth swallow. He feels his tip bump the back of her hot throat and moans from somewhere so deep in his body he thinks for a second he might fucking die, and on a hard suck, Rayna pulls her head back up.
She lets go of him and sits back on her haunches, and his penis bounces free, aching painfully for her to go back for more. Deacon, breathing so hard he feels dizzy, holds onto the oars for dear life and stares at her, and she makes a slow show of licking her lips.
"I like canoein'," she drawls, and he swears roughly and springs to life.
He turns the boat in a smooth U-turn to take it back up the river, not wasting a second. The faster he can get her to the cabin and horizontal, or whatever damn way she wants, the better. He's never rowed so hard in his life, and Rayna grabs the sides of the boat, so enticing he can barely fucking breathe.
The current is against them and it's hard going. He can't see exactly where they are, only the muted outlines of cabins on the gloomy banks. As they pass a cluster of thick trees, the storm doubles up, and there's a little fear around the edges of Deacon's urgency. Rayna is naked and wanton in front of him though, and he's too turned on to give it much thought.
"Here," she gasps, motioning to a narrow wooden jetty up ahead.
Rain is pounding them and she looks like some kind of siren as it rolls down her skin, her long hair dripping everywhere. The jetty isn't theirs - Deacon has no idea who it belongs to but he rows with all his might to reach it and hastily ties the canoe to one of its poles. He does a quick calculation, though he doesn't really fucking care, and determines that they're shielded from view of the house up on the bank, and that's good enough for him.
He helps Rayna out and they make it two steps before they collapse into a heap, and right there on some stranger's jetty he kisses her and pushes his fingers inside her while she clings to him. They kiss desperately, and she pulls his shorts off the rest of the way, kicking them somewhere he'll probably never find them again.
"Oh God," Rayna gasps, and he moves down her body quickly and buries his face between her quivering legs. She thrashes about on the slippery, wet wood and he feasts on her, doing his best to hold her hips still.
Rain batters his asscheeks as he laps at her clit, and he feels fucking alive, every nerve in his body standing to attention. She's about to explode on his face when a damn boat horn sounds on the river, and Deacon tears his mouth away and lifts his head to look. A motorboat is cruising along the water, and whether they've seen them or not he can't tell, but he doesn't get chance to question it for long.
"Let them see," Rayna pants, and her complete lack of regard turns him on even further. She pushes his head back down and he growls, obeying her happily and getting the hell back to it. For Deacon, there are few weaknesses bigger than Rayna telling him what she wants, and making sure he damn well gives it to her.
He doesn't register the boat passing them, and they'll never know if its occupants saw, but Rayna comes on Deacon's face while his hands grasp her breasts and he couldn't give a fuck about a single other thing.
/
Sunday morning is the heaviest rain yet.
The thunder and lightning is near-constant, and across the river a tree looks like it's almost split in half from a hit. It must have happened some time in the night, and Deacon is amazed it didn't wake them, but then, he figures, they'd tired themselves out so much that nothing could have woken them.
"I don't know that we're gonna be able to leave tomorrow," he posits, looking out of the tall windows in their bedroom. "It's not easin' up even a little bit."
Rayna sits up in bed and wraps her arms around her knees, still sleepy. "How long do you think it'll last?"
He looks out as far over the horizon as he can see. Not a single break in the thick clouds. "Not anytime soon."
"We should call Bucky. You know he'll send out a search party if we don't show up back tomorrow."
Deacon nods. As he crosses the room to go make the call from the phone in the living room, Rayna snags his hand.
"Hey," she says, "I'm real glad we're here, babe. Thank you."
He smiles. It travels through his whole body. "I think I'm the one who needs to thank you, Ray."
She kisses him before she lets him go.
The phone in the cabin has been used a total of three times since they bought it, two to call Bucky and one to tell Tandy she was going to have to fly solo at a Country Club dinner Rayna had been desperate to hide out from. She'd hidden, alright, off the grid in their little piece of quiet.
When Deacon picks it up this time and holds it to his ear, there's no dialtone.
"We got a little bit of a problem, Ray," he says, heading back into the bedroom and finding her rifling through a drawer, no doubt trying to pick out the coolest thing she can find to wear.
"Let me guess," she says, drawing her words out and twirling a pair of clean panties around her finger. "The storm got so bad we're gonna be floatin' down the river by lunchtime."
He leans in the doorframe and grins at her. "Not far off. Phone's dead. We can't call Bucky."
"Oh no," she coos, and drops the panties on a chair. She stalks towards Deacon. "You mean we're stuck up here, with no way of anyone disturbin' us?"
