Deacon: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (18 page)

And now I knew just what to do.

“Hey, man” I called out to the loose cannon in the fedora. “I understand exactly how you feel.”

“Oh yeah?” The guy glanced over with eyes full of pretty-impressive-looking hurt. “What can a perp possibly understand about the simple pleasure of blowing a guy’s head off?”

The audience offered just a titter for that one. I needed to set him up better.

“I had a partner just like yours,” I said, “Always scolding me for doing the wrong thing. Stop jaywalking, Lisa. Stop running through stop signs, Lisa. Stop forgetting your ski mask when we case out the bank, Lisa.”

That got an actual laugh from a couple people, but it was the fedora cop’s thoughtful nod that mattered.

“Those are all very serious misdemeanors you’ve admitted to,” the bald cop said.

The bald cop crouched in, but the fedora guy came hustling back.

“Forget that,” he said. “What’d you do with your partner?”

I leaned into him on one elbow, cupping a hand against the gaze of the bald cop. “Well, one day, he goes off on me for no damn reason, and I couldn’t take it. It was all something stupid like, ‘Why on earth would you kill that bank teller? She just gave us the money you asked for!’”

The bald cop slammed the table. “I heard that! Jerry, you hear that? She just confessed to the murder.”

His partner just ignored him. “So what did you do?” he asked.

The fedora guy was zoomed in on my face now, licking his lips. Ok, that was a bit much.

I ignored him and studied my nails with a faint smile. “What would you do?”

He gasped. “I’d blow his head off.”

The guy gave his bald partner a bug-eyed zombie look that had the crowd laughing on its own.

“Now wait, Jerry.”

The bald cop fumbled for his imaginary gun.Jerry already had his out and pointed though.

“She’s right. I can blow anybody’s head off. And no one can stop me.”

“That’s right, Jerry,” I said, pounding the table. “Do it!”

The fedora cop threw me a strange look. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“What, me? Nope.”

I whistled off carefree. The crowd roared again. This was going so much better than usual.

“Goodbye, Tom,” Jerry cocked his imaginary gun. “Any last words?”

The bald cop raised his hands. “That’s not my name.”

I cupped my mouth to block my smile. It was such a solid last line. The crowd was shaking with laughter now.

Jerry shot not-Tom in the head and he collapsed. I jangled the fake handcuffs on my arm.

“Set me free and I’ll help you blow off every head you want.”

“Now that sounds like a good deal,” Jerry said, unlocking me. “You and me, we’re special. Together, we’re destined for great things.”

I got up and hooked an arm around his meaty neck. It was time to end this.

“Now let’s jaywalk out here,” I said. I led him hopping to the edges of the little wooden stage.

The crowd whooped and whistled behind us. Ok, they did that for truly awful acts sometimes too, but it did go on a bit longer than usual.

I released my new partner in crime, and we bowed.

“Great job out there,” he whispered.

“No, that was all you,” I said.

“I think it was us.” He threw his arm around me again. “I think we might make good partners in real life too.”

He was a nice enough guy, but he was soft where Deacon was hard, small where Deacon was big. And just as possessive, it seemed. If I was going to belong to someone, then Deacon had no competitors.

I shrugged out of his grip. “It was fun, but I already have a boyfriend.”

“Figures.”

I cut back through the crowd towards Antoine and Mira.

Boyfriend, is that what Deacon was now? It’d been three weeks since the first weekend in Abu Dhabi. We’d never had a talk, but I didn’t doubt he’d claim the title. Which made me his girlfriend.

A possessive pronoun and then an improper noun. I was simply his.

Even in the chill concrete studio, I shivered a bit harder, not with fear, but the thrill the idea sent up me.

“Smashing performance, girl,” Antoine said, rubbing the back of my neck as I sat. “You’re not a twee little bird chirping on stage anymore.”

“What he said. Just make it a tad less theatrical for me,” Mira said. “I was kind of dreading coming here, but you actually got me to laugh!”

“Aw, thanks for not calling me terrible, guys. It really means a lot. And Mira, you really didn’t have to come.”

“It’s my only chance to see you these days.”

The next troupe went on stage, and I slipped into cupped whispers.

“I’ll be in town for the first half of the week,” I said. “The travel is starting to wind down.”

“Perfect,” Antoine said, quite loudly. “You can make up all the shots you owed me on my birthday after the show.”

A couple in front of us shushed him, but he just hissed back.

“Actually…” I said.

Mira groaned softly. “No no no. Don’t you say you have work.”

“Ok, but I’m thinking it right now.”

“She’s lying.” Antoine leaned in and sniffed me. “I smell untruths on her.”

Thank god I already had my acting face on. “Your nose must be plugged.”

“Kiara, come on.” Mira shook me by the forearm. “I owe you for the rent. Let me at least buy you a drink.”

Ugh, why did they make feel so guilty for getting to know a guy? I missed them too, but there just wasn't time left after Deacon and traveling.

In fact, I was starting to get sick of that. The only benefit of going overseas was that my mother's attempts to call me went straight to voicemail. Maybe she was serious about my father’s illness, but I could delete those without feeling too guilty.

“I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “I really am. Maybe tomorrow? And, Mira, I’d be so much happier if you invested that cocktail money in an IRA or something. It’ll really add up.”

“A what?”

Antoine rolled his eyes and edged himself to face the stage. “Let her go, Mirabelle. We can have plenty of fun you and I.”

“Fine,” Mira sighed. “But you know I'm Indian right? My name's not Mirabelle.”

“Don’t make me blow your head off.”

