Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Delilah
It’s the quickest shower of my life, mostly because I’m pushing every thought of Truett naked in this very spot out of my head. I refrain from inhaling the scent of his body wash. His two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. All the intimate details that make him him. I don’t slip my fingers between my legs and let myself imagine the water pooling in the valley of his spine, running over the perfect globes of his ass, and down the thickly muscled planes of his thighs…
“Delilah?”
I spin the water dial off so quickly I’m shocked it doesn’t come away in my hand. “Yeah?”
“I’m leaving a shirt and some sweatpants on my bed for you. I’ll toss your clothes in with mine, try to save them while there’s still time.”
The scrape of rough terry cloth over my face brings me back down to earth. I scrub the threadbare towel down my throat, across my shoulders, and wring out my hair, then wrap it around my torso. “Okay. I’ll be out in a sec.”
“Can you pass your clothes to me?”
I glance at the puddle of discarded clothing on the bathroom floor and grimace. Right. I separate out my bra and panties, because there’s no way in hell, and crack the door. “Here.”
His gaze catches on my face, and I swear his eyes darken. Realistically, I must look like a drowned rat. But the way his throat is working? The way his breathing picks up? I feel more beautiful in this moment than I did an hour ago, sitting in front of my vanity with a full face of makeup.
My lips twitch, threatening to spread into a grin. “You gonna take them or what?”
“You know”—he swipes the bundle of clothes from my hand—“you’re entirely too tempting in that outfit.”
My brow lifts. “It’s a towel.”
“You heard me,” he says, and then he retreats without another word.
I finger comb my hair as best I can and don my underwear and bra. The sweatpants he laid out for me are way too big, so I roll them a few times over my hips and hope they’ll stay. There’s a faded Fly Hollow Rodeo T-shirt that does fit, mostly because it’s left over from his brief stint with the association back in middle school. It’s not polite to pry, but I find my gaze flitting around the room, noting the framed photographs of his mother on his dark wooden dresser. There’s one of us, too, with bony arms slung around equally knobby shoulders. A shit-eating grin on Truett’s face and one of pure adoration on mine, glancing up at my father behind the camera.
It was the day they let me jump off the riverbank all by myself for the first time. Even when Mom was certain I’d drown, Dad said, “Let her try.” Try I did, and the minute I hit the water, I started kicking, determined to prove I was strong enough to move myself out of the current. When I made it to Dad’s arms, Lucy and Truett erupted in applause. Dad looked down at me like a negative diagnosis from an oncologist.
A miracle when you were preparing for the opposite .
I tear my eyes away, full now in a way they weren’t before, and scan the rest of the room. There are a few discarded socks littering the floor, a raggedy cardboard box in the corner labeled Misc. Cords in Tru’s messy scrawl. His bed is made, which surprises me. I wonder if his pillows smell like him, but force myself not to check.
I pad out of the master bedroom, past the hall bath, which is still coated in steam from Truett’s shower, and find him standing over the stove, shimmying a frying pan. Shirtless, of course.
He’s turned slightly away, so I can only see the contours of his side profile. My gaze falls down his frame like rain, catching on all the ridges and gathering in the valleys. On his rib cage, the outlined bouquet of flowers flexes and pulls with each movement.
He glances up, jaw tightening when he catches sight of me in his clothes.
I panic, aware that he’s caught me staring, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Why do you still have a T-shirt from the eighth grade?”
He blinks a few times, resurfacing from whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen down in his thoughts.
“What?” I do a spin. “I think I pull off my dumb cowboy cosplay quite well.”
When he laughs, I breathe a sigh of relief. The smile opens his face up. He’s the Truett I know intimately. The happy-go-lucky boy who would laugh at any joke, no matter how shit it was.
I relax. That simmering awareness just beneath my skin eases. This version of him I can handle. It’s the one who was looking like he’d happily devour me that I don’t know how to navigate.
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “What am I gonna do with you?”
I climb onto a barstool and balance my chin on steepled fingers. “Preferably feed me.” The scent of butter and whatever else is in that pan has my mouth watering, more than what the sight of him was already doing.
