He unusually didn’t come right into his bedroom area to get dressed, but I was on a bed-making mission so I didn’t look to see where he went.
I was busy fluffing and placing pillows when he came to me.
And when he did, he got right behind me, sliding a hand across my belly, slanting it up and pulling me to straight so I felt the heat of him, the hardness of him at my back before I felt something else.
Something cold with an edge that was scraping along the skin under the material of my bra between my breasts.
I looked down and saw the key Deke was positioning there.
I drew in a breath and forgot to let it go as tingles shivered at the skin there, over the tops of my breasts, up my shoulders, down my arms to sizzle all the way to my fingertips.
That was when I felt Deke’s lips at my neck.
“Anytime you wanna set up the Crock-Pot, gypsy, or anything you wanna do. My space is yours and you’re free to be here anytime you want.”
That key was the key to his trailer.
The home he set up by a lake because his mom couldn’t.
God, he was totally killing me. I knew it by the sting at my eyes.
Root myself in you
That was it. All I could think.
I wanted to root myself in Deke.
And it could not be expressed, even by the poet I fancied myself to be, how glorious it was that it seemed Deke wanted the same thing.
“Jussy?” he called when I said nothing.
“I’m gonna Crock-Pot the shit out of this winter.”
He moved away but not far, only far enough to turn me into his arms again, this time front to front.
And when I looked into his face, I saw and felt that he was silently chuckling.
The breath I breathe I only get when you’re laughing
“Crock-Pot is a verb?” he teased.
“It is now,” I told him.
“Can you top Steph’s chicken?” he asked with more than mild curiosity.
I could not. I knew one Crock-Pot recipe.
Plans for that day: Troll the Internet to find kickass Crock-Pot recipes.
“Not yet, but I will,” I answered.
He was grinning but said through it, “We got a problem.”
Problem?
There were no problems.
Another day had dawned where I wanted Deke.
And Deke wanted me.
And we were together.
There was no room for problems.
I felt the frown form between my eyes. “What problem?”
“When you’re bein’ cute, I wanna fuck you. Since you’re cute all the time, this means I wanna fuck you all the time. This is a problem ’cause, when I settle in for the winter, I work and I work hard so I got money to hit the road when that time comes. And I can’t earn if I’m not workin’ and instead constantly fucking you.”
I took this as good news, not a problem at all since I liked that he thought I was cute and I wanted him to want to fuck me all the time since he just had to breathe for me to want to fuck him.
To communicate that last part, I slid a hand up his back and pushed closer. “I think Max is the kinda guy who understands delayed start for morning nookie.”
I actually did think this, though I had no idea if it was true. But if my theory was correct, that these mountain men had libidos that matched their good looks, his was as out the roof as Deke’s. So I figured he’d not only understand that, he’d champion it.
Deke dipped his face closer and it had that soft look, that look I’d seen before. That look that right in that moment I knew I’d understand whenever he gave it to me. Which meant it was a look I treasured for more than one reason, because it meant I was cracking the nut that was Deke.
That look being the look Deke gave me when he was going to do something he didn’t want to do. That being communicate he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted.
“And I think that Max takes me on every time I come home,” he said in a voice as soft as his look. “He pays good. He throws a shit ton of work my way. And he’s been cool about all that’s gone down, Jussy. But the bottom line of that is, I work for him. You bein’ in a situation, he’s gonna get. You bein’ out of that situation, comin’ out of it as my woman, he’s not gonna be feelin’ a lot of love that I’m bangin’ the client and not gettin’ work done.”
I curled a hand around the side of his neck.
“Although I would prefer a delayed start, you’re right.” I grinned at him. “And you getting work done means me closer to having a kitchen where I can do more than kick the shit out of a Crock-Pot.”
Deke grinned back at me, his arms tightened around me and I took his cue.
I lifted up on my toes as he dropped his head toward mine.
And he kissed me, as soft as his look, but wet, so also hot, and since he couldn’t give me what I wanted—morning nookie—he gave me something else.