Erasing Faith

by Julie Johnson

  Five.

  I took a deep breath, leaned into her space, and lifted one hand to lace through the hair at her temple. She stilled, her eyes melted like superheated caramel, and her jaw quivered slightly as realization crept into her gaze. She was a little bit terrified of us, of this, too.

  Somehow, that made it easier to banish my own indecision.

  “I’m with you, Red,” I muttered, an instant before I brought my lips down on hers in a crushing kiss that made my mind empty of everything except the way her mouth felt as it moved slowly beneath mine.

  The instant our lips met, my fear vanished like it had never existed. I had no idea why I’d been afraid in the first place. This, right here, with my mouth pressed against hers, was the safest I’d felt in years.

  The safest I’d ever felt.

  My tongue in her mouth, my hands on her face — I wasn’t chaste or slow. I could barely control myself now that I finally had her in my arms. And as I lost myself in her, I found the man I’d buried deep, so long ago I could barely remember him.

  I was drowning in her — this time I didn’t fight it.

  I let her waves drag me under, and found myself praying I’d never be forced to resurface.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: FAITH

  INVINCIBLE

  There’s something about first kisses.

  Something sacred. Special.

  Two sets of unfamiliar lips meet as strangers. They crash and cling, glide and gasp, and in the span of a few fumbling, familiarizing seconds, quickly become the most intimate point of contact two people can share.

  There’s magic in first kisses.

  In their fixity. Their everlasting endurance.

  There are no re-tries. No do overs or take twos.

  And that anticipation, that pressure to make a first kiss perfect — it typically does one of two things:

  It either makes them unforgettable… or it undermines them completely.

  Nerves get in the way.

  People falter and flounder.

  The magic is lost.

  You close your eyes and wait for the awkwardness to pass. You look forward to the second kiss because, honestly, you’re hoping practice might make the next go-around a bit better than the first. You grudgingly accept that reality can’t quite match your expectations.

  There’s disappointment in first kisses.

  But not with Wes.

  Because when he kissed me, my world exploded.

  I felt myself light up like a roman candle. Stars burst behind my eyes, as though I’d been staring at the sun for too long, blinding me to everything. It all disappeared — the view, the other passengers behind us in the cable car, the nervous energy that had been simmering in my veins since we’d boarded.

  Everything but him.

  And as his mouth explored mine — as he and me conjoined and slowly became we — I realized that I’d never been kissed before.

  Not really. Not in any way that counted.

  Every other middle-school spin-the-bottle peck, every sloppy seven-minutes-in-heaven, every backseat make-out session in Conor’s truck… they all faded away as I realized they’d never measure up to Wes’ kiss. They weren’t even in the same league.

  This wasn’t just our first kiss.

  It was my first real kiss. Ever.

  And it didn’t live up to expectation — it far surpassed it.

  His lips consumed me, unhinged me, crushed me, undid me. His hands wove into my hair, as mine traced the subtle scruff along his chiseled jawline. I felt my heart expand in my chest like a balloon, so full of delirious helium it might just lift me off the ground and send me floating into the sky. His kiss carried me away — up, up, up to the highest heights. It should’ve scared me.

  But when his lips were on mine, I didn’t fear the air or the altitude. Even the prospect of falling back to earth didn’t terrify me. He kissed me, and for the first time ever, I felt brave. Empowered. Adventurous.

  I could climb any peak, conquer any challenge. Soar beyond any point of panic or self-preservation.

  He kissed me, and I was invincible.

  ***

  “Excuse me?” The bashful voice and gentle clearing of a throat broke us apart. Working to clear the Wes-induced haze from my brain, I swung my startled gaze toward the funicular exit, where a uniformed attendant was standing. He shifted anxiously from one foot to another, his eyes darting from the floor to the seat, where Wes and I were still semi-entwined.

  “I’m sorry sir… miss…” The man trailed off, his cheeks flaming. I’m not sure who was more embarrassed — him or me. “We need you to make your exit. The new passengers are waiting to board.”

  I wanted to curl into a ball of mortification beneath my seat as I glanced around for the first time and realized that the cable car was entirely vacant. Evidently, we’d been so consumed, we’d neglected to notice that the car had come to a stop and fully emptied of every other passenger.

  A muffled laugh came from Wes’ direction. I swiftly elbowed him in the side, hoping to silence him.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled. “We were… um…” I tried desperately to think of an explanation, but I was pretty sure the attendant had already seen us necking like preteens. The play-it-cool card wasn’t going to work — that ship had sailed as soon as Wes’ tongue had entered my mouth. Seconds ticked on in silence. My cheeks were literally on fire; I was afraid the whole car might combust into flames spurred by sheer humiliation.

  “We were just… uh…” I trailed off again.

  “Enjoying the view,” Wes finished for me, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet.

  The attendant smiled slyly. “Of course, sir.”

  “So… we’ll just be going, then…” I swallowed harshly, hoping to dislodge some of my discomfort. “You know, it’s really a beautiful funicular.”

  The attendant stared at me blankly.

  “Not that I’ve been on a lot of them, or anything,” I explained, swallowing again. “Well, actually, this was my first one ever. But it was beautiful.”