He turns to look at me, one eyebrow crumpling his tanned forehead. His low-swung sweats perch on the precipice of his hips, leaving the broad expanse of his chest exposed all the way to the valley beneath his navel. He looks relaxed, amused, and far too attractive for my heart to withstand.
Perhaps kissing him was a terrible mistake, because now it’s all I seem to think about doing.
“Grilled cheese sound good?”
“Sounds delicious,” I say, groaning.
He holds up the spatula, wagging it at me. “Don’t make that noise.”
I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Maybe it’s the fact that I was just in his shower or the intimacy of this moment as a whole, but I find my spine straightening under the heat of his gaze. “And why not?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “You know, I had my hopes that I’d eventually get to see you moaning in my clothes, but didn’t think it’d happen this quickly. Keep it up and I won’t make it through dinner.”
My mouth pops open. I knew I was toeing the line, but he just jumped a few miles past it.
“What?” His head tilts, eyes wide. “I told you I’d do everything I could to prove I mean it when I say I want you. And part of that is being honest with how badly I do.”
I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I think the grilled cheese is burning.”
He reluctantly drags his gaze from mine, already moving the pan off the heat. The burner dies with a rattling click. There’s another sandwich to the side already plated. He passes me that one and sets the slightly burnt one on a paper plate in front of the barstool to my right, where he sits a second later .
Suddenly the hunger has evaporated. What’s left in my stomach is a different kind of need, one that makes it difficult to focus on anything but the thrumming pulse in Truett’s clean-shaven neck and the thick ridge pressed against the front of his joggers. I want to reach for him. To close the distance between us and really let myself savor this feeling.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him take a bite, and for a second nostalgia pulls so tightly at my lungs that I’m not sure I could breathe if I wanted to. I picture every decision that led us here. Every version of us we had to grow through, to become who each other needs in this moment.
I picture the boy who kissed me in a meadow, then broke my heart, neither of us realizing he’d one day be the man who mended it, too.
“Did you know you were my first kiss?”
He wipes his mouth off with a napkin and turns to look at me, brows furrowed. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I scrape a fingernail over the golden crust of the sandwich. “I guess I’d been holding out. Not that anyone from school was exactly beating down my door for the chance, but still.”
There’s a pause. When he finally speaks, his voice makes the same scratchy sound as the bread. “Why’s that?”
“I was pretty awkward back then. Shy. Boobs didn’t come in till senior year?—”
“Not that.” He drops the sandwich and turns completely in his chair. I glance up as he grabs the edge of my barstool and spins me to face him. Our knees bracket just like they did that day when Ollie interrupted us.
No risk of that now. The farmhands have all gone home. It’s only us here, and as that knowledge washes over me, it leaves a trail of goose bumps behind.
His eyes roam my face, pausing at the swell of my bottom lip, then lifting to meet my gaze. “I hate when you talk about yourself like that, you know. And I wasn’t asking about that part because I know it isn’t true. You weren’t awkward at all.” He pauses, daring me to object. When I don’t, he nods, satisfied. “I meant, why were you holding out?”
Heat begins the slow crawl up my throat. I swallow thickly. Remind myself to breathe. “I think we both know why.”
His mouth twitches. It lands somewhere between a smile and a frown. “Pretend I don’t. I’ve been confessing a lot of feelings lately, and you’ve been confessing none.”
“That’s not true!”
The look he gives me is incredulous, and I still. I’ve always assumed the way I felt for Truett was glaringly obvious, especially after our first kiss. Surely I wasn’t that good at hiding my crush.
Was I?
Fortune favors the bold, and I could use a bit of good fortune. So I decide to tell the truth, no matter how vulnerable it makes me feel. “I was so in love with you back then.” I shrug like it’s nothing, when really it’s everything. “I didn’t notice anyone else.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t even flinch. “What about now?”
I shake my head gently. “What do you mean?”
“What do you feel about me now?” His gaze is intense, searching my face for feelings I’m not yet ready to name. Not when the ground we stand on is still so unsteady.
“Tru, this is our first date,” is what I manage to say.
“You’re right.” He clears his throat, playing off a wince. But I see it. Ache for it. “So let’s do what everyone else does on first dates.”
