Page 29 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

STORMY

C olt and I lie on our backs and stare up at the stars above us.

There are so many that it seems unreal, like someone punched holes in the sky to let sparkling magic leak through.

The fire that he built crackles a few feet away.

I tilt my body toward his. He hasn’t said a word since our confession, but he doesn’t have to.

His silence isn’t uncertain. It’s confident, like he knows what passed between us was more than a kiss.

It was a shift, a surrender, a confession neither of us can walk away from even if we wanted.

This has been building since the moment we met, and tonight, it might finally spill over.

I keep staring at his mouth, still parted, tasting like wine and cobbler.

Colt reaches out and brushes a piece of hair from my cheek. The back of his hand drags slowly down the line of my jaw before dropping away again, like he doesn’t trust himself to linger.

“You good?” he asks, his voice so low that it sounds like a secret.

I shake my head, and the motion feels heavier than it should. “I’m drowning in you.”

His eyes don’t waver. “That’s allowed.”

“I know,” I say, curling my fingers into his shirt as he props his head up on his hand.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just hold space for the way you feel.”

“I don’t trust myself and my decisions after …” I can’t finish, but I also don’t need to.

He gives me his lazy grin. “You think I’m a rebound?”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“Then, darlin’, I’m not.”

The night air wraps around us, warm from the fire but cool at the edges.

Somewhere behind us, a cricket chirps. I focus on the sound, on the way Colt is watching me like I’m not fragile, but something he’s willing to protect and fight for.

I turn toward him fully, my body shifting closer to his.

Our knees brush, then our thighs. Heat radiates off his skin, and it grounds me in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with living in the moment.

Right now, I’m not hiding my feelings or pretending I don’t want him. And neither is he. This man makes me remember what it’s like to be chosen in return. Mutual attraction, want, and need aren’t something I’m used to.

I shift forward, capturing his lips, making the first move this time. I kiss him like he’s erasing every man that came before him.

My breath catches, and so does his. His hands find my face, fingers gently touch my cheek, as though he’s afraid I might vanish if he’s not careful.

My pulse is everywhere at once as his tongue traces my lower lip, coaxing me open, and I let him see what I am like when I’m hungry, desperate, and no longer fighting myself.

“I need you,” I confess.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice gravelly. He searches my face as if he needs to memorize the answer.

“I’m so damn sure; it hurts,” I say, swallowing hard.

Colt’s groan rumbles from deep in his chest. He sits up, taking me with him.

Suddenly, I’m straddling him, my line of sight now level with his.

His hands are steady on my hips, as if he’s claiming me, and I bite back a nervous laugh because I’m clinging to his shirt, breathing like I ran here from New York.

His kiss grows rougher, less a question, more of a claim. My hands run through his messy hair, and Colt shivers beneath my fingers.

I barely notice my dress hitching up until the heat from the fire meets the skin of my lower back. His hands move under the fabric so slowly that my entire body aches for more.

With him rock hard underneath me, I carefully unbutton the buttons on my dress until it’s more like a robe. I remove it, offering my body to him.

Every touch is amplified, as if someone dialed my senses to a fever pitch.

One of his hands slips beneath the band of my bra, fingers hesitant.

I want to laugh and cry and moan at once, but my body chooses moan, and it vibrates straight through both of us.

My nails dig into his scalp, and he bites my neck, not hard, just enough to claim a ravenous part of me that wants him.

I rock my hips, feeling how hard he is beneath me, and the whole world fades away.

The trees, the moon, the pond basically vanish.

When Colt lays me down on the blanket, his hands gentle but greedy, I realize I don’t want him to stop, not now, not ever.

And maybe that’s what undoes me the most. That I could picture forever with him.

His mouth finds its way down my neck, across my collarbone, mapping every freckle and scar. I arch beneath him, helpless and happy. He kisses the skin above my belly button and then lower, leaving a heat trail I’ll never forget. Goose bumps cover me as he reaches my panties.

“We can stop. We don’t have to go any further,” he whispers, not just so I can hear, but so the stars can too. “We can wait.”

“Claim me, cowboy,” I say. “ Please .”

My heart thuds against my rib cage like it’s trying to be heard through my skin.

