“I’ve waited too long,” I groan into her ear. “I can’t torture myself any longer.”
Her free hand finds the bottom of my cotton t-shirt, and I help her pull it up and over my head. When my chest is exposed, Molly’s breath catches. Her eyes are raking up and down my body, drinking in every inky twist of my tattoo. She reaches out to touch it, fingertips visibly shaking.
“Is that—”
“The tree,” I breathe. “Our tree.”
I see the memory playing across her eyes. For so long I tried to forget that memory myself, to pretend thealmostwas just in my head and never really happened. I’d had to give up, eventually. I’d had to get this tattoo, and as it was needled across my chest, I’d gritted my teeth and leaned into the pain and let it scar my body with all that unfulfilled desire.
Because the truth is… even though we were never together, that afternoon we spent under the cherry blossom tree was the closest I came to telling Molly everything.
Her eyes meet mine, bright and questioning. “Why did—”
I grab the hand she’s been running across my chest and abs, clasping the fingers tight in my own. I bring it to my mouth, kissing across her knuckles.
“I always thought I was following my destiny when I left for the city,” I tell her. Those eyes are still locked on mine. Still sending shivers down to my core, and fresh waves of desperate need through my cock. “I thought I could leave everything here behind and I wouldn’t miss a thing. But then I’d dream of the tree. I’d dream of the tree, and I’d dream of you, and I’d wake up sweating and googling Little Haven and stalking social media like a high school has-been. I got the tree because I needed a part of you close to me, even if I wasn’t man enough to put it somewhere the world could see. I needed to keep you close to my heart.”
“Gray.”
Molly grabs my neck again, pulling me down into another world-altering kiss. The wind is whipping around the barn, walls of snow pummeling the flimsy wooden boards. It fucking whips us into a frenzy, and soon this kiss has changed from something loving and sweet to something frenzied and seemingly pivotal to our survival.
Her hand is back on my cock, working it out from my sweatpants so it springs against her thigh. Just as fast, my hands have found her ass again, and I shimmy down her leggings and panties. When the velvet of my cockhead rubs against the silk of her inner thigh, I groan, a fresh spurt of precum leaking from my head to drip down and paint her skin.
“My breasts,” Molly moans, eyes closed as she struggles to get her shirt unbuttoned. She’s fumbling with the clasps, her fingers not moving as fast as her body wants them to.
“Are you attached to this shirt?”
She shakes her head, her bottom lip pouting as she continues to struggle.
“Thank Christ.”
I reach down and grasp both sides of her shirt, ripping back the buttons so they pop off and skitter across the hard floor. Molly’s wearing this insane, tiny cream thing, with a clasp between the swell of her breasts. I unhook it with one finger, my cock jumping against her skin at first sight of her rosy pink nipples.
It’s still chilled in the barn, and the exposed skin instantly perks and lifts in response to the cold. Before I can stop myself, I’m bending down, catching one bud between my teeth and softly grazing as Molly writhes and twists beneath me.
“Gray,” she moans again, one hand finding the back of my head to twist in my hair. “Gray, please. I’m clean. I have an IUD. If I don’t have you soon—”
That’s all the permission I need. With my head still buried between those small, perked tits, tongue lapping at her nipple, I push her knees back to her chest, grasp for my cockhead and line it up with her soaked opening. I reach around, grab her ass, and yank her down onto my cock as I thrust up.
We both groan, necks rolling in simultaneous pleasure.
Christ alive, she istight. It’s almost enough to make me really think she is a virgin, just like when she wrote that diary entry. Molly’s legs part further, wrapping around my ass to urge me deeper. A ripple of pleasure hardens my balls into stones; she might be tight, but she knows how to take a big cock. I thrust in as deep as I can until those balls smack against her asshole and my crown grazes something soft and high deep inside of her.
“Is this how you pictured it, Molly?” I whisper into her ear, my voice hoarse as I continue to pound into her. “Did you fantasize about being split open in your grandmother’s barn, your panties still trapped around your ankles because I was impatient to take you? It’s not as sweet and slow as you imagined, is it? Not as soft and gentle?”
“I was sixteen when I wrote that.” Her eyes are open now. Her cunt walls squeeze my dick, milking me between her legs as I thrust. “I didn’t know what sex was like. But I always knew you weren’t the soft and sweet country boy type. You took what you wanted. You made things yours. And if this is how you do the taking—” She gasps as I hit a particularly deep spot, and the breath hisses between her teeth when she clenches them. Those exposed tits are heaving against the knees I’ve shoved down on them. “—Make it rough, but make me yours.”
“Fuck, Molly, you’ve still got a way with words.” I manage a smirk as I take out my wet dick and slide it across her clit, rubbing powerful circles that make her eyes roll. “I’m close. Way too close.”
Her eyes pop open. “Good. I want—”
I catch her wrist in the air, where she’s clearly reaching to reinsert me. “We come together or not at all. Like you said: I take what I want.”
I stroke three fingers into her then, her walls pulsing against me. She’s so wet, so open, so desperate. Her legs are still trapped between me and her chest, but that doesn’t stop Molly from wiggling into my touch, urging me to spread her wider and thrust deeper.
“Don’t make me wait for you,” she whimpers. Her eyes have closed again, and her brow is furrowed tight from the exertion. She’s holding back, trying so hard not to come undone around my fingers when my naked cock is so close. “Please, I waited for so long. Don’t make me—”
But then my thumb finds her clit, and it rubs back and forth until the bud becomes swollen and tender. Keeping my fingers hooked inside of her, I bend over, running the flat of my tongue over her sensitive skin. Molly’s back arches, and I feel it then—the steady rhythm inside of her that tells me I’ve got seconds, maybe only milliseconds, to finish the job.