My lips flatten over the smile that threatens to form. Nervous laughter bubbles in my chest. A welcome kind of tightness, after the nerves from my confession. “Is now the right time to tell you I’m not that kind of girl? ”
“Not that.” He waves a hand dismissively, then winks. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed.”
I chuckle, lowering my gaze to his exposed abs. “Actually, neither would I.”
He wasn’t expecting that. A cough erupts from his lungs as he chokes on a bite of grilled cheese. I take advantage of the moment and finally tuck into my sandwich while he marinates on my words. For a beat, the only sound in the room is the hum of the refrigerator and my soft chewing. Oh, and the gears audibly turning in Truett’s head.
“What did you mean, then?” I say once I’ve swallowed.
He pushes his plate aside and rests an elbow on the counter. His undivided attention falls on me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“We could ask each other questions. Get to know the things we thought were already known just because we’ve been friends our entire lives.”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Okay, you first. Who was your first kiss?”
He smiles. “Also you.”
My jaw slackens. “No way. You said you had kissed girls during spin the bottle.”
“I lied.”
My stomach flips over. I circle a small hole in the hem of the shirt he gave me with the pad of my thumb, trying to process that information. “Wow, no wonder you wanted practice for your date.”
“Also lied about that.” He pushes a hand through his hair, this time having the decency to at least look sheepish. “And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I didn’t know how to bridge that gap between being your friend and being more.”
I try to blink away my confusion, but it’s stubborn. “What else did you lie about? ”
“That’s it.” He places a hand gently over mine and squeezes, his callouses scraping my skin. “I promise. My turn?”
“Yeah,” I answer breathily. “Your turn.”
“Who did you lose your virginity to?”
My eyes widen. “Oh my God, you did not just ask that! No one asks that on a first date!”
He shrugs. “I do.”
“And now I understand why you’re still single.” I shake my head at him, but he’s not letting up. He stares, unblinking, until I finally relent. “Someone from college. Not anyone you would know. Why?”
His gaze is open, and so deep I’m afraid I might drown in it.
“I always thought it’d be me.”
It hits me like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. “Honestly?” I croak, my gaze trained on his hand where it rests over mine. “I did, too.”
He absorbs that with an equal amount of shock. He studies me like I’m brand-new, and I feel like I might be. We thought we knew everything about each other, but it turns out, we didn’t know the half of it.
“We can pretend it’s the first time.” He smooths his thumb over my knuckles, then flips my hand and begins tracing the latticework of veins beneath my skin. “None of the people who came before matter, not to me. Not compared to you.”
A wave of desire flows through me, settling deep in my core. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. The pain pulls me back from the brink, if only slightly. Enough to rasp, “No more pretending, Tru. Pretending’s what got us here in the first place.” I grimace. “Unless you lost yours to Jessica Mathias, in which case I can never forgive you.”
His hand releases mine to clamp down on my thigh, and he throws his head back, laughing so loud my ears hurt in the best way. “No,” he manages between quick breaths. “Definitely not the girl who caught our parents hooking up.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, mulling over how to say this without sounding utterly pathetic. Turns out there’s no cool way to ask for reassurance, but I forge ahead anyway. “So you’ve thought of me then? Like… well, like that?”
The laughter dissipates, leaving us in a quiet cocoon of awareness. I sense his proximity to me like a bloodhound. His nostrils flare when I tuck my hair behind my ear. There’s so much to focus on that I can’t focus on any of it. Only that there is him, and there is me, and the distance between us is too far. And yet not far enough.
The hand that was resting on my thigh slides to my hip. He watches its path like he can’t really believe it’s his hand on my body. “Delilah, the amount of times I’ve thought of you naked in my bed is downright sinful. And yet I’ve never been able to feel the least bit ashamed of it.”
My skin heats; my stomach flips. I lick my lips to buy a little time, because I’m not sure I still have the ability to speak. Instead of words, a scoff escapes me. My absolute shock manifested.
His gaze pops up to mine in a flash. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
I glance at my hands where they rest in my lap, itching to touch him but so, so afraid to shatter the fragility of this moment. I shake my head. A half-laugh, half-cry kind of thing scratches my throat. “If I tell you, you’re going to say you don’t like it when I talk about myself like that. Again. ”
“And I’d be right. Again.” His free hand pinches my chin, pulling my gaze back to his. When they meet, his brow furrows. “I hate that you think so little of my favorite person in the whole world. You’re a remarkable little thing, Delilah, and you can’t even see it.”
