In Safe Hands by Victoria Sue

Author:Victoria Sue [Sue, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-229-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-03-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

WHAT WAS it about this man that gave him so much confidence? Deacon should be a basket case. He had, in fact, gone from nearly crying all over Mav to basically ordering him upstairs in the blink of an eye.

It was the kiss. Deacon was a goner for a good kiss. Not that he had much experience of really good kissing, but having Maverick’s strong hands roam over his back and smooth out what seemed to be every jagged edge inside him made him instantly want more. And he wasn’t stupid. He knew the kisses were only promises of a good time, but at the moment, the thought of a good time—a great one—without hurting anyone else was exactly what he needed. Maverick definitely walked easier and the strain around his eyes was less, but he needed another massage, and that in itself wasn’t a cure-all.

It was his fault Maverick hadn’t—

No, no it wasn’t. Maverick’s PT or lack of it wasn’t his fault, and he had to stop assuming blame for everything. Just because other people had blamed him for so long didn’t mean they were right all the time.

They got in the bedroom, and Maverick gently turned him around. “One thing.” Deacon moved in closer, but Maverick stopped him and dropped a kiss on Deacon’s head. “I can hear the gears in that head of yours turning. If they’re in a different direction to what they were downstairs, or you want—”

Deacon lunged, and Maverick caught him. He fastened needy lips on warm ones and simply took what he wanted. What he craved. Maverick stilled in shock for a second, and then Deacon heard the groan of surrender, and Maverick took the kiss and made it his own. He might be unsteady with his leg, but Maverick’s arms and lips worked just fine, and Deacon melted into them.

Before Deacon knew what was even happening, Maverick had taken his own shirt off, and eager to comply, Deacon simply lifted his arms up. Deacon ran his hands over the burned skin on his neck and collarbone. “Does it hurt?” He bent and kissed it gently.

“Not really,” Mav admitted. “My face got the worst, and I have to slather moisturizer on that. I don’t grow hair on the scars either.”

Deacon—feeling brave—continued his gentle exploration of Maverick’s scars. “I thought flight suits were supposed to protect you.”

“It did,” Maverick admitted. “Not that it would have protected my face, but it was so damn hot, I risked an Article 15.”

“Which is?”

“A reprimand. Anything from a slap on the knuckles to a reduction in rank. I guess they thought the injury was punishment enough,” he said.

“What did you do?”

“I lowered my zipper.”

Deacon’s lips parted, and Maverick smirked. “Not that sort of zipper. The one on my flight suit. It’s supposed to be closed to three inches below the neckline. It was more like seven or eight, so it was my own fault.” Deacon cupped the side of Maverick’s face, and Maverick’s brown eyes deepened. “Does it not bother you?”

Deacon let his eyes roam obviously up and down.

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