Erasing Faith

by Julie Johnson

  If he was claiming me, I was claiming him right back.

  For once, we didn’t joke or tease or push away everything that made us a little bit vulnerable. We stripped each other bare — not only our clothes, but every barrier we used to keep a safe amount of distance between us. My tank top hit the floor and with it all the willpower I’d been trying to utilize. Wes’ hands worked the shorts from my legs and I felt all my self-doubt and carefully constructed denial peel away as well.

  I am in love with this man.

  The realization crippled me. I began to tear at his clothes, determined to remove the last obstacles separating us. Needing to get to that place where it was just him and me — two bare bodies, wearing nothing but the white cords around our fingers, entwined so tightly nothing could ever separate us again.

  I moved around behind him as I pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor alongside mine. My fingers traced the whirls of ink spanning his broad back and shoulders. I’d been dying to look at his tattoo for weeks, since I first spotted the twin tendrils peeking out of his collar on that rainy afternoon in the café. I saw now that it was a work of art — an infinite twisting design of spirals and interlocked rings, thorns and coils of ebony ink.

  A pang of surprise and sadness jolted through me when I saw the pattern was etched over a multitude of scars, each a different shape and size. It was like nothing I’d ever seen – the bumpy skin from countless old wounds, camouflaged by a labyrinth of inky beauty. I didn’t allow myself to ask where the marks had come from – I simply explored the maze with my fingers and lips, working my way from the outermost swirls to the elaborate inner markings and reveling in the feeling of Wes’ muscles contracting and heaving beneath my touch.

  I heard his breath grow labored as I kissed my way to the spot directly between his shoulder blades. His back was taut with tension, each muscle pulled tight as he tried to keep himself in check. I knew he was losing the battle for control when I reached the center of the inky design and felt his spine go rigid.

  He spun around and pinned me beneath him so fast I had no time to react, and I felt my own breaths turn to choppy pants of desire. Wes’ eyes burned into mine as he settled on top of me and I felt every hard line of his body pressed tight against my curves. His desire was a visceral, tangible creature swimming in the air around us — clawing, consuming, caressing me.

  No more walls stood between us — we’d obliterated them. There was nothing left here but skin and unspoken promises. Undeclared dreams and unquenched desires. And for a moment we just gazed at each other, his face hovering centimeters above mine, and the look in his eyes told me everything I ever needed to know about love.

  He stared into my soul, his dark eyes brimming with something like wonderment, and inched inside me so slowly, so achingly, I thought I might fly apart in a million pieces, so full of emotion my body couldn’t possibly contain it all. And, for the first time in my life, I knew exactly who I was, what I was.

  I was complete.

  We moved together — eyes locked, souls aligned.

  I was spiraling, reeling. Spinning, feeling.

  It was too slow, too fast.

  Too much, not enough.

  Everything, all at once.

  And as our lips met and parted, as our hands caressed and explored, as our mutual pleasure mounted and grew to a breaking point… I knew I would happily stay here, in this moment, with him for the rest of my life. I didn’t need air or water or sustenance — all I needed was Wes, and this slow, delicious torture he was inflicting with each powerful thrust of his hips. Every time he moved, he pushed me higher, until the earth disappeared and I was floating among the clouds. I never wanted it to end, never wanted to return to the ground.

  He rolled so I was on top of him, staring down into his eyes, and when I saw the mixture of astonishment and longing swirling in their depths it nearly shattered me. He felt it too — the connection between us. The love.

  I’ll never let this go, I thought. I’ll never let him go.

  But I didn’t say it.

  He was a wild creature — untamed, unloved. Not meant for a cage.

  I’d never keep him. I’d never bind him to me.

  I knew that all too well.

  But maybe, I thought as he thrust into me one last time and triggered an explosion of ecstasy that shook me to my core, Maybe he’ll let me run wild by his side.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: WESTON

  A CONTRADICTION

  I’d fucked women.

  Banged them.

  Screwed them.

  Nailed them.

  I’d never made love to one, though. Not till Faith.

  I didn’t deserve her, certainly hadn’t earned her. But I’d damn well try to be what she needed. Faith Morrissey deserved everything I could give and far, far more.

  She was a girl composed entirely of truths. The fabric of her essence was weaved with threads of honesty and candor.

  I was a man comprised completely of lies. My blackened soul was built of falsehoods and fabrications.

  Together, we were a contradiction. It shouldn’t have worked. But somehow, all our opposites balanced — two halves of the same whole.

  My sharp angles were mellowed against her soft curves. My disappointment in the world was curbed by her enthusiasm for it. My darkness was eased by her light.

  I held her above me as we moved together and watched her slowly unravel.

  Head thrown back, eyes half closed, lush lips parted.

  Her hair fell around her face like a curtain and I pushed it behind her shoulders, needing to see her. Absorbing her in fragments and flashes.

  White skin glowing like silk in the moonlight.

  Smooth limbs tangled with mine.

  Heartbeat pulsing heavily in the hollow of her throat.