My pulse roars to life in my ears. The fire is everywhere, smoldering beneath my skin. I brace myself internally, everything cinched up tight. Ignore the weight of my insecurities and whisper, “Why don’t you show me, then?”
His gaze heats. The hand at my chin drops to frame my other hip, and then both slip under the waistband of my sweats. “And how would you like me to do that?” The rough pads of his thumbs scrape the crest of my hip bones while his fingers press into the soft flesh of my ass. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you on a silver platter.”
My spine straightens, allowing that heat to rise within me uninhibited, all the way to my head, which spins, dizzy with the headiness of it. Breathless, and without much thought for once in my life, I say, “You.”
A groan rips from his throat. It’s guttural. Almost threatening. Those fingers press harder into my ass, and I surge forward, bracing my hands on the warm skin of his chest. A light dusting of chest hair scrapes my palms, and then it’s my turn to groan.
“I want you to say it again.”
My gaze meets his from beneath my lashes. I swallow hard and say it louder this time. Confident in a way I’ve always wished I could be, asking for what I want. “You, Truett. I want you.”
“Is that so?” I nod, and he cocks his head to the side, suddenly predatorial. “Well, you have me. I’m all yours. Have been since we were two kids who didn’t know any better. I’ve had a lot of time to put together a laundry list of things I dream of doing to you.” He slips the waistband lower. Cool air brushes over my skin. Goose bumps prickle my flesh. I gasp when his fingertips trace their arrival down the globes of my ass until he runs into the barstool I’m seated on and practically growls. He’s staring at his hands where they bracket my hips as he whispers, “It’s not about me, though. I want to know what you would like. What would make you happy?”
Images of every fantasy, every daydream I’ve ever had of him flit through my mind. My pulse moves south until my clit throbs between my thighs. I wet my lips. Truett’s gaze tracks that swipe of my tongue. I swear his pupils blow from that alone, turning his irises every beautiful shade of midnight.
I’ve never been good at asking for what I want. Truett’s right. I prefer the shadows, the sidelines. The supporting role. But in the spotlight of his undivided attention? His obvious desire? For once I feel like I can put a voice to all those wants. All those fantasies.
With him, I feel safe saying, “I want your head between my legs.”
He doesn’t turn away. Doesn’t laugh at the need painting my voice. Instead his lips quirk in a wicked smile. He pushes off his chair and kneels before me, hooks those hands in my waistband and tugs at the swell of my ass. I lift up enough to let him pull them and my underwear down, down, down until they’re caught at my ankles and he frees each leg, one by one. When at last I’m sitting on this barstool wearing nothing but his old rodeo T-shirt, his rough hands grip my knees and force them apart.
His teeth scrape over his bottom lip as he gazes up at me. “Delilah, you temptress. Come here and let me taste you.” Then he grabs the legs of the barstool and jerks me closer till he’s exactly where I asked him to be. Hands moving to grip my thighs, head between my legs, tongue spreading me open for him to devour.
His mouth encircles my clit, and he sucks, pulling at the most sensitive part of me while I reach for anything that will keep me seated. I end up with my hands laced in his damp hair, gripping it like reins as he laps at my core. I cry out, something like, “Don’t stop,” but also, “Please,” and even a breathless, “ Fuck me, that feels so goddamn good. ”
One of his hands remains in a vise grip on my thigh, which I’m certain will leave a mark that I’ll beg the universe to let me keep forever. The other releases me and slips below his chin. Then I feel his fingers press into me, hooking to stroke every nerve ending until I’m panting, my stomach clenching, certain this will be over before it’s even begun.
“Wait,” I breathe. “I want you inside me when I come, Tru.”
He stops flicking my clit with his tongue and instead swipes one long lick over it before pausing to look up at me, fingers still moving inside me. “Oh you’ll do that, too. But you’re going to come on my fingers first, like the good girl you are.”
My thighs are trembling, chest tight. It’s a miracle I’m able to force out, “But I can’t do that.”