As I drove to midtown alone later, their voices rang through my head. It wasn’t right to neglect them so fully. It was like throwing all my chips in with Deacon. I trusted him now, but things could still go wrong, right?

The longer I stayed with Deacon, the more I saw how much of his business was out of anyone’s control. Add in his family, and his life wasn’t exactly about floating on a cloud either. The higher you went, the more that tried to pull you down, it seemed. It was a good lesson to learn.

Normally, we met in Deacon’s penthouse or an airport hotel if he was flying elsewhere. But he had given me a new address for the night. Prostitutes had more stable travel schedules than I did.

It wasn’t until my GPS led me onto the last street that I noticed that I was going back into River Oaks. He lived by the country club? Well, of course he would. This was the richest zip code in Texas. Even the Bushes had minor estates here. Rich people needed a place to store their country club clothes.

I got almost to the gleaming white country club at the far end before I saw Deacon’s number on an estate fence. It was a tall brick colonial, almost half as wide as the shopping mall in Abu Dhabi. The metal gate lay open, and I rolled around the curving driveway to the lit front entrance.

A servant – an honest to god old white British guy in a black coat and pants - opened the door for me and led me into the house.

The interior wasn’t made of crystal, like I imagined. The tall lobby had stairs leading up and hallways to the front and sides, same as any other massive Texan house. Everything just looked darker, richer and sturdier. Yeah, this place belonged to the Stones alright.

“Master Stone is awaiting you upstairs,” the servant said in a lilting English accent.

“Mr. Stone couldn’t wait actually.”

Deacon stood beaming past the railing on the second floor. He had on a dark grey polo that bulged at the shoulder and loose tan pants. His sharp, shadowed face and dark hair stood out even against the rich wooden walls. He was truly the lord of this house.

“Very good, Master Stone.” The servant dipped his head and disappeared down a hall.

I came up the stairs slowly, looking at each painting I passed, trying to suppress the shivers at moving closer and closer to my powerful boyfriend. He met me up top.

“Like what you see?” he said, spinning me to him by the waist.

“The house?” I asked, his pine scent already filling my nose.

He kissed me so hard, my brain blanked out a second.

“What else?” he said. “Your body’s made it clear how you feel about me.”

I took another look around, mostly for space to catch my breath. “It’s super nice. Elegant. Tasteful.”

“Damn, my mother might change her tune on you if she heard that appraisal.”

“It's probably haunted though right?”

“Stone ghosts are too lazy for haunting. Any strange squeals you hear at night are bound to be mice.”

Snowflake would have a field day dealing with that.

Wait, was I already thinking about moving in?

I battered the thought away and turned back to him. “Is this your place? It’s not quite your style.”

“Na, of course not. Just stopped by for the night to make sure it was ready for my mother.” He held us over by the railing. “Servants and sitting rooms out by some golf course? You don’t see Gates or Musk going for this old world fluff. Far as I'm concerned, this was quite literally a gilded cage.”

“So you grew up here then.”

“My family spent most of our time here, yes. Though I'm seeing now it's far more pleasant now with you here instead of them.”

“Even Jesse?”

“Oh, yeah. Most definitely.”

I pecked him on the cheeks, but I wasn't convinced. I’d grown up in my own cage. Deacon’s at least came with a brother to share his burden, even if they fought. Things might have been different at home if I had someone to split my burden with.

Well, at least I didn't have to carry my past alone
now.

“So what's preferable about me?” I said, tracing a finger down his chest.

“Everything.”

He kissed me again, fiercer, hungrier. “Ever fuck in a hundred year old house?” he asked.

“Can a hundred year old house handle the two of us?” I asked.

“That seems like a testable hypothesis.”

He picked me up shrieking and carried me down a wood lined hallway, head buried in my breasts. My t-shirt did nothing to hold his nibbling lips away. By the time we turned into a lacy white-walled room, and he dropped me on the bed, my bust was already soaked.

“This room must have seen a lot of sex,” I said, picking off his shirt.

“Darlin’ this is a child’s room.”

I looked around and saw a toy chest and a wooden scooter.

“People grow up,” I said, undoing his pants and dropping them. “We get bigger and we become older. And we learn how to play with completely different toys.”

I ran a hand across his groin and his cock sprang out of his boxers. I cupped it in my palm. Deacon sighed over me. I couldn’t grip this thing to save my life – it was so thick - but just the sight of it made me salivate.

I’d never once used my mouth on other boyfriends. It felt dirty.

But with Deacon? I always wanted to consume him. It wasn't serving as much as taking. I’d tried finishing him this way many times in Abu Dhabi. Tonight, I was going to get there no matter what.

I kneeled, opened my mouth wide and slid over his cock.

“Fuck me,” he groaned through clenched teeth.

I am
, I wanted to say. I just smiled and slid on deeper. He tasted warm and soft and fresh. I ran him far into my mouth, slowing as he nearly hit my throat, then held it there before starting again.

This wasn’t so hard at all. I wanted to make him feel good. He deserved my love.

I started bobbing harder, slipping my tongue side to side, up and down the bulging veins, memorizing each glorious inch of him.

Then, it hit me.

He deserved my love
.

Was that what I was giving him? It had only been weeks. It was too fast.

Still enmeshed, I peered up. His powerful jaw hung back, his head heavy with ecstasy. His hand lay softly on my head, stroking me, but not insisting. I sank deeper onto him and he groaned.

Oh god, how I loved to hear him break. Not just down below, but deep down in my heart and all through my body.

It might have been crazy. It might have just been three weeks out in the desert, walking the beaches and sands, watching him stare off at stars and dreaming of light.