Page 20

20

FAITH

I run my fingers slowly over his chest, up the ridge of his sternum, toward his jaw. God, he’s solid. Real. And warm. And… still a mystery.

I’m dying to see his face.

“Wait. Okay. Can I ask you something?” I whisper.

“Anything,” he says, voice low and steady.

I hesitate—then blurt, “Are you married?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“STD?”

That gets a full chuckle. “No. Clean bill of health. I even got tested before I came to town.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” he says. “It’s been... a while since I’ve been with someone.”

Same here.

Something shifts in the air when he says that. My heart nudges forward, closer. His breath is warm against my ear.

“So what could the secret even be?” I ask softly.

He pauses.

“I’m going to tell you. It’s?—”

“No! Please. Just… let’s have this one night. This fantasy. Unless… you haven’t killed anyone?”

He laughs. “No murder.”

What could his secret be, anyway?

A wanted felon? A runaway prince?

My stomach flips.

God, that’s… kinda hot.

And maybe a little messed up.

But I don’t care. Not tonight.

“Then take me, Thor.”

His silence stretches half a beat—and then, he does.

His kiss lands like fire—deep and claiming, not asking, not tentative. My breath stutters in my throat. His lips are soft but demanding, and the second I open for him, he swallows the moan that slips out.

Welp. There goes the plan.

My body arches into him before I can stop it. My thighs clench, my wrists still loosely tied. I’m burning. Unraveling.

He flips me over with dizzying ease, like I weigh nothing. My stomach presses into the mattress, and the rough sheets drag across my nipples, making me gasp.

“Well,” he murmurs darkly, “now it’s time to pay for your misdeeds, baby.”

Smack.

His palm lands clean and sharp on my ass.

I gasp— startled, then breathless. It’s not pain. It’s… electricity. A bright, perfect jolt that surges straight through me and settles low in my belly.

My whole body tightens in response.

There’s a pause. I hear the sound of a zipper. A latch. A soft, decisive click.

“What’s that?” I ask, voice gone breathy.

He’s quiet for a second. I swear I can hear his smile.

“I brought a fun box for us to play with. Just a few toys. And the mask…of course. I’ll put that on now.”

Holy shit.

Something cool and smooth presses against the small of my back. I squirm, trying to see, but the blindfold stays firm, holding me in this space—dark, heightened, helpless in the best way.

He trails something along my thigh. It’s firm… maybe leather? The edge drags up to the swell of my ass, and my skin tingles everywhere it passes.

“I need to know something,” he says, his voice low, near my shoulder. “Have you ever been punished like this before?”

“No,” I whisper.

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Hmm. Well. You’re about to find out what happens to bad little goddesses.”

Another smack —softer this time. A tease. Then another.

I moan into the sheets, thighs twitching.

“Mmm. I love being bad.”

“Good girl.”

He cups my ass with both hands, kneading, then spreading me open. I suck in a breath. I’ve never felt so exposed. So completely seen.

“I brought a few things to try,” he murmurs. “Would you like to pick… or trust me?”

My heart is racing, but my voice is sure. “Trust you.”

His growl is low and approving. “That’s my girl.”

The bed shifts as he moves behind me. Then?—

Something brushes my thigh. Soft. Barely there.

It flicks again, a little firmer. Teasing.

The contrast is dizzying—softness after sting, warmth after burn. I squirm, suddenly aware of every inch of skin, every beat of my pulse. My body is no longer mine—it’s his to explore, and I want that. I want it so bad.

Being here, with him, whose real identity I don’t even know…honestly?

It adds fuel to the fire of my desire.

Is that a… feather?

But not like some cheesy party-store boa—this is focused, and well thought out. Like he’s painting me with a single plume, dragging it up the cleft of my backside, circling the spot where my thighs meet. It makes every nerve ending flare awake.

“Still green?” he murmurs from behind me.

“Green,” I whisper, trembling.

“Good.”

The feather disappears, replaced by a sudden coolness—silk. He loops a length of it around my thigh, lets it glide downward like a lazy river, the weight of it impossibly sensual. He does it again on the other leg, slower this time, and my breath stutters as he drapes the fabric along my inner thigh. His fingers follow, two knuckles brushing the spot just shy of my core.