"Uh huh," he says, his throat thick. Rayna smiles. It's sexy as all hell.
"Whatever will we do with all this extra time?" she asks, and bunching up a fistful of his t-shirt, she pulls him back to bed.
/ /
It's midday when they drag themselves upright and into the kitchen, propelled by rumbling stomachs and aching limbs. Rayna cracks the eggs and Deacon throws slices of bread into the toaster, and they busy themselves while the bacon sizzles in a pan on the stove.
"What are we gonna do if we're stuck up here so long we run out of food?" Rayna asks, her mouth full of a banana she's snagged from a pile of fruit that's fast diminishing.
"We'll have to fish," Deacon quips, accepting the bite she offers him. "I'll show you how."
"Have you learned nothin' from gettin' me to canoe, Deacon Claybourne?"
He gives her a dirty chuckle. "I've learned that you're even more of an exhibitionist than I knew before this weekend."
She hops up onto the counter and picks up the bowl of eggs and a whisk. "I blame you entirely for that. You look so hot when you're pissed at me."
"I wasn't pissed at you," he says, putting down the loaf of bread.
"Not even a little bit?" she teases, and he shakes his head, and kisses her, the bowl trapped between them. "Damn, I gotta try harder."
"Oh that's what you were doin', huh? Bein' deliberately bad so I'd go easy on you?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
Deacon snorts. "No - I knew exactly what you were doin'. I let you get away with that. "
"Oh you let me." He nods, laughing. He loves playful Rayna. "See 'cause from where I was standin' - or kneelin' - there wasn't a whole lot of resistance bein' put up from you."
He takes the bowl from her and puts it down beside her, and she swings her legs. He eases them apart and stands between them, sliding his arms around her waist. "That's what happens when you're sucking my dick, Ray. You make me lose my damn mind."
"Oh yeah?" she breathes, and as though they haven't just spent the morning having intense, thorough sex, the heat skyrockets again between them. It mingles with the heat in the cabin and Deacon feels his neck prickle.
There's a pop and they both jump; the toast, as though to tell them to cool it, is done and issuing swirls of slightly-burnt smoke from the toaster. They dissolve into laughter at themselves for getting carried away, again, and Deacon hops over to snag the slices and the butter to slather on them while they're still hot.
"This coffee," Rayna says, pouring them two generous mugs, "is delicious, but I can't believe we forgot to get milk."
"Are you missin' your caffeinated milk, baby?"
She swipes at him. "I do not drink it like that."
It's been a running joke between them for years - she likes her coffee best when it's sweet and creamy and if she's really honest, with a little drizzle of sticky caramel stuff she hides in the back of the cupboard at home, but after years on the road with tar-drinking guys, she tries not to admit it. She'd gone through a phase on their first couple of tours of trying to throw it back untouched, but it hadn't grown on her, and Deacon likes to buy her sweet creamer she can pretend she doesn't use.
"Ernest's might be open for business. He doesn't usually let a little storm stop him keepin' that place runnin'."
Ernest's is a tiny grocery store with a few staples and, oddly, a selection of artisan chocolates, an hour or so's walk from the cabin through the forest on the opposite side of the river. It's the closest - and only - place around, and it's their best bet to get their hands on some milk.
"You think we'd be able to get there?" Rayna glances outside; the storm has eased a little, but for how long is anybody's guess.
"Worth a shot," Deacon says, but she looks unconvinced and her eyes shift nervously towards the river again. "I'll give it a try after we eat, you stay here and make sure we don't get flooded out in this." They won't, but they'd put old sweaters at the base of the doors the night before just in case. He mostly doesn't want to risk Rayna getting soaked on the journey, and it's a trek, no question about it.
"I don't want you goin' out there, babe, I don't need milk that badly."
He kisses her, and sets a pan out for their eggs. "I'll be just fine, Ray, and I can get us some other supplies just in case we're here for a while." He takes the bowl from her and gives her a conspiratorial look. "He might even have some of those pralines you like…"
The prospect of chocolates has her quiet for a while, but she tries to dissuade him again during their breakfast, and Deacon has to promise her he'll turn right around and come back if the thunder starts up again. When he sets out for the canoe to navigate to the other side of the river, she stands at the doors of the cabin watching him like a forlorn army wife in an old movie.
He makes it in an hour and a half. Ernest is a hardy old guy and thankfully has opened the store, and Deacon secures a pint of milk and peruses the shelves for what else he thinks they might need. He chats with Ernest while he throws his wares into the backpack he's brought, including a gift-wrapped box of pralines he knows will make Rayna smile, and sets off back just as the thunder starts up, like an engine coming to life in the distance. He doesn't take his time on the way back.
