POV: Deacon
I got the distinct impression that Sloan rarely ever laughed the way she had with us tonight. That was something I planned to remedy, that all of us planned to remedy now that she was in our lives again.
I probably should've let one of the other guys help her gather her belongings, especially since she'd be working with me for the foreseeable future. But I was selfish enough to monopolize her time anyway.
"I don't need help moving," she insisted as I pulled her toward the front doors, the guys struggling not to laugh at her bratty indignation. "I'm literally a pro at this point."
I had no doubt that was true, but I was worried about The Collectors—whoever the fuck they were—intercepting her. I also wanted to get her alone. "We still need to go over your first day."
Once we reached the driveway, her hands landed on the flare of her generous hips, and my gaze lingered there. "I've been a bartender for years, D. How hard can it be?"
I nearly burst into laughter at the question as I opened the car door for her. "This won't be like working at some predictable dive bar with regulars, sweetness. Bourbon Street is the Wild West of New Orleans—sloppy drunk tourists, parades, pickpockets, brawls, shootings, armed robberies, etcetera. Anything can happen at any time, and you need to be prepared for it."
She sighed as she slid into the passenger seat of my silver Range Rover, but I could see that she was fighting a smile. "Fine. Whatever," she conceded.
It took every ounce of self-control not to pull the car over and kiss Sloan within an inch of her life as we drove to her place. Her cheeks pinkened as we pulled up before a shotgun house, as though she were embarrassed by it. It wasn't modern by any means, but that was the inherent charm of the Bywater.
"It's very...pink," I observed unhelpfully, and she giggled.
"Yeah, I should probably thank you for saving me from living inside a bottle of Pepto."
She unlocked the front door, and a massive gray pit bull bounded up to me, nearly bowling me over. I didn't shield my face in time to avoid the dog's sloppy kisses.
"Misha! Down!" Sloan ordered, and the pup abruptly sat on its haunches, panting. It almost looked as though he were smiling, and the sight made me chuckle.
"On second thought, I'm glad you're packing heat. Otherwise, you'd have to wait for him to lick your assailants to death."
"He's an acquired taste," Sloan said, grinning as she knelt down to hug Misha. "Who's a big, scary boy?"
I'd never been jealous of a dog until this very moment, I realized as I watched her lavish him with affection. "If you love him, then so do I—even if he has a face only a mother could love."
"Hey!" She stood and smacked me playfully on the upper arm. "He's adorable, okay."
When her palm didn't immediately leave my bicep, I took the opportunity to pull Sloan against me, relishing the feeling of her soft curves and floral scent. It felt surreal to hold her in my arms again.
The last time I'd seen her, I'd been an unconfident teenager struggling with puberty. Throughout the years, I often wondered what she'd think of me now if she were alive, if she'd find me attractive. Sloan had always been beautiful, even at the age of sixteen. I hadn't stood a chance with her back then. But now? It was impossible to ignore the appreciative glances she threw my way when she thought I wasn't looking—to ignore the way my heart soared at the action.
My lips found hers, and the moment they parted, my tongue swept in, stroking hers possessively. My hands were already on her hips, so it was a Herculean task not to explore the rest of her.
I didn't want to rush Sloan into physical intimacy, especially since it was unlikely she'd been in a long-term relationship before. The last thing I wanted to do was botch my second chance at happiness, at a real future with this woman, by moving too fast.
I also wasn't blind to her feelings for the other guys.
It didn't make me jealous, but I worried she'd pull away from me if she weren't free to love us equally. Sloan had spent so long in fight-or-flight mode that I had no desire to put her inside a box. I'd witnessed something blossom within her when she was with the four of us tonight, and I'd had enough failed relationships to try something unconventional if that's what it took for her to thrive.
Sloan deliberately grazed me over my jeans before cupping me with those nimble fingers, and all of my good intentions withered.
"Fuck, Sloan," I half panted, half swore.