  She was so fucking beautiful it made my entire body ache like I’d taken a heavy beating. Looking at her hurt like a physical blow — one I’d accept happily. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  The need to possess her, to claim her rough and hard, like I’d wanted to since I first laid eyes on her, was so strong it nearly killed me. My body was screaming for release, wanting nothing more than to drive into her with so much force she’d never forget this moment, as long as she lived. But I held off, because the sweetness of this — strange and unfamiliar as it was — was also the best thing I’d ever felt. She wasn’t a cheap, meaningless fuck or a quick, dirty screw.

  She was Faith.

  So, for the first time, I allowed myself to be tender. I touched her gently, coaxed the pleasure from her body with lazy, languorous strokes.

  And, in turn, she made things I’d only ever dreamed of come alive — even as she killed me. With every muscle she moved, every touch of her hands, every brush of her body against mine, I felt myself sink further into her depths.

  I drowned under the graze of her fingertips. The clench of her hips. The press of her lips.

  And as she came undone around me, crying out my name and collapsing against my chest, I saw the love there in her eyes and I knew I’d never, ever be the same.

  I am in love with this girl.

  Chapter Thirty: FAITH

  ALWAYS

  We fell asleep, limbs tangled like vines. My head resting on his chest, I listened to the hollow thumping of his heartbeat and let it dull the edges of my wakeful mind, as a child does a bedtime story. I hovered on the border of consciousness, barely able to keep my eyelids from slipping closed, and I felt Wes’ lips skim my forehead so lightly, I couldn’t be sure if it was real or simply part of a dream. I thought I heard him whisper something against my hair, but I was too far gone to hear whatever it was.

  In the arms of the man I loved against all reason, I slipped into the most content sleep I’d ever had.

  ***

  The sheets were cold when I woke.

  I reached out for Wes, but my hand encountered nothing but blankets and air as it slid across the bed. He wasn’t
here — and hadn’t been for a while, if the lack of body-heat warming my bed was any indication. My eyes flew open and I sat straight up, clutching the sheet to my bare chest like a shield even as my gaze swept the room.

  He hadn’t gone far.

  He was sitting at the end of my bed with his back to me and his head bowed in what appeared to be deep contemplation. One hand pinched the bridge of his nose and I could see, even from this angle, that his eyes were pressed firmly closed. His expression was pained. I couldn’t help but notice that he’d gotten dressed at some point between falling asleep naked with me last night and right now.

  “Wes?” Though I spoke in the softest whisper, he flinched at the sound of my voice.

  His head turned fractionally and he glanced over his shoulder at me, his hand dropping into his lap like dead weight.

  “Good, you’re awake. I wanted to wait to say goodbye, but I couldn’t wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

  There was a careful distance in his tone that set me instantly on edge. He was being friendly.

  But we weren’t just friends. Never had been.

  I swallowed hard and tried not to overreact prematurely. “You’re leaving?”

  He turned fully to face me but couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “I have work.”

  It was Saturday.

  I felt myself begin to vibrate with anger as I watched him rise to his feet and grab his leather jacket from the end of the bed. He edged around the side of the mattress, kissed my forehead, and whispered something about having a good day in my ear. I don’t know what his exact words were — all of my cognitive processes were tied up as I tried to convince myself that it was a bad idea to walk into the kitchen, grab a large blade, and slice off his man-parts.

  Because, as thoroughly as I enjoyed those man-parts, I was in the midst of a rage blackout. Self-restraint had left the building and all bets were off.

  He took two more steps toward the door and I realized he wasn’t going to stop. He was actually going to walk away from me again, after everything that had happened between us last night. And that was just… bullshit.

  Before I could stop myself, I’d hurled my body — naked as the day I was born — from the bed, scurried around him, and planted myself in front of my closed bedroom door with my hands thrown out to either side, effectively barricading the entire frame. I was panting and glaring and steaming mad, but I didn’t budge, even when Wes stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me like I was a few Fruit Loops short of a box.

  “Red, what are—”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows lifted in question and I could tell he wasn’t sure what to say or where to look. His eyes dilated as they flickered down to take in the sight of my naked body splayed across the doorway like a human blockade. When his gaze returned to mine, it was dark with lust, despite the confusion still pinching his expression.

  “I have to—”

  “No,” I repeated. “You’re not leaving.”

  “Red—”

  “Don’t Red me, Wes.” My eyes shot daggers at him. “You’re not doing this again.”

  His eyebrows went even higher on his forehead. “Doing what?”

  “Running. Throwing up the damn wall.”

  “You’re being a little crazy right now,” he said lightly, as though I was fabricating this distance he’d created between us.

  He. Did. Not. Just. Call. Me. Crazy.

  Whatever expression flashed across my face evidently showed him just how infuriated those words made me. I saw his eyes widen slightly, and he opened his mouth — maybe to apologize, maybe to defend himself, maybe to dig himself into an even deeper hole. I didn’t wait to find out.

  “Crazy? Crazy?” I breathed, staring murderously at him. I almost laughed when I saw the semi-terrified look on his face, but managed to contain myself.