  Shit. I was rambling — my worst nervous habit.

  “I mean, really, gorgeous. That view! Best in the city,” I blathered on. I knew I was only making an awkward situation even more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  Wes squeezed my hand and tried his best to suppress a laugh as he pulled me toward the exit.

  “I don’t even like heights. In fact, I’m pretty scared of them,” I said, wishing I was flexible enough to literally shove my foot into my mouth — that was likely the only thing that would shut me up, at this point. “But this was totally worth it.”

  “Thank you, miss.” The attendant also appeared to be burying a chuckle.

  We sidestepped him and passed through the door.

  “No, thank you!” I called over my shoulder as we walked away.

  We left the cliff railway behind and walked toward the castle. Wes was silent, his shoulders shaking slightly.

  “So… I ramble when I’m anxious.” As if he hadn’t just witnessed four full minutes of this humiliating habit in action.

  He took a deep breath and turned to look at me, forcing a serious expression.

  “What?” I asked, my voice defensive.

  Wes’ solemn expression cracked as he lost his battle against amusement. He laughed deeply — the kind of laugh that made his whole body shudder and left him gasping for breath. I waited, arms crossed over my chest, until he’d regained some command over himself. I was glaring at him, but the severe look was undercut somewhat by the twitching of my lips as I fought my own giggles.

  “I can’t help it!” I shoved him in the shoulder. “I’m a nervous talker.”

  A fresh laugh escaped Wes’ mouth. “Yeah, Red. I remember our first meeting quite well.”

  I grinned involuntarily at the memory. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen me as a kid — I never got away with a freaking thing.”

  That soft look appeared in his eyes.
It made me want to kiss him again. “I can only imagine,” he murmured, staring at me warmly.

  “Let’s just say, if someone puts screws to me…” I shook my head and grimaced.

  He arched a dark eyebrow, his crooked grin firmly in place. “You’ll sing like a canary?”

  “Pray I never get captured by terrorists and tortured for information,” I joked.

  Wes’ grin fell off his face so abruptly, I worried he’d suffered some kind of mental breakdown. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he stared at my face. Before I could ask what had happened, the strange look cleared into a flat expression, concealing whatever was going on inside his head.

  “You okay?” I asked, concern lacing my tone.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugged. “Let’s go check out the castle.”

  “After you, Prince Charming,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood as he began striding toward Habsburg Gate, the tall stone archway that opened onto the castle grounds.

  “I’m not your prince, Red.” Wes’ voice was low, nearly ominous. “The dark knight, maybe. But don’t confuse me for the valiant hero.”

  I rolled my eyes at his back as I followed after him. “Well, good, Mr. Dramatic, because I’m no Disney princess.”

  Wes glanced over his shoulder at me, somewhat startled by my vehement admission.

  I dragged a deep breath in through my nose and prepared to unload several decades of disenchantment on his ass. “First there’s Ariel: the girl genetically modifies herself for a man she’s never even spoken to because being a unique, beautiful mermaid is apparently so much worse than being an average human — albeit one with great hair. Then, there’s Snow White: she communes with wild animals, consumes food from creepy strangers, and, essentially, is entirely useless when it comes to doing anything but sing, cook, and clean.” I let out an exasperated snort. “And don’t even get me started on Belle. I’m not sure what’s worse — the blatant Stockholm Syndrome or the rampant bestiality.”

  There was a beat of silence as he waited to see if I was done with my tiara-induced tirade.

  “Don’t hold back, Red.” Wes’ voice was wry and his eyes were amused when he finally spoke. He’d come back to me. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Happy he’d regained his sense of humor, I grinned and shook my head, in the process catching sight of a statue in my peripherals. “Oh, look! See that statue? The one of the weird, ugly bird clutching a sword? Like a griffon, only way cooler?”

  His eyes followed my finger as I pointed at the massive stone hawk, its wings spread wide.

  “That’s the Turul! It’s a hugely important symbol in ancient Hungarian history. They say it signifies power, strength, and nobility.” I turned excited eyes to Wes and caught him staring at me with a strange look on his face.

  “What?” I asked warily for the second time in ten minutes.

  His mouth lifted in a half-grin. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You’re just… full of surprises,” he said, shrugging. “You hate Disney princesses and you love medieval mythology. You’re terrified of heights, but you appreciate the view from the top. You’d choose Rocky Road ice cream over survival supplies. You ramble when you’re nervous. You complain that you don’t like me, but you kissed me on a train car like you never wanted to come up for air.”

  I blushed, of course.

  “You’re a contradiction.” He said, leaning in so our faces hovered millimeters apart. “A gorgeous nerd. A terrified adventurer. A clumsy cultural-expert.” He moved closer and I felt his breath on my lips when he spoke again. “It’s strange and unexpected and beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  I tried to slow my racing heartbeat. Tried not to hear his words or stare too deeply into his eyes as he said things I’d been waiting my whole life to hear. Because if I looked, if I listened — I knew I’d fall.

  Too fast. Too hard.

