Chapter 8: Two Terms Down

He did not say anything.

He stood up off the couch, and the cabin was dark except for the gray window and the white shine of rain on the glass.

He crossed the room and stopped one step from me.

"You said no sex," he said, low.

"I said it on Friday," I said. "I've changed my mind."

"Dessa."

"You're shaking, Ford. You're not cold."

He made a sound in his chest, rough and short, and then his hand was in my hair.

He kissed me against the cabin door.

It was nothing like the courthouse.

It had been building for four days, and the kiss was deep and slow and then not slow at all.

I fisted both hands in his T-shirt and dragged him in.

The door swung open behind me, and we went through it.

He pulled the gray shirt I was wearing over my head and dropped it on the floor.

I stood in front of him in nothing but a pair of cotton underwear, and he looked at me by the window light.

"Every night this week I've lain out there and listened to you breathe," he said.

"Come show me, then."

He laid me on the narrow bed and covered me with his body.

His mouth went to my throat and my collarbone and my breast, and he sucked my nipple in until I arched up off the mattress.

I got his jeans open and pushed them down.

I took his cock in my hand, hot and heavy and already leaking, and stroked him from the base to the head.

He groaned my name into my skin.

"Lie back," I said.