I press my hips back toward him, shameless.

But he doesn’t touch me where I want him to. Not yet.

Instead, he moves again. I hear a little pop —like a bottle being opened—and then something slick and chilled touches the underside of my breast.

I gasp.

The gel—whatever it is—has a strange tingling sensation. Not icy, but…cooling. Electrifying. He smooths it in lazy circles under the swell of each breast, deliberately avoiding my nipples. The contrast of the cold glide and the warm candlelit air has my body arching off the mattress.

And just when I think he might finally suck one of them into his mouth, he pulls back.

I whimper.

Then— buzz.

My breath catches.

It’s faint at first. A low, rhythmic hum against the inside of my right thigh. I twitch.

He doesn’t move it. He doesn’t slide it up or down. He just leaves it there .

The vibration pulses into my skin, not directly on my clit—he’s too cruel for that—but close enough that my body starts to ache for it.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

He chuckles softly. “Anticipation, baby. It’s everything.”

The toy vibrates against the tender spot where my leg meets my center, coaxing a deeper heat out of me. I don’t realize I’m grinding ever so slightly into the mattress until he presses a hand on the small of my back.

“Don’t move.”

“I can’t help it,” I gasp. “It feels too good.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

And then the hum clicks off.

The loss makes me whimper again, louder this time.

“You are the most responsive little thing I’ve ever met,” he says. “I’m going to have so much fun breaking you open.”

He presses the vibrator against the inside of my thigh again—right there, just close enough to make my hips twitch—but doesn’t move it. The slow burn of sensation is maddening, but before I can even whimper a complaint, I feel the bed shift.

“Turn over,” he murmurs.

My breath catches.

I obey, my limbs trembling as I shift to my back, blindfold still snug against my eyes. The air feels cooler now, a new vulnerability crackling across my skin.

He leans in and presses a kiss just under my breast, where the gel still tingles. Then another, just over my nipple. His tongue traces the tight peak, teasing it with slow, swirling licks before he draws it into his mouth and sucks, softly, then rougher, just enough to make me gasp.

I arch into it—helpless, shameless—and he rewards me by switching to the other nipple, scraping his teeth just barely over the edge. Every nerve in my body is on fire.

Then I feel him shifting again, trailing his mouth lower, down my stomach, past the waistband of the red panties he asked me to wear. He slides them down with agonizing care.

“Open for me, goddess,” he says.

My legs fall apart on instinct.

The first lick is devastating—hot, slow, like fire on my skin. A long, firm stroke of his tongue that sends shockwaves through my core. Then he does it again, gentler this time, teasing, circling.

“Oh… oh my god…”

He finds my clit and flattens his tongue against it, licking in wide, steady patterns. Then he hums.

That vibration? Unfair.

I grab the sheets as a cry bursts from my throat, hips bucking—but his hands are firm on my thighs, keeping me pinned, keeping me open. Letting me feel everything.

And when I come, it’s loud. My whole body jerks and arches. I don't know if I’m cursing or praying.

But he doesn’t stop.

Before I can even recover, he’s already shifting the rhythm, tonguing me harder, suckling, devouring. My thighs tremble, toes curling. It’s too much—but not enough.

And then it happens again.

I come undone again, crying out his name, gripping the mattress like it might keep me tethered to the earth.

When I finally catch my breath, my voice is soft and wrecked. “Please,” I whisper. “Please take off my blindfold. I want to see you.”

There’s a pause. I sense him standing. The sound of movement, something being picked up. Adjusted.

Then comes his voice again. It’s low, dark, electric.

“Okay. But don’t move until I say.”

My pulse hammers.

I feel the blindfold loosen. It falls away.

And when I open my eyes?—

Oh. My. God.

He’s naked. Completely.

Wearing the same mask from Mont du Marquette—the one I never forgot, the one that stirred things in me I didn’t have names for. But now, his whole body is visible.

And…Jesus. He’s a wall of muscle. Thick, broad shoulders. Carved abs. Huge thighs. Veins tracing his forearms. And that thing between his legs ?—

Oh my God .

It makes sense I could barely get my lips around him.

Every part of him is tight, masculine, and so mouthwateringly real I can hardly breathe.