By the time he climbs up the bank in front of the cabin he's drenched to the bone, and the rain is blurring his vision. What usually feels like a nice walk in the forest has felt like an epic trek, and he's exhausted, the jacket he's worn in an attempt to stay dry sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty body, but he's satisfied with his spoils, and Rayna will be able to have her coffee the way she likes it, which is enough for him.
The storm is deafening as he approaches the porch, muffling the sound of his arrival, and he shakes himself off for a moment but it's futile. Rayna has left the door open for him and he steps inside, rubbing at his eyes, and sees her on the couch, lying on her front, naked. He could get very used to this, and as his brain processes the sight of her smooth ass greeting him, he thinks that maybe they should get rid of the a/c in their house back in Nashville.
"Babe," she cries, when she sees him in the doorway, and jumps up. Her breasts sway as she hurries towards him and he forgets entirely about his exhaustion and wonders how he ever got this fucking lucky. "Deacon, you're soaked."
She pulls his rucksack and jacket off him and disappears, and as he's trying to tug off his waterlogged boots, she comes back with a towel and helps him get his t-shirt over his head. The rain has gone right through his jacket and even his boxers are sodden, and he stands before Rayna while she fusses over him and rubs at his face and hair with the towel. and helps him out of the rest of his clothes.
"I was so worried about you," she says, "it started comin' down heavier and I thought you'd drown out there. And the heat, oh my god, if you didn't drown I thought you might sweat half to death."
"Didn't feel like clothes, huh Ray?" he says, and she ruffles his hair some more with the towel.
"Everythin' was stickin' to me. I gave up tryin' to find somethin' cool enough to keep on."
"You are too hot for clothes…"
She laughs and tosses the towel on top of his jeans. "Come over here and sit your smart ass down," she tells him, and he follows her.
She sets him on the couch, and he's thankful for the rest and the little bit of air that can get to his clammy skin. He watches her unpack the shopping, oohing and ahhing over his selections. When she gets to the chocolates she gasps and holds them to her chest.
"My favourites! Oh Deacon, you went out in this to get me milk and my favourite chocolates." She shakes her head. "How will I ever thank you?"
She contemplates him for a moment and leans down to take something out of the freezer, and walks slowly towards him, the chocolates in hand. Deacon swallows hard at the look on her face.
"What's that you got there?" he asks.
She grins at him and holds up a tray of ice. "Oh you mean this?" He nods; she's making him nervous in all the right ways. She climbs on top of him, straddling his hips, and he holds his breath, his hands sliding up her thighs.
"What's it for?"
Rayna lowers her mouth to his earlobe and nibbles on it. "To cool you down..."
She pops out an ice cube and rolls it in her hands, and a few drops land on his chest. He jumps, and she looks pleased. She puts it in her mouth and sucks it for a few seconds before she crunches it, and he watches, waiting to see what she'll do, enjoying how the drops cool a path towards his navel.
"You walked all that way," she hums, swallowing the ice, "for me." She kisses him, and lets him linger for only a second before she pulls back. With a wicked smile she moves to his neck and licks him there; her tongue is freezing and a welcome chill runs through Deacon. She sucks her way down his neck to his chest and presses cold kisses across it.
"That feels really good Ray," he huffs, shivering, and she sits back up and pops another cube into her mouth.
"Hmm, I don't think it's workin' though..." She holds the back of her hand against his forehead. "You're burnin' up, Deacon… let's see what we can do about that."
She slides off his lap and kneels before him, and takes his penis in her hands. Deacon lets his head fall back and for just a second closes his eyes, but he doesn't want to miss looking at her while she's working him - it's one of his favourite sights. Come to think of it, pretty much all of his favourite sights involve Rayna in the very same state of undress she's in right now.
She scrapes her nails down his thighs and he hears her crunch the last of the ice. She licks her lips, and lowers her head, taking him into her mouth oh so slowly. Deacon hisses, the sensation taking his breath away, and feels her smile around his dick; her chilled mouth sliding down his length is exquisite, and the shock of it ricochets through his whole body.
He can't speak, so he cups her head and threads his fingers through her hair, and she groans and moves up and down, taking her time to suck him thoroughly. When she knows he's close to losing it, she releases him and sits back, and Deacon stares at her, chest heaving, stunned at the talents she has that only he gets to enjoy.
"Baby… your mouth…"
Rayna grins, standing up so she can lower herself onto his lap again. She rests her knees on either side of his hips and kisses him, her tongue warmer now thanks to the heat of his penis.