One eyebrow rises. “Do what?” He slips a third finger into me, and I cry out. With him touching me this way, I can’t even catch my breath to answer him. Luckily he doesn’t make me. He clicks his tongue, cool confidence painting his features, and nips my clit. “You think you can’t come more than once, Temptress?”
I shake my head. I’m so close to the edge, if he so much as breathes on me, I’m a goner.
“Well, you’re going to, baby. I promise that.” His gaze is hard, not an ounce of doubt in those gray depths. “Forget what happened before. You’re mine now. And I always take care of what’s mine.”
Then he shows me just what being his really means.
His tongue and fingers move in tandem, regaining the rhythm that had been stoking the flame in my abdomen higher and higher until I’m certain I’d come careening off this chair if it weren’t for his grip on me. I buck against him. Cry out nonsense. Every nerve in my body erupts into a fireworks show, sparking and sizzling through wave after wave of delicious pleasure. My thighs are locked tight around Truett’s head, but when I finally remember to look down, I’d swear the man looks like he’s in heaven.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against my inner thigh as his fingers slip from inside me. He says it like he dares me to disagree. Another kiss, this time punctuated with a bite, just above my knee. Then he slips his fingers into his mouth and his cheeks hollow out. “Delicious.”
“Amazing.” That one’s me. And when he looks up, the sentiment is echoed back to me in his eyes.
He stands and steps into me, wrapping my legs around him as he leans down to kiss me. I taste myself and blush crimson. Then I taste him, and that ache returns with a vengeance.
His hands brace beneath me and he lifts like I’m light as air, and for a moment I am. Breathless, completely undone. He carries me down the hall, only breaking our kiss to throw me onto that made bed of his, messing it up completely.
“You look so damn good in my bed.” He stands back, admiring me, then hooks his thumbs in his sweats and drops them to the floor.
His cock swings free, thick with desire and glistening at the tip. My mouth waters. He’s bigger than I imagined, and so perfect like this I could paint him. And I try to, using my gaze as the brush. I trace every curve, every hard plane. Explore the way light lives and breathes on his body.
“What are you thinking, Delilah?”
My gaze is heavy, lips languid. “That I’m tempted to ask you never to wear clothes around me again.”
He laughs. “Might get weird around town.”
I shrug. “Worth it.”
“Such a smart mouth.” He fists his cock and pumps once, twice. “It’d look even better wrapped around my cock, don’t you think?”
My skin is a thousand degrees, I’m sure of it. I lose the ability to speak. Instead I nod and rise to my knees, grab the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head. He continues stroking himself as I undo the clasp of my bra and let it fall away, leaving me as bare before him as he is before me .
On even ground. He took care of me, and now I’ll take care of him. How it should be. How it always should’ve been for me.
“Do you want me to get down on my knees, or do you wanna fuck my throat while I lie in your bed?”
I see that question rock through him, from his shoulders squaring to the way he rolls his neck and swallows to the movement on the column of his throat. Every motion is tight, arduous. Like he’s trying to keep control of himself and losing.
And I want him to lose it all. To be reckless with me. Unhinged.
Finally he points to the edge of the bed right in front of him. “Lie on your back, and hang your head over the side. I want to play with you while you choke on my cock.”
“Yes, sir.”
He groans, and it fills me with power. Such an unfamiliar sensation, knowing that I could bring this man to his knees with my words. With my touch. Now that I’ve had it, I never want to let it go.
I crawl to him slowly, drawing out the moment. His jaw is tight, and so is his grip at the base of his cock when he squeezes there in an attempt to pace himself.
I settle onto my back and tip my head over the edge, bringing his muscular thighs and rigid length into view. Then I open my mouth wide.
He nudges the head against my parted lips. Teasing. I stick my tongue out and lap at the drop of cum on the tip, and he groans. Two can play at that game.
“Spread your legs, Temptress.”
I do as he says, opening myself to him. He drags the smooth head of his cock against my tongue with one hand as he spits in the other, then runs those damp fingers through my core. He circles my clit slowly. Pushes into my mouth at the same pace. There’s so much of him, and I want it all. I’m tired of waiting. I reach up and grab his ass, so perfect and muscular and taut, and pull him into me. He bottoms out at the back of my throat, and I gag, opening up to him.