  I’d blink and, before I knew what was happening, I’d be in love with this man who was, in many ways, still a total stranger to me. And I couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t allow my study-abroad-dalliance to become something much more permanent. I wasn’t a dumb princess in some fairy tale and, as he’d already told me, he was certainly not my prince.

  This was a fling. No strings, no labels, no promises. Just a short-term love affair I’d look back on when I was a wrinkled old lady in a rocking chair on the back porch, telling tales to my thousand grandkids.

  Right.

  My traitorous, treacherous heart cackled hysterically at me from within my chest.

  You’re dumber than Aurora and Cinderella put together if you think you’re not already half in love with Wes Adams, it taunted deviously.

  I chewed anxiously on my bottom lip, riddled with worry, until Wes closed the gap between our faces and pressed his mouth to mine in a consuming kiss that made me forget all about my heart and, instead, start thinking with certain other, less judgmental, parts of my anatomy.

  ***

  I wasn’t sure how we got back to my apartment. The entire trip was a blur.

  All I knew was, once Wes kissed me, once I got a taste, there was no stopping it. No way to sate my appetite for him. A wave of shored-up lust that had been trapped carefully behind a dam of self-control for the past month tore through my body like a tsunami after a year-long drought.

  Buda Castle was left in the dust. The Turul statue was forgotten. Habsburg Gate faded into the distance as we ran, laughing like fools, down the steps of Castle Hill. Our hands tightly entwined, we cast surreptitious glances at each other as we raced through the city toward my apartment. It took forever, but only because we stopped so many times. We couldn’t go more than two minutes before the need to crush our lips together became unbearable.

  It was crazy. Out of control. Indecent. Immodest.

  I didn’t care.

  At the bottom of the steps, Wes pulled me against his chest and kissed me so deeply, so passionately, I forgot to breathe. Deprived of oxygen, I might’ve passed out in his arms, had he not broken away. Tourists were looking at us — snapping pictures, shielding their children’s eyes. It didn’t matter. I was so caught up in him, I would’ve stripped naked on the cobblestones if he’d asked me.

  I’d never even let Conor kiss me in full-view at a high-school football game.

  We reached the middle of the Chain Bridge, and I couldn’t take another step without touching him. I tugged Wes to a stop and pulled his face down to mine, slamming our lips together hungrily. It was far too much for a public display of affection; and yet, it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me. Pressing my mouth to his, I let myself float away as our lips devoured and discovered one another. I was so I dazed I couldn’t have told you my first name or my favorite color, but I’d never felt more complete than I did at that moment. Only the threat of toppling over the railing in a lust-fueled stupor was enough to force us onward.

  We made it another block before the wave crashed again.

  A single, heated glance passed between us, and then Wes was yanking my hand, dragging me into a narrow stone-paved alleyway, and pressing me against the wall with the entire length of his body. I could feel his hardness, knew his desire matched mine in every way. Our lips met again, his tongue entered my mouth, and I had to grip his shoulders so I wouldn’t crumple to the ground in a pile of strength-sapped limbs. I arched into him, needing more — more lips, more skin, more everything. My hands traced down his back, under the hem of his henley to skim the bare flesh beneath. He growled and tore his lips from mine, panting hard into the crook my neck.

  “You’re killing me,” he whispered. His teeth scraped my earlobe and I moaned so loud a woman peered out her first-floor apartment window at us with a disapproving look.

  Shit.

  “Let’s go.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him from the alley, sprinting down the street as fast as possible in flimsy sandals. He was right beside me, step for step — just as eager to get behind closed doors, where our l
ast vestiges of restraint could be shed like the unwanted clothes still concealing us from one another.

  When we finally reached my apartment, he kissed me as I fumbled blindly with the key. I struggled for several long moments until Wes, officially out of patience, took over for me. The lock turned and, lips still fused together, we fell through the front door as a messy tangle of arms and legs, hitting the floor before we’d made it two steps beyond the threshold. Wes kicked the door closed with one foot, threw my keys and purse across the room, and rolled on top of me in a single swift move that made my stomach clench with delicious anticipation.

  “Red, Red, Red,” he chanted under his breath, his eyes on my face and his hands in my hair. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  His palms moved over my shoulders and down my sides, skimming so softly I could barely feel them through my clothes. I was getting desperate — the need to feel his touch against my skin grew more urgent with each passing moment.

  I lifted my arms to remove his shirt, more than ready to see what lay beneath, but he reached down, grabbed my hands, and pinned my wrists above my head in a firm, inescapable grip. I couldn’t touch him, couldn’t move, as he held both my hands down with one of his own. He was in total control of my body, pulling expertly on those invisible threads that bound us together.

  He touched; I responded. It was elemental, instinctual. The most basic of physical principles, brought to life by his hands.

  For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

  His hand traced down my breastbone; my back arched like a bowstring.

  His fingers skimmed a spiral pattern up my neck and across my cheekbone; my head fell listlessly to the side, giving him better access.

  His knee nudged my legs apart; I let them fall open so he could settle fully on top of me.

  I was a puppet on a string. It should’ve been confining, demeaning.

  It wasn’t.

  It was electrifying. A thousand volts of lust pumped through my bloodstream, lighting me up from the inside out. It was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.