Page 30 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

He doesn’t let up, his fingers pumping faster and deeper.

His tongue flicking harder. I scream out, the orgasm pulling me under, and I fall off the edge.

My body convulses, my cunt clenching around his fingers as I scream his name.

Pleasure rips through me, but he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going, milking every last drop from me until I’m a trembling heap on the blanket.

He finally pulls away, his face slick with my juices, and he grins up at me like the fucking devil.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh, even as I’m still trying to catch my breath.

“You made me come,” I pant, but I’m already pulling him up to kiss me, tasting myself on his lips. “Only I’ve ever been able to do that.”

“Mmm. Something we share.”

By the look in his deep blue eyes, I know this is only the beginning. He’s not done with me yet. Not even close.

“I need more of you.”

“I’m not prepared,” he says, his breath brushing across my cheek. “I didn’t bring a condom. I wasn’t planning to go there.”

“That’s cute. But we did.” I study him. “And I’m on birth control.”

His eyes search mine, like he’s making sure he understands. His hand moves to the nape of my neck, fingers slipping into my hair.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low and hoarse.

“I seriously love that you’re so damn polite, but please fuck me.” I breathe harder now.

The stars above us are sharper and brighter, no longer floating in the background.

They’re witnesses as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans.

I prop myself up on my elbows, breasts still rising and falling, watching as he reveals himself to me.

My mouth falls open when I catch a glimpse of his large cock.

“Okay, now I’m scared.”

Laughter roars out of him as he moves closer to me. “We’ll go slow.”

When his body settles against mine, there’s a long pause. He doesn’t rush but waits. As I watch him, seeing how careful he is with me, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

I stop overthinking. I stop trying to predict what this might mean tomorrow. I stop bracing myself for loss before it ever touches me. I let the feeling in my chest stretch into trust that whatever this is will work out between us.

He’s backlit by the fire, eyes deep blue and steady, shirt hanging open, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. When he enters me, it’s slow and careful. I widen my thighs, adjusting to his length, and appreciate how he’s so damn patient.

My breath catches, and his forehead presses to mine again, like he’s right there with me, every inch of the way. Eventually, there’s no space between us. No room for fear. Only him. Only this. Only us.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes, it feels like you’re ripping me in half,” I whisper breathlessly. “It’s good.”

“You’ll know exactly where I was tomorrow,” he says.

His strong hands grip my hips. Carefully, he guides himself slowly out and then back in again.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters as I wrap my legs around his waist.

Our bodies fall into a rhythm. Every time he thrusts deeper, I meet him there. Every kiss, every sigh, every moan—I give freely. I take too.

The shift pulls us closer—skin to skin, breath to breath—and everything else around us disappears.

There’s only the slow press of his body into mine, the ache of being filled too tight, and the relief of it too.

Our rhythm builds with certainty, like we’re following something older than time.

Older than restraint. Something that’s bigger than either of us could have ever imagined.

I drag my hands down his back, nails leaving reckless little scratches over muscle, and he responds by angling deeper. My toes go numb.

He leans in, mouth at my ear, his breath hot. “I don’t remember what life was like before you.” He rasps out his wild confession.

I don’t even remember what it felt like to want anything but him.

There’s no room left for our little differences, only for need and how my whole body’s singing, begging for more. Every cell is tuned to the same frequency as his, and I’m already addicted.

Every time he thrusts deeper, it pulls a sound from me I’ve never heard myself make.

It’s an overwhelming release of finally being wanted in a way that doesn’t ask me to be anyone else.

He holds me through it, his breath catching in his throat each time I move to meet him.

It’s instinct now. Muscle memory. A conversation written in touch and exhale.

“I’ve got the Valentine curse, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he says with a laugh.

Our mouths find each other again and again, open and needy, lips swollen, tongues sliding in slow communion. His kiss is messy, almost like he’s apologizing and replacing every man before him who touched me like I was temporary. This feels like forever. Like I never want it to end.

Every sigh that leaves his chest, I feel against my ribs. Every moan I give him, he takes with gratitude and answers with more.

There is no part of me hidden under the stars. No mask. No angle for the media. I’m cut wide open for him, in my rawest form, and that’s the woman he wants.

My hands are in his hair. My spine arches into the next pump and the next, and he groans like he’s the one unraveling, not me.

“You feel so damn good,” he says in a hushed tone.

He slows his pace like he wants me to understand I’m falling apart for someone who won’t use me. I clutch at his shoulders and drop my guard, too gone to remember when I ever thought I wasn’t worthy of this. Of him. Of the way he whispers my name like it’s something worth keeping.

The thought takes hold, and I go rigid around him, inner muscles clenching in a way I can’t hide or control. He groans like he’s ruined and gives himself over to it too. Colt grinds deeper and harder, spilling and pumping into me. Every part of him is locked to me until we’re both shaking.

We stay that way, breathless, for as long as it takes for our hearts to stop tripping over themselves, and then he helps me clean up.

He shifts and pulls my naked body closer, arm beneath my shoulders, hand tracing my spine, like he’s counting vertebrae.

I bury my face against his throat and laugh.

I’m giddy and maybe a little unhinged as I float on cloud nine with him.

He laughs, too, then kisses the top of my head.

For a long while, neither of us says anything.

There’s only the sound of our heartbeats and ragged breaths and laughter.

We crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. And tonight, I gave him parts of myself no one had ever had.

Eventually, he props up on one elbow and looks at me like he’s searching for something specific.

Whatever it is, he finds it because his mouth goes soft at the edges, his gaze unguarded.

His thumb brushes over my cheek, following the damp trail beneath my eye.

It’s overwhelming to experience this with a man I barely know, a man who seems to understand me better than anyone in my life.

It’s the first time I’ve cried in years, but it’s from pure happiness.

“Stormy?” he asks, like he’d burn the world down for me.

I kiss his pulse on his neck, feeling his heartbeat beneath my lips. “I’ve never—” I’m not sure how to finish. He waits patiently. “This is all very new for me.”

A smile tugs at his mouth before he steals a sweet kiss. “Love to hear it, darlin’. Hope you have the time of your life with me.”

“You’ll catch me if I fall too hard?”

“Every damn time,” he confesses.

His fingers are in my hair as my thumb brushes across his cheek.

By the sparkle in his eyes, I know this wasn’t sex, and this isn’t an escape for me. This is trust and a sacred kind of knowing that we have found what we were searching for in one another. And the thought of that scares me shitless.