This time it’s he who says, “ Fuck me. ”
I moan, letting him know that’s exactly what I want him to do, and he gets the message.
His thrusts are slow, controlled, but his breathing is ragged. I release his ass and cup my breasts. I pinch my nipples and roll them. Pleasure makes my pussy slick, and I feel his fingers slip through it, burying in me and stroking me until I’m nothing but a shrine to this moment, to my desire for the man standing over me. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and now he’s filling me, touching me, surrounding me. My nerves coil tight, and I open my mouth wider, hoping he’ll lose himself to the pleasure of me the way I am to him.
And lose himself he does. He fucks my throat frantically, abandoning the control he’d so carefully honed. “Delilah, you feel so fucking good. Your body… Fuck. It’s incredible. You’re incredible.” He shudders. He buries himself in my throat and holds, quivering against me for a moment before withdrawing. Not just from my mouth but from me entirely, stepping back and combing a hand through his hair. He’s shaking his head as I flip over, a question in my eyes. He whistles. “Couldn’t let myself finish there, when I haven’t even felt you around me yet. But fuck, I wanted to make you swallow every drop.”
“I would’ve.” I move to lounge on my back with my head on the pillows, legs drawn up so I’m on display for him. I draw a finger through my lips and spread that wetness over my clit. “I still can.”
“Come here,” he growls and kneels on the bed, hooks my knees, and drags me to him. He settles over me and locks his mouth with mine, our tongues moving against one another. Our chests heave, breaths intermingle. He’s so close and yet not close enough.
I mewl against his lips, bucking my hips toward him. “I want you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” He nips my bottom lip, and then he’s gone, rocking back on his heels and reaching into the top drawer of the side table, where he pulls out a foil packet. He rips it open and drops the condom onto my stomach. “Put it on me.”
Heat flares in his gaze as I roll the condom over the length of him, then stroke his dick in my closed fist once, twice, before lining him up with my core. I’m nervous and turned on and so fucking ready. I swallow, gaze trained on the place where our bodies meet, and watch as he stretches out over me and rocks forward, entering me.
Truett. I’m having sex with Truett.
My chest swells with desire, with emotions I don’t dare name. Inch by torturous inch, he fills me, until he’s buried to the hilt and I’m whole for the first time in my life.
I gaze up at him, eyes wide and marveling. “It’s never felt like this,” I whisper.
His fingertips glance over my jaw, brush my swollen mouth. “That’s because you’re mine, Delilah. Always have been. Always will be. There’s nobody else. Not for you and me.”
My throat constricts. And then, before I can find a single word that will do my feelings justice, he retreats and slams home, emptying my thoughts with a single thrust.
My vision blurs. My back arches, reaching for him in every way that it can. I cry out as wave after wave of pain and pleasure course through me, threatening to drag me under. His hands lock around my wrists and pin them by my head. It almost hurts it’s so tight. Yet I want it tighter.
“That’s my girl.” Thrust after thrust, my thighs spread wider for him, beckoning him in. He revels in it, taking everything I offer and more. “You’re so fucking strong, Delilah. You can take it.”
“Yes!” I slip one hand from his grasp, reaching blindly for him. His arms, his sides, anything I can touch. I want it all. Every inch of him. Mine. “That feels so good.”
The only light in the room spills in from the hall, but with it, I can see everything that matters. The sweat beading on his forehead. The contours of muscle that tell the story of his body. His cock thrusting into me over and over, marking me as his. Claiming me.
“Flip over.” He slips away from me and grabs my hips, guiding me into position. He gathers my hair in his fist and pulls, arching my back with the movement. “Just like that.”
When he enters me again, my entire body reacts. I feel him so deeply I forget how to breathe. How to speak. I forget everything except him and the sensation of his body moving within mine, building that fire in my core till it burns so hot I’m certain I’ll combust.
“Do you want to feel really good, baby?”
“Yes!” I already do.
“Mm, I knew you’d be so good. So willing.” His hand cups my ass and he spits. I feel it land between my spread cheeks. His thumb strokes through it and then presses into my ass.
Oh. Oh.
I arch into the sensation, so wholly new. So fucking hot.
“Look at you,” he moans. His thrusts strike my core, and as he plays with my ass with one hand, he uses the other to reach around and stroke my clit. “ You’re mine. ”
At that, I do combust.