I deepened the kiss, our tongues dancing and swirling together as I lifted her. In one smooth motion, her legs wrapped around my waist as my hips settled between her thighs, pinning her against the nearest wall. I ground myself against her, rolling my hips over and over again. My cock stiffened further at the soft, breathy moan she released.
"That's it, beautiful," I coaxed. I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anyone before. If I wasn't inside her soon, I thought I might actually die. Her responsiveness to my touch wasn't helping in that regard either. "You like it when I ride you?"
"Yes," she whined, squirming against my length, her intoxicating jasmine scent enveloping me.
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, knowing damn well she didn't.
Her expression was caught between a threat and unfiltered lust. "Don't you dare stop, Deacon," she warned.
Seeing how hard up she was and knowing I was the one responsible for it drove me over the edge.
One of my hands dipped beneath the green crop top to work her nipple, flicking and pinching it just as my mouth closed over the other breast. I felt the peak pebble through the thin material.
Dimly, as her back bowed off the wall, I wondered how mad Sloan would be if I ripped these damned shorts off. They looked fairly new, and I imagined she didn't have much clothing. I decided I'd buy her a new pair tomorrow as I reached for the waistband.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Both of us froze abruptly at the sound of gunshots. It was a relatively normal noise to me, having lived here for years, but I knew it would freak her out.
I kissed her forehead as I removed my hand from her breast and slowly lowered her to her feet. "It's okay, Sloan. Believe it or not, that's fairly common around these parts."
The haunted look in her eyes made my chest constrict, and I guided her gaze back to mine. "Sloan. Hey, beautiful. Everything's okay. You're safe." I wondered then if she hadn't heard the shots the night her mother was killed as she fled for her life.
Misha whined, moving to sit at her feet before he began licking her shin. That seemed to snap her out of it. "Sorry," she mumbled, her cheeks turning red as she patted the dog's head absently.
Perhaps Misha was more of an emotional support animal than a guard dog, and that made me appreciate him in a different way. He could reach Sloan when I couldn't. I scratched behind his ears before letting him lick my fingers. The corners of her mouth curved up at the action.
"You don't need to apologize, sweetness," I reassured her. "It took me a while to get used to it, too."
She snorted, and some of the tightness left my chest. "I'm not sure I want to get used to gunshots."
"Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you chose your new home poorly, if that's the case. There's a reason Reed pulls such long hours at UMC's Trauma Center." She grimaced, and I regretted my words instantly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel worse. I usually have more tact than that, but apparently, I have a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome."
She shrugged. "You're just telling the truth. I'd rather know my environment is unsafe than live in ignorance, even if it isn't what I want to hear."
"I'll always be honest with you, Sloan," I promised. "Besides, you have me and the guys to show you the ropes now."
The smile she gave me didn't quite reach her eyes, and I decided the best thing to do now was to pack her things into the Range Rover and head back to the house. Crime would only increase the longer we lingered here.
I went to grab a cardboard box and halted at the framed photograph staring back at me. It was a picture of me and the guys, Sloan sitting in the middle of us, beaming and utterly radiant. It brought a smile to my lips.
"I can't believe you kept this," I said, a question in my eyes as my gaze darted to her.
Sloan's eyes shone like liquid silver as she held back some strong emotion she didn't want me to see. But I knew her soul so deeply that it was like staring at a giant neon sign against the night sky. Still, I didn't call her out on it; her thoughts and feelings were her own to share with whom she wanted, when she wanted.
Her voice turned so quiet, I almost didn't hear her at first. "Whenever I went through a rough patch, whenever I thought I couldn't take running anymore, I looked at this photograph. Thinking about you guys got me through it." Her throat bobbed as she inhaled deeply. "The four of you...you were everything to me. You still are."
I fought back my own tears now as I put the frame down and went to her, kissing the top of her head. There were no words for what I felt now. Something wet fell down my cheek, landing on Sloan's scalp. She didn't seem surprised by it as her arms wrapped around my waist. "You're home now, beautiful."