  Hands planted on my hips, I hauled in a deep breath. His eyes dropped involuntarily to my chest, watching as my breasts heaved up and down. I was tempted to throw my hands up to block his view, but that would’ve showed weakness. Instead, I moved away from the door and sidled closer to him, so only a foot or so separated us. His eyes snapped back to my face.

  “You think I’m crazy? Well, maybe I am. You make me crazy, you big idiot.” I glared at him. “Every single time I manage to knock down one of those goddamn walls you’ve constructed, you pull this crap and take a step back from me. Why?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but I didn’t let him — I spoke on, answering my own question.

  “Because you’re a big idiot. And because there’s something in that big, idiotic brain of yours that tells you to never get close to someone. But that’s too damn bad, Wes, because it’s too late. We’re close. We’re freaking married!” I let out a frustrated scream.

  I saw a little of the warmth return to his eyes and I knew I was getting through to him.

  “Guess what, Wes?” I whispered fiercely. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. You hear me?”

  I took a step closer, so our bodies were flush together — thigh to thigh, chest to chest. The crisp leather of his jacket was cool against my bare flesh, the faint stubble on his jawline was directly before my eyes. When I spoke again, my voice was gentle.

  “You can try to run; I’ll chase you. You can try to push me away; I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned toward him and my lips brushed against his as I breathed the words across his mouth. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  He stared at my face for what seemed like forever. The long, breathless moment dragged on as we stood eye to eye, chin to chin — the two stubbornest people to ever walk the earth. Neither willing to cave, neither wanting to admit defeat. I watched his nostrils flare, saw the muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched his jaw over and over.

  When he finally responded, his voice held none of the anger I’d been anticipating. It was soft, full of astonishment and affection — even if his words didn’t match his tone. “You really are pretty fucking pigheaded, you know that?”

  I considered this for a moment, accepted it to be true, and felt a smile twitch my lips up. “Well, you’re pretty fucking slow on the uptake,” I countered, my voice equally gentle. “But I’m willing to overlook it if you kiss me right this instant.”

  “Tell me something, first?” That crooked smile I loved so much was back, and I knew I’d won this round.

  “Name it.”

  “If there was one place in the world you could go, where would it be?” he teased, calling back memories of our first date.

  I grinned against his mouth. “Here. In your arms.”

  “Good answer.”

  And then, he kissed me.

  His arms circled my body and pulled me against him, all gentleness absent from his impatient touch. His grip was rough, nearly bruising, as his hands slid down my spine to the back of my thighs, lifting me off the ground and carrying me backwards toward the bed. My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands found their way into his hair, and — mouths still fused together — we fell back onto the mattress, more than ready to stop bickering and do the only thing we ever seemed to be perfectly in sync on.

  ***

  As it turned out, Wes hadn’t been lying. He really did have work — a fact which should’ve embarrassed me, but totally didn’t. I refused to regret the hour of makeup sex that followed our fight.

  I’m sure some people — cough, cough, my sisters, cough, cough — would say that it wasn’t a good sign we were already fighting. This was the much-lauded Honeymoon Stage, after all. Those beautiful six months where partners walk on egg shells around one another, everyone shits rainbows, and people hide their crazy in a closet where it can’t be seen until much, much later, when it’s far too late to break things off.

  But Wes and I weren’t normal. We didn’t hide our imperfections from one another. I knew he was damaged; he knew I was… let’s call it quirky. (Read: totally bonkers.)

  So, it’s what we did — we foug
ht. We tested each other’s limits. Pushed buttons. Struck nerves.

  And, given the chance, I wouldn’t trade it for a perfect, fight-free relationship.

  I didn’t want someone who’d let me be complacent. I wanted a man who’d push me to mature into the person I was meant to be. I wanted to keep evolving — not just now, but for the span of my entire life.

  Who created these rules — that growing up stops when your growth plates close, or that old dogs can’t learn new tricks?

  They’re crap.

  Opposites attract for a reason. Loving someone who sees the world in such a different light — it’s challenging and infuriating and full of hurdles. But the benefits far outweigh the costs.

  Plus, the endless, hot makeup sex is enough of a selling point on its own.

  After we’d sufficiently reconciled, we lay intertwined with my yellow sheets pulled over our heads, speaking in whispers like two kids who’d built a fort of pillows and blankets. The light shining through the thin covering cast both of us in a golden hue and made everything feel kind of sacred, even as Wes spoke the hushed words I’d been dreading.

  “I have to go.”

  I shook my head in denial.

  “I’ll come back tonight. I promise.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed like a little girl, as if I could shut out his words.

  “Trust me, Red. If I didn’t have to leave you, I wouldn’t.” His thumb skimmed gently across my cheekbone. “Look at me.”

  I didn’t.

  “Faith.”

  My eyes opened at the sound of my name. He rarely used it, so I knew this was important.

  “I’m sorry for being an idiot earlier. You… this…” He swallowed, his eyes scanning my face intently. “It’s everything I never thought I could have. Up until now… not once in my life has someone needed me. No one’s ever counted on me to show up. I’ve never been accountable to anyone before. Never lo—”