“Come here,” he says. “On your knees.”

I scramble toward him, lips parted, body still trembling with aftershocks. When I reach him, I wrap my hand around the base of his cock. Thick. Hot. Heavy.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now show me how much you want it.”

I look up at him through my lashes, then slowly take him into my mouth.

His groan is deep. Raw. Like something cracking open inside him.

And I know I’m about to wreck him.

“Good. Now get on your back,” he growls, voice thick with need.

I obey instantly, climbing back onto the bed and lying down, still flushed and tingling from his mouth. My legs fall open without him having to ask.

He tears open a foil wrapper—my eyes track the way his biceps flex as he slides the condom on, his cock jutting proudly from his body like he was sculpted to ruin me.

“You ready for me, goddess?” he asks.

“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”

He crawls over me, eyes burning behind the mask, body looming above mine like a stormcloud ready to burst.

He presses the head of his cock to my entrance, rubbing slow, teasing circles over my soaked folds. I moan, arching toward him.

Then he pushes—just the tip—and my breath catches in my throat as he presses in.

He watches me, reading every twitch of my body, my gasps, my parted lips.

“Too much?” he asks, voice ragged.

I shake my head furiously. “No. I want it. I want all of you.”

He pushes deeper, stretching me, claiming me inch by inch. I clutch his forearms, my thighs trembling.

“Fuuuck,” I moan. “You’re so big.”

He groans, holding still to let me adjust, his forehead resting against mine.

“You’re taking me so well, Luna. So fucking perfect.”

I breathe through it, my body pulsing and clenching, and then—oh god—he’s fully inside me.

I cry out, overwhelmed, full in every sense of the word.

“Move,” I whisper. “Please…don’t stop.”

He pulls out halfway, then drives back in with slow, steady force.

My whole body jolts with pleasure.

Again. And again.

He fucks me like he means it—deep and thick and claiming. His hand slides under my back, arching me up to meet every thrust.

Every time he sinks into me, I swear I feel it in my soul .

He reaches down and circles my clit with his thumb, and I nearly scream.

“Thor,” I pant. “I don’t want this to end. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growls.

He grips my hips and pumps harder now, relentless, filthy, perfect. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes through the truck. I dig my nails into his back and meet every thrust, desperate to get closer, to pull him deeper.

“You feel so fucking good,” he grits out. “So tight. So wet. You’re mine tonight, baby.”

“Yes,” I moan. “I’m yours. I’m yours.”

My orgasm builds fast, hot, wild—and when it hits, I swear I see stars.

My whole body clenches around him and I cry out, shaking beneath him.

He follows with a loud groan, thrusting deep one final time before he shudders, burying himself inside me as he comes.

And then we collapse, tangled together in the dark, still trembling.

Breathless. Ruined.

Changed.

We lie tangled in the dark, breath catching, skin slick, our bodies still humming from what just happened.

I don’t want to move. Not ever.

But my fingers itch.

I roll my head to the side, cheek pressing against his chest. His heart is pounding like a drum beneath my ear.

I smile. “Can I… feel your face?”

There’s a pause. The sound of his breath stills for a second.

“Please,” I whisper. “It’s pitch black in here now, anyway. I just want to know what you feel like.”

After a long beat, he murmurs, “Okay.”

I reach up slowly, my fingertips brushing the sharp edge of his jawline. His stubble is coarse and hot beneath my touch.

He stays perfectly still as I map him—my hand sliding over the strong bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones, the soft dip of his upper lip.

God, he feels like a man carved out of stone and fire.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, fingers now brushing the curls of his hair, damp from sweat.

He laughs, low in his chest. “You can’t even see me.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I settle against him again, my palm resting over his heart. It’s still racing, and so is mine.

He runs his hand along my spine, slow, grounding strokes. I feel his lips press softly to the top of my head.

Something about the darkness makes it easier to be close. To be honest. To not overthink it.

I sigh, warm and safe and deliciously sore.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Mmmhmm. More than okay.”

We lie in silence for a few minutes, the air thick with heat and that delicious sleepy haze. I feel myself slipping under, my breath syncing with his.

My last conscious thought before sleep claims me is:

I don’t even know his real name.

But God…I’ve never felt more held.