I tear myself away from the thought, heart pounding. “I can’t.”
He cocks his head, smile deepening. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
I pause. Such a beautiful day. The sun is shining. It’s a gift.
It is the Lord’s water, after all.
Who am I to refuse such a gift?
“Turn around.”
He chuckles and turns his broad back to me. Water rolls down the ridges of his shoulders, sunlight glistening off every scar.
My hands shake as I loosen the buttons of my dress. The cotton shift clings once the rest falls away, near transparent in its thinness. Heat scorches my cheeks as I step into the creek. The frigid water bites against my ankles, then my knees, until a trapped breath shudders in my chest.
I wade deeper, heart hammering, until I’m waist-deep and the water tugs at my skirts. “You may turn,” I say, though I almost pray he will not.
When he does, his expression shifts—surprise flickering through it before hunger takes over.
He comes toward me, each stride through the water deliberate and inevitable. I retreat a step, but he cages me in, the creek cradling me at my back.
I’m a fool. A hopeless sinner. Of course I know he craves me. He’s told me so.
Without a word, his hand rises, brushing strands of hair from my cheek. And then his mouth is on mine, claiming, hot and deep, a kiss that turns me inside out. I gasp against him, clinging despite myself. It is too much, too soon.
I tear my mouth away, shaking my head. “I-I can’t. I?—”
“Tell me true, Alice. Did that husband of yours ever make you feel like this?” His palm presses at my hip, his thigh sliding between mine beneath the water.
Shame burns hotter than the sun overhead. His hand fists in my shift, dragging me closer until the fabric clings to both our bodies. “That bastard never cared if you came apart in his arms, did he?” His voice drops, coaxing, wicked. “Never had you beggin’ for mercy.”
My silence damns me.
Kodiak’s mouth trails fire down my throat, his hands guiding me back until my spine meets the grassy bank. He lifts me onto the smooth stones, water lapping at our sides.
I should stop him. Shove him away. But I can’t. The pull is too strong.
His hands are at my thighs, pushing the wet fabric higher. His mouth follows, hot and merciless, his tongue parting me. A strangled cry rips from my lips as my hands fly to his hair, meaning to push him away, but I clutch tight, pulling him closer.
“Christ, you’re sweet,” he groans against me. “Sweetest thing I ever tasted.”
I twist, and he groans again, pleased, devouring me like there would never be enough of me to satisfy his hunger.
“God forgive me,” I gasp, head tipping back.
“Don’t you beg His pardon. Ain’t a thing unholy in a woman bein’ made to feel alive.”
His hand presses flat against my middle, holding me down as his mouth torments me again. Every flick of his tongue tears me wider open, every suck draws another gasp. His fingers find me now, sliding inside with a slowness that makes my breath stutter. They move with a measured patience, stroking the tender walls within me, each glide drawing a low moan I can’t suppress. The stretch is delicious, a sweet burn that fills me, his fingers thick and unyielding as they explore deeper, flexing just enough to make my hips twitch.
My hands claw at the earth, nails sinking into the mud, desperate for something to anchor me as the world tilts. His mouth returns, lips closing around my bud with a gentle suck, and I cry out, the sound raw and broken, swallowed by the creek’s endless song.
His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes my body buck against him, chasing the rhythm he’s set, my movements no longer my own but his to command. The creek churns aroundus, cool against my thighs where his hands burn hot. I can’t help but think of baptism, of being pushed beneath the river as a girl, the preacher promising I’d rise cleansed. But this—this feels like drowning. Like being dragged under. Held there until my last breath.
“That’s it,” he growls, voice rough with hunger, lips grazing the soft skin of my inner thigh. His drawl drops lower—gravel and honey. “Goddamn, look at you quiverin’.” He returns to taste me, as if my tenderness is something fresh off the vine. The sound is soft suction, lush and wet, like teeth sinking into ripe fruit. “Go on now. Come sweet on me. Let me have a taste of heaven on my tongue.”
His words ignite something feral in me, something that wants to break free. My thighs tremble as the tension coils tighter, a thread stretched to breaking. His mouth is devastating, teasing me toward a cliff I both fear and crave. His fingers move with the same relentless patience, coaxing, claiming, until the world narrows to the heat of his breath, the press of his lips, and the bright, dizzying edge rushing up to meet me until I’m nothing but sensation, teetering on the edge of something vast and terrifying.
Release tears through me like a ball of fire plummeting through the heavens. My back arches, a sob ripping from my throat, raw and unbridled, as my body shatters under his touch. My cries echo, mingling with the creek’s rush, but he doesn’t stop, his tongue stroking the soft bloom of my need through every tremor, his fingers working me until I’m limp and trembling against the earth.
