He put his arm around me, stiff at first, then softer. I let myself lean in, let my head rest against the curve of his neck, theway I used to when the world was small, and nothing hurt that couldn’t be fixed by a kiss or a fight.
I watched the moon crawl up the rafters, felt Sully’s breath go slower, deeper. The barn was cold as a crypt, but his body was warm, and I pressed closer, burrowing under his jacket.
He didn’t move. Just traced circles on my shoulder with his thumb, the rhythm steady, grounding. When he finally spoke, it was in that hush he used for secrets.
“I dreamed about this place,” he said. “In the future. I’d wake up and smell the hay, and for a second, I’d think I was home.”
I traced the line of his jaw, rough with stubble. “Do you miss it? The future?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t real. Not the way this is.” He cupped the back of my head, held it steady, and kissed me. Not hard, not hungry, but like he needed to prove something to himself.
I let him. I let him do whatever he wanted, because for the first time since he came back, I wasn’t scared he’d vanish if I blinked.
He pulled away, eyes shining in the dark. “We don’t have much time.”
“No,” I said. “But we have this.”
That did it. He laughed, low and wet, and tipped me back into the hay. It prickled my skin through the dress, the little bits of straw working into my hair and my bra and everywhere else, but I didn’t care. I pulled him down with me, wrapped my legs around his waist, and dragged his mouth back to mine.
We kissed like we’d never done it before, mouths bruising, teeth knocking, tongues clumsy and wet. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up, fingers searching for the shamrock on his arm. The skin there was hot, the lines of ink raised like scars. I traced it with my tongue, and he shivered, his whole body going rigid.
His hands were rough, not gentle at all. He hiked up my dress and slid his palm up my thigh, fingers digging in like he wantedto memorize the shape of me. I bit his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and he growled in my ear.
He moved fast, always did. The pants were already undone, his thick cock springing free as my knickers vanished somewhere in the shuffle. He pushed inside me with one brutal thrust, no warning, no build up, just raw and hot and perfect. It hurt, just a little, the way I liked it, the stretch and sting of his girth grounding me in the moment, filling me completely.
I clawed at his back, nails scoring red tracks down the muscle, and he moaned, head buried in my neck. "Don't stop," I whispered, and he didn't. He pounded into me, his hips slamming hard enough to rattle the boards, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust. The hay prickled everywhere, sweat and heat and that old animal need twisting up inside me as he hit that perfect spot deep inside, over and over until I thought I might break apart.
I came fast, always did, my pussy clenching around him in waves, the rush starting in my belly and spreading out to my fingers and toes as I soaked us both. He followed, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me with hot spurts, collapsing on top of me, body shaking with the aftershocks.
Just when I thought it was over, Sully freed my tits, his hands massaging, his lips sucking hard at my nipples. He started going down, kissing my bare stomach. He went further, spreading my legs.
“Sully,” I whimpered.
But Sully was on a quest. He buried his mouth against my pussy, pressing a finger against my asshole. The jolt of his tongue was wild, wet, electric. I clamped his head between my thighs, saw straw in his hair and the scar at his temple where the Redcoat grazed him, and I almost howled. He sucked hard, lapping at the mess he’d made of me, then slid his finger in, gentle at first, then rougher, pushing until I gasped. The otherhand still worked my nipple, thumb rolling the bud, and the world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, and the sweat slicking my body. When I came the second time, it was louder, maybe too loud, echoing through the barn.
He kissed me, and I tasted the mess of ourselves. He started to pull away, and I stopped him, dropping to my knees in front of his slick cock.
He let out a half-laugh, a broken thing, and watched as I jerked him off, thumb twisting over the tip, dragging another string of come down his shaft. My mouth watered; I wanted to taste it, wanted to swallow down the proof that he was here and mine and alive. I licked along the ridge, slow, then took the whole head between my lips, rolling my tongue over the slit, moaning at the salt. He groaned, hand twisted tight in my hair, holding me there as he pulsed in my mouth. I swallowed him down, sucked until he was too sensitive, and tried to push me off, but I bit down, forcing his hips back against the wall, and kept sucking, letting the taste of him fill my mouth until he went limp and a little helpless.
His breath rasped out, rough, and he slid to the floor, cradling me close with shaking hands. Maybe I’d never make sense of the world, or the future, or all the hurt waiting outside, but here we were, locked together in the ancient dark, as alive as the first people to walk the earth.
We lay there, tangled up in each other, breathing hard. I stroked his hair, the sweat-slick strands stuck to his forehead, and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting salt and that flavor that was uniquely him. He smiled, lazy and loose, and for a second I saw the old Sully, the one who'd make jokes about the priest and the farmer's daughter.
“It’s our time, Cat,” he said, and we gathered ourselves.
Catherine
We crossed the fields under a pale dawn, the sky crusted with clouds. Sully kept my hand in his, his thumb working a slow figure-eight against the heel of my palm. I could still feel the hay burns on my back and ass from the barn, could still taste his mouth in mine when I bit my lips, but all of that felt thin now, stretched over the cold fact of the world. Each time I looked at him, I found his jaw set tight, the line of his neck cords drawn like bowstrings. He squeezed my hand harder when he caught me looking.
Father Declan trailed after, a full five paces behind as if the devil might reach up and yank him underground if he closed the gap. We’d caught him following us a short time ago. His walking had gone uneven, every other step a hop. The hem of his cassock was caked in mud, and the wind kept blowing it flat against his bad leg, exposing a patch of bandage already brown at the edge.
The fields sloped gently for a mile, then the land broke into thickets and hedgerows. Beyond that, a pale smudge of smoke where Kilkenny Castle brooded on its hill.
Sully stopped in a hollow, under a hawthorn tree stripped by the season to nothing but a few blood-colored berries. He put both hands to my cheeks and let his breath fog my face.
“You can still turn back, Cat,” he said. “If you want. I’ll do it alone.”
“If you do,” I said, “I’ll haunt your shadow until your dying day. So you may as well let me help.”