"I think we can say that's the milk I've thanked you for…but these pralines…"
She reaches for them on the couch next to Deacon and opens the box; the smell of cocoa hits his nose, mixed with the smell of Rayna, and he breathes them both in. She wiggles her fingers over the box and plucks one of the chocolates from it, and brings it to Deacon's mouth. He takes it and bites into soft, smooth bitterness, and as he chews it, Rayna kisses him, and swipes some of the chocolate from his tongue. He swears he will never again eat dessert any other way.
As he's swallowing, trying to get more of her, his hands running up and down her legs, her back, her stomach, she lifts herself up and takes him in her hand, and with a drawn out, deep inhale, she eases herself down on his shaft.
"Oh, Ray," he breathes, her warmth enveloping his cool flesh; she feels unreal. He grips her thighs and stays as still as he can while she slides up and down on him, her breasts in his face on every lift of her hips.
He snags her nipples, taking it in turns to suck on them, the praline still on his tongue, the taste of her better than any chocolate ever could be. She grinds her hips against him, holding onto his shoulders, moving her hips slowly back and forth.
"God Deacon," she tells him, her voice dripping with lust, and he slides his hands into her hair and kisses her some more.
"Baby," he whispers, "I love you."
She speeds up and grabs the back of the couch to steady herself, and Deacon thanks every one of his lucky stars while she rides him, her breasts and her hair bouncing luxuriously. He urges her on, his dick so happy with what she's doing to it he can hardly bear it, and she leans back, tipping her head and calling out his name.
Deacon brushes his hands up her ribs and cups her breasts, and she swears, rotating her hips with him deep inside her. He can't get enough of her, and he can feel how close she is to coming; she tightens and starts to pulse against him, and he circles a thumb around her clit, pulling a darker curse from her lips.
Right as she's about to let it go, she stops her motions and holds still on top of him. Deacon, mouth open, trying his best not to drool at how sexy she is, waits for her to keep going, but she doesn't.
"Rayna?" he stutters, confused, as she lifts up and pulls herself off him and saunters away. "Where are you goin'?"
She throws him a dirty, come fuck me look at him over her shoulder and Deacon knows that look - he darts up off the couch, his erection protruding before him in pursuit of her, and as she laughs low and throaty and tries to slip away from him, her ass swaying to drive him deliberately crazy, he snags her around the waist from behind.
"Just where do you think you're goin', huh?" he drawls in her ear, and she moans, leaning back against him and rubbing herself on him. He runs his hands over her body, making sure she stays close, and sucks on her earlobe, her neck. Her breathing is heavy and she reaches behind her to grab his penis, and twists around in his arms to kiss him.
They breathe into each other's mouths, biting lips, tongues, and she backs away from him, leading him towards the kitchen.
"Like this," she tells him, and starts to turn around and bend over the counter, but he grabs her hips and stops her.
"No," he says, and her eyes flash at him; she's turned on so much he knows she's throbbing. "I want to taste you."
He lifts her up onto the counter and Rayna hums her approval and spreads her legs for him, her fingers gripping the edge tightly. He leans towards her and with the flat of his wet, greedy tongue, he licks her entrance long and slow. She cries out and grabs his hair, and Deacon feels his dick grow heavy with the acute need to delve back inside her.
He could eat Rayna for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and he lavishes her with his tongue, starving for her. She pants his name, rubbing herself on his face, and he squeezes her thighs with his big hands.
She comes quickly, but he isn't done, and he has her writhing on the countertop, a hand flying out to grab whatever sturdy surface she can, coming again before the first orgasm has finished. When she's gasping for breath, her chest rolling, he stands and she pushes herself up on shaky elbows to look at him, stunned. He licks his lips and Rayna shudders from head to toe, but before he can get into position to enter her, she pushes on him and slides down off the counter, still trying to catch her breath. With a carnal smile, she spins around and pushes her ass towards him, and he grins, adjusting his feet on either side of hers.
"You make me feel so good, Deacon," she whispers, and he drapes his body over her and scrapes his teeth over the back of her neck as he takes himself in his hand.
He penetrates her slowly, and Rayna braces herself against the thankfully solid wood Deacon built himself. She clenches around him and he moves upright and gets a good hold on her, and starts to stroke into her, each flex of his hips driving his penis deeper into her depths.
He grunts as she makes the sexiest sounds and gives her some hard, satisfying thrusts, their bodies slapping together. Rayna's firm ass bounces with each one and she pushes it back into him, her sex dripping wet, much to his great satisfaction; she claws at the counter, murmuring dirty words to spur him on, alternating between throwing her head back and dropping it onto the cool wood, groaning deep in her throat.