Colt doesn’t devour me immediately; instead, he continues his worship.

Slow, like we have all the time in the world, kissing his way back up until his mouth finds mine again, honey sweet and urgent.

There’s nothing rushed about our undoing, and the way he cherishes me makes me crumble.

Somewhere between his laughter and my content sigh, Colt slides his hand up my thigh and touches between my legs, careful as a prayer.

His hands warm every inch of me as he takes his time.

My panties are soaked through and have been since we kissed.

This man turns me on in unexplainable ways, even from a simple glance.

“You’re trembling,” he says, his fingers brushing across my panties.

“So are you,” I mutter, and then we both laugh.

It’s a big step, a line we can’t uncross. I find our nervousness adorable.

“If you want to stop …”

“Are you kidding?” Colt kisses his way down to where my thighs meet, pressing his lips flat, teasing with stubble. “I want you as much as you want me,” he confesses. “More, if I’m honest.”

I think about the girl I was at the beginning of this year, the one who would have shied away from the pleasure.

If I could go back in time, I’d shake her by the shoulders, tell her that she needed to leave, and to find a man who knew her worth, who cherished and worshipped her.

He exists, and his name is Colt Valentine.

Carefully, he hooks his fingers in the seam of my panties and slides them down, revealing all of me.

A choked gasp releases from me when his fingers brush along my pussy, discovering every want I’ve tried to hide.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so wet.”

“You do that to me.” I’m naked and exposed, and I’m risking it all for him. Emotionally and physically. Fuck, mentally too. Regardless, I give myself to him, hoping this isn’t reckless.

By the time his mouth closes over my clit, I’m pure electricity, and every nerve is wired for him. He’s learning me, tongue and lips and careful questions. Every time I shake or shudder, he says my name in that deep, ruined way, like I’m a language he’s teaching himself to speak.

“Mmm, Stormy. Your pussy is perfect.”

“It’s yours,” I gasp out, my fingers grabbing the blanket beneath me.

“Yeah? Tell me who it belongs to.”

“My pussy belongs to you,” I whimper when his large fingers slip inside and curl upward. The pleasure is so intense; I fist his hair so hard that I almost apologize.

He groans between my legs, and I see sparks behind my eyelids. I’m not quiet, but it’s not like anyone could hear me out here, screaming his name in this secluded oasis. Let the entire goddamn state know I’m alive beneath this man, painted in starlight, and greedy for more of his mouth and fingers.

His face is buried between my thighs like he’s starving, and I’m the last meal on earth.

His breath is hot and wet against my pussy.

The tip of his tongue teases my clit, flicking it with precision, causing my back to arch off the blanket.

My tits bounce as I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

“Colt,” I moan, my voice trembling, “don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He doesn’t.

“Love it when you moan my name like that.” His tongue is relentless, sliding down to my slit, lapping at my juices like he’s fucking addicted to the taste of me.

I can hear the obscene, wet sounds of his mouth working me over, and it drives me wild. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, and I feel so fucking vulnerable with him, but I don’t care. I trust him. And I want him to devour me, to ruin me, to claim me like no man ever has before.

When his tongue plunges inside me again and he fucks me so damn good with it, I cry out.

My hips buck against his face, creating more friction, and he groans.

The vibration sends shock waves through my cunt.

His tongue darts in and out, curling and twisting, hitting every sensitive spot until I’m a wet, writhing, moaning mess.

“Colt,” I whimper, my voice breaking, “you’re the first man to ever do that and …”

He pulls back for a moment, his lips glistening with my arousal, and he looks up at me with those hungry blue eyes.

“I love being your first, darlin’,” he growls.

Then he’s back on me, his tongue circling my clit, sucking it into his mouth, and I scream.

My legs are shaking, my whole body trembling as he works me closer and closer to the edge. I’m losing control.

His fingers rejoin the party, sliding inside me, curling and stroking that sweet spot that makes me see a kaleidoscope of colors.

I’m panting, my tits heaving, my nipples hard and aching for attention.

I grab them, pinching, allowing the pleasure to soar through me.

The pressure’s building, twisting tight in my belly.

“I’m gonna come,” I gasp, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m so close. Colt …”