17. Faith
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Faith
The world narrows down to the press of his lips, the rough warmth of his hands on my waist, the breathless hitch of his voice when I tug him closer.
His mouth claims mine again, this time with a hunger that takes my breath away. My heart pounds in my throat. I'm pressed between his body and the cool wooden wall of the barn, the cold slicing across my skin while his heat sinks into me in deep, greedy waves.
My hands slide up his chest. Over the firm muscles beneath the shirt, to his shoulders, his neck. His pulse jumps beneath my fingers. The sound he makes is low, almost a growl, and it vibrates through me, making every inch of me ache.
“Faith,” he murmurs against my lips.
I’ve never heard my name like that before.
I pull him back down, kissing him harder, faster, the air between us crackling with danger. His fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my throat catch. His other hand settles on my hip, moving slowly, possessively, a touch that makes my body tremble.
My knees wobble.
Of course he notices.
His hand slides down, gripping my thigh, guiding my leg to wrap around his hip. The movement is instinctive, shockingly natural, and I don’t even think. I just move with him.
“Oh,” I whisper, the sound of it barely escaping.
His breath stutters against my mouth.
His lips burn through me. I can feel him, hard and urgent, pressing against me. My body reacts instinctively, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
“I want you, Dallas. Now.”
He lets go of me and drops to his knees, between my thighs. I don’t even have time to laugh at the idea of someone stumbling by—he’s already hitched my dress up around my waist, already tearing my underwear aside.
He’s already tasting me…
Dallas’s mouth is messy. He holds my leg pinned up, knee near his ear, like a prize fight he’s determined to win with his face.
Every time his tongue traces around me, I go tighter and tighter, the ache building behind my teeth. He makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t in a very long time.
This is different.
Is this how it’s supposed to be?
I brace both hands against the wall, legs practically climbing his shoulders.
“You’re gonna make me…”
It comes out as a gurgle, ripped in half by the time his tongue slides, unrelenting, over the right spot. He keeps going after, greedy, lapping. He wants to swallow everything I can’t keep inside me.
Even when I’m twitching, scrabbling at his shoulders, even when I yank at his hair, hard enough I’m certain some comes loose, he just groans and buries his nose farther, arms working to keep my hips from bucking away.
I laugh, hiccuping on the aftershocks:
“Dallas… wow.”
All the nerves in my legs have liquefied.
He stands, beard glistening, and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, then kisses me. Hungry, shameless, getting off on the taste of me.
His jeans are already unsnapped. He drags my hand down. He’s thick and hot beneath my fingers, so fucking ready he’s shaking as I fist his cock and line him up. His gaze firmly remains on mine as he finally presses in.
The stretch borders on pain, but it’s a knowing hurt, breaking in boots: I’m built for it, once I surrender to the sensation.
He rocks in, steady but insistent, hands braced on either side of my head, thumbs catching strands of my hair. The wall seems to vibrate with every slap and grunt.
Dallas buries his whole weight into me, breath going rougher as he pounds harder.
My entire world trails out from my pinned hips, every friction point, every slip of skin, every time he hits bottom and I hear his voice strangled in my ear, telling me to take it, take all of him.
He’s teaching me a lesson I’ll never forget.
I don’t even recognize the sounds falling out of my mouth as my fingers dig grooves down his back.
He slams in deep, holds there, every muscle in his arms flexed and trembling. I clench around him, greedy, and for half a heartbeat, we’re both suspended. It could last forever or end right now, and I don’t know which I want.
I just want… him.
And then we fall. The pleasure ricochets through me as he comes with a guttural noise, forehead banging to mine…
When everything softens, when the world has not exploded, and our breathing slows to a rhythmic pace, I rest against him, listening to the beat of his heart under my ear.
His fingers trace idle, gentle circles on my back, and in the quiet, there’s only him. Only us.
I should feel guilty. Or confused. Or embarrassed.
But instead, I feel alive.
Alive in a way I’ve never felt before.