She comes so hard she pulls Deacon right over the edge with her, the ferocity of her walls pulsing enough to make him see stars, and he empties himself inside her, grinding against her as they both gasp for breath.
When they wither to the floor, boneless, they don't get up until the need for post-sex food overcomes them.
/
They wake to the pattering of dawn rain, the fresh, nostalgic scent finding its way in through the open windows as they stir.
"I can't remember what it's like not raining," Rayna says, yawning and stretching her long legs. She's facing the window, Deacon curled around her from behind, and he kisses her shoulder.
"It's like a tap that's gotten stuck on."
There's a rattle of distant thunder and from the safe haven of their soft bed it's comforting. Rayna laces her fingers with Deacon's and holds his hand close to her heart; he can feel it beating steadily. He sighs into her hair, happy.
They lay the same way until Rayna's stomach starts to make its hunger known, and they agree without speaking it that this will be a lazy day.
"Want some breakfast, baby?" Deacon asks, and Rayna nods, turning her head to smile at him.
"I'm starvin'."
"You stay here." He kisses her temple and pulls himself out of bed - it's always so hard to do when she's in it, he never wants to drag himself away from her.
"I need to jump in the shower," she says, sitting up and rolling her head from side to side. "I'll fall right back asleep if I don't."
He heads into the kitchen and starts some toast, and rifles through the fridge wondering if he should cook up a whole feast for them while the coffee brews, Rayna's milk ready to pour into her cup.
"Hey Ray," he says, poking his head around the bedroom door, "how hungry are you? Want some bacon fryin'?" She doesn't answer, and he pushes the door open. The shower in the bathroom isn't running, and the bed is empty. "Ray?"
He returns to the kitchen and sees the door out onto the porch is open. Wondering if he'll find her down by the riverbank again, he slips outside, but there's no sign of her.
"Babe," she calls, just audible over the downpour. "Over here!"
He follows the sound of her voice around to the side of the cabin and there she is, in the outdoor shower he added onto the place thinking of rinsing off bare feet on dusty summer days, or a burst of hot water after swimming in the chilly river. Rayna beckons to him, lathering up her hair with shampoo, her body glistening.
"Baby," he says, laughing, "it's rainin', you're gettin' all kinds of wet out here."
"It feels so good," she replies, and holds out her arms. "Come on in, Deacon!"
He laughs harder. "I got all my clothes on!"
"Well take 'em off!" She turns around and waggles her butt at him, and he throws his head back, the rain pelting him as he feels joy race through him. Rayna steps out of the shower to grab the collar of his shirt, and pulls him with her back under the spray. He doesn't protest; he snags her in his arms and kisses her, and they wash her hair together.
/
Monday afternoon greets them with a lick of sunlight across the bed. Deacon wakes from the depths of his nap and cracks open an eye to see blue sky, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming.
It's been an intense weekend, the storm cocooning them in their haven, almost like the rest of the world has faded away, and maybe only the two of them exist.
But birds are chirping and there's a calm that's fallen that makes the dark clouds feel like a distant memory.
"The thunder's stopped," Rayna remarks, rolling over to face him. She looks outside, and he nods, breathing her in. They've spent the day in bed, eating the breakfast they cooked together after their shower, having sex, napping and waking for more.
Rayna looks up at him and smiles. Something about her is different, the mood that's clung to her all weekend evaporated with the storm. She nuzzles into him, and he takes her in his embrace; her body is cooler in the considerably less humid air.
"Are you ready to face Nashville, baby?" he asks. He'll stay here with her forever if it's what she wants; he'd love to stay here with her forever, just the two of them.
She knows what he's asking - Nashville means the flooding back in of it all, being pulled in every direction all at once the moment they set foot back home. It means turning up the volume again after this hush that's felt all too brief.
Rayna kisses his collarbone, and runs her fingers over his chest for a few moments, her big, beautiful eyes fixed steadily on him.
"Let's go home," she says, and he pulls her closer and presses his lips to her forehead, happy that she's once again content in his arms. He nods, agreeing that it's time, however bittersweet it feels knowing he'll have to share her again, that they'll be swept up in the whirlwind in a matter of hours, but the sun is still in the sky, and there's time yet just for them…
With a last glance outside at the now-gently flowing river, Deacon rolls her onto her back and brushes her neck with his scruff, and her hands fly into his hair. They'll get on the road soon, and home before nightfall, but there's time for one more round of sweaty, unforgettable sex before they go back to their lives.