I buck wildly against him, feeling him everywhere. He’s staked his claim on every inch of my body and I unravel for him, screaming his name over and over. He loses his pace. His thrusts are harsh. Erratic. Then he plunges into me and lets out the most guttural sound of pleasure as he collapses over me, utterly spent.
I’ll be chasing this feeling forever. I already know it. One time isn’t enough.
He slips from me, and I’m so empty I ache with it. I want to weep. Now that I’ve had him, I never want to be without him. It’s a dangerous feeling. Yet I can’t escape it. It’s everywhere. He dropped a match in the middle of a forest, and now that fire is marking everything in its path.
I go limp against the mattress. After he discards the condom, he joins me, completing me like the answer to a question I’ve been asking my entire life.
I don’t know how long we lay there, the only sound our mutual breathing, before he buries his face in my neck and whispers my name against my skin. When Truett says it, it doesn’t feel like a sin, the way his grandfather’s stories once suggested it was. It feels like a prayer for every good and holy thing. For once, suspended in this moment with him, I almost believe I could be that for him.
I tuck that thought away in my heart. Maybe there it’ll be safe from reality, which always has a way of ruining the things I love most.
I turn over in his arms, taking him in, in all his disheveled glory. His hair is wild from my fingers, eyes heavy with the remnants of desire. He smiles at me. “What are you thinking about?”
Gingerly I trace the outline of his ribs, drawing a shiver from his skin. “What are these?”
He lifts his arm to get a better look. “Carnations.”
The inked skin dips beneath my touch. I note each frayed petal. The ribbon that binds the stems together. “What is it for?”
His gaze finds mine, and it’s suddenly so heavy, so raw that I’m tempted to look away. “I got it because it reminds me what’s most important in life.”
My throat dries up. The way he’s looking at me. Waiting. His muscles drawn tight with anticipation… No. No way. “Tru, you didn’t.”
His seriousness breaks into a smirk. A dare if I’ve ever seen one. “Didn’t what?”
I almost back down, but I know what I saw in his gaze. What I felt. “You did not get a tattoo for me.”
He lifts a brow. “I never said it was.”
A blush blooms on my cheekbones. How stupid. How embarrassing of me to assume. I flop onto my back and cover my face with my hands, wishing this damned mattress would swallow me whole already.
Strong arms envelop me. Draw me in close. When I peek between my fingers, Truett’s smiling down at me. He plucks one hand from my face and then the other, trapping them at my sides with a firm grasp. “I never said it wasn’t either.”
“But—”
My objection dies on his lips. His mouth covers mine, teasing and tasting my embarrassment. My confusion. My hope.
He retreats slightly, only enough that breath can pass between our mouths. I still feel the brush of his lips as he speaks, like his words are my own. “Like I said, the tattoo is a reminder of the most important things in my life, of which you happen to be one.”
He buries his face in my neck, planting kisses like he plans to stick around and watch them bloom. I tilt my head back, giving him better access. Enough space for a garden of carnations to grow, if he wanted. Because Truett Parker got a tattoo for me, and I’ve never felt more remarkable.
The ceiling is painted with strokes of light. I glance at it, trying to find reason in the shapes. Make a world where there can never be one. “Are you really going to keep the calf? ”
“Yes.” He says it like there was never another choice. “Of course I am.”
I smile at nothing. “Can we call him Beau Vine?”
With anyone else, that would shatter the moment. But Truett melts into the laughter just as he melts into me, body slung over mine in the midst of his rumpled blankets. We’re slick with sweat and so breathless our laughter is more rasp than music, but we’re happy.
At least, I know I am.
“We can call him anything you want, as long as I can make love to you again.”
I nod a little too eagerly. “Deal.”
When his lips find mine, I forget about our parents and all the unknowns that still surround them. I forget about first kisses and losing virginities and all the things I thought would matter so much when I was seventeen. I even forget about the fear of what’s to come, if only for a moment. As his mouth slants over mine and his tongue slips between my lips, it all falls away and there’s only this. It’s my first time feeling a want like that—the kind that makes you feel like you’ll combust if it isn’t satiated.
It’s the best kind of first. One that promises a next .