Page 43 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

STORMY

T he sun hasn’t risen yet. But it will.

The black SUV slows to a stop just past the security gate, and the driver nods at me through the rearview mirror. Beyond the windshield, the private jet is already waiting—sleek and silver, its sharp nose pointed toward the runway, like it’s impatiently waiting to leave.

I glance at Colt, who hasn’t said a word since we turned onto the access road. He’s leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes locked on the plane, like he’s still trying to decide if it’s real.

“Ready?” I ask, trying to ease the silence.

He looks over at me, then back at the jet. “You own this?”

“Yes. Several.” I smile, but I don’t miss the way he gives me a second glance as he gets out. Not tense, but aware that this is my world.

The tarmac is cold beneath our feet as we cross toward the open stairs. A flight attendant in navy slacks and a crisp blouse greets us with a polite smile, but her eyes flick to Colt with brief curiosity. She doesn’t ask questions because she wouldn’t dare.

Once we’re on board, the cabin door seals behind us with a soft hiss. The air inside is cooler than I expected. The plane is exactly how I remember it—with white leather seats, wood trim, and soft lighting. Colt takes it in with a slow turn of his head, not speaking yet as he processes it.

“Wow,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

Colt lowers himself into the seat beside me, his eyes still moving over the space, like he’s trying to memorize the layout.

“You okay?” I ask, watching him.

“I’m shocked,” he says, then glances at me with the smallest smile. “You’re a princess, for real.”

This makes me laugh. “No. Trust me. Princesses are a lot more spoiled. I know a few.”

The captain’s voice crackles through the speaker, announcing a several-hour flight time and smooth conditions. The jet begins to taxi down the runway, and Colt’s hand finds mine on the armrest. I don’t think he even realizes he reached for me.

I glance down at our hands and grin. He’s leaving everything he knows behind to come with me without hesitation.

Before we left this morning, he asked Fenix if she’d feed the horses. She said yes and promised she wouldn’t tell anyone where we were going. I’m building her trust slowly, giving her space, but I do want to help her the best I can.

Outside the window, the horizon tips and lifts as we rise. The light shifts, and big, fluffy clouds float across the sky.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft pulse of the ascent, the drone of the engines, and the rhythm of our breathing melting into cabin hush.

Colt’s thumb strokes the space between my knuckles as he stares out the window. His fingers trace lazy patterns—a silent reminder he’s still with me. I don’t speak, just watch how his brows draw inward. I love the faint stubble along his chiseled jawline. This man is gorgeous.

I lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder, and he glances at me curiously.

I give his hand a gentle tug and stand, leading him into the private cabin in the back of the jet. Inside is a softly lit bedroom with a low bed and smooth paneling. I close the door behind us and let the silence settle between our bodies.

Colt stands in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

I step closer, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt.

He lets me lift it over his head, his arms rising automatically, like we’ve done this a hundred times. But this time is different.

I smooth my hands over his chest, trailing slowly down the line of his carved abs. His skin is warm under my palms, his muscles like stone. I sink to my knees in front of him, not because I want to tease him, but because I want him to feel what it’s like to be worshipped.

Words catch in his throat, but I shake my head, quieting him.

I look up at him—so quiet, so still, like he’s waiting to be told he’s enough. He doesn’t ask for much, this man. But I want to give him everything.

“I want to make you feel good,” I whisper.

The hum of the jet’s engines is a low and it vibrates through the floor and into my knees. We’re not even touching yet, but he’s already hard, straining against the fabric of his jeans, and I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of his bulge.

I’m going to make him forget every other blow job he’s ever had. This will be the one he jerks off to for the rest of his life.

I reach up, my fingers trembling with anticipation, and undo his belt. The sound of the buckle clinking is like music to my ears. I yank his pants down just enough to free him, and, fuck, it’s perfect. Thick, veiny, and already leaking pre-cum, like he’s been thinking about this as much as I have.

I wrap my hand around the base, feeling the heat of him and how he pulses in my palm. I lean in, my breath hot against the tip, and flick my tongue out to taste him. Salty, musky, and so damn good. I moan against him, the sound vibrating against his skin, and he groans, his hips jerking forward.

I guide him into my mouth and savor every thick inch.

My lips stretch around his girth, and I hollow my cheeks, sucking him deep.

I can feel him twitch against my tongue, and I swirl it around the head, teasing the slit before taking him down my throat.

I don’t gag, and I don’t stop. I want to taste every inch of him.

My nose brushes against the coarse hair at the base of him, and I breathe him in, his scent filling my lungs.

I pull back, dragging my lips along his shaft, and then plunge down again, faster this time.

My hand works with my mouth, stroking what I can’t keep inside me unless I don’t want to breathe.

He’s panting now, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding me but being forceful.

I love that he lets me take control, allows me to worship him the way he’s always deserved.

I bob my head faster, my lips tight around him, my tongue working overtime.

I can feel his balls tightening against my chin.

I reach down with my free hand and cup them, rolling them gently in my palm.

He lets out a strangled moan, his hips bucking uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” he growls. His voice is desperate and raw with need.

I don’t stop. I force him deeper, my throat opening wider.

I take my time, feeling his muscles tense, and then he grabs my hair with a tight fist. When he finally explodes, it’s with a guttural cry that sends shivers down my spine.

His hot cum floods my mouth, and I swallow it down, not wasting a single drop.

I keep sucking until he’s spent, until he’s trembling and gently pushing me away with a shaky hand.

I look up at him, my lips swollen, my chin glistening with spit.

“Welcome to the Mile-High Club, cowboy,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from taking his length so deep.

He looks down at me, completely wrecked, and I can’t help but smile.

Mission accomplished.

My tongue flicks over my lips to savor the salty tang of him. My chest heaves with every ragged breath, the lace of my bra barely containing my tits. He stands over me, tip glistening and twitching like it’s begging for round two. But his hungry eyes say he has other plans.

“My turn,” he growls, his voice gravelly and so damn sexy.

Before I can even think, he’s on me, lifting me to my feet.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide, like he’s claiming his territory.

My skirt’s already hiked up around my waist, and my soaked panties cling to my pussy like a second skin.

He doesn’t bother with foreplay; he rips them off with one swift tug, the fabric tearing like it’s nothing.

Colt lays me down on the bed, and I gasp, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his growl as he buries his face between my legs.

His tongue is relentless. It’s like he’s trying to devour me whole, lapping at my slit with a hunger that makes my toes curl.

He starts slow, teasing my clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it in tight little spirals that make me whimper.

But then he gets serious, his mouth clamping down on me, sucking my clit like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste.

I arch my back, my hands clawing at the sheets, my moans echoing through the cabin.

“Fuck yes,” I pant, my voice trembling. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. His tongue dives deeper, plunging into my pussy with quick, shallow thrusts.

I can feel his stubble scraping against my inner thighs, the rough sensation only adding to the fire burning between my legs.

He’s relentless, his mouth working me over, like he’s trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from my body.

And then he slips a finger inside me, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot.

I’m trembling now, my legs shaking as he adds a second finger, stretching me open, fucking me with his hand while his tongue continues its assault on my clit.

It’s too much and not enough, all at once. My vision blurs white.

“I’m gonna—” I whimper, my voice breaking.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he drives harder, tighter, like he’s chasing something only I can give him. His fingers piston in and out of me, his tongue flicking my clit faster and faster. I can feel the orgasm building and my control is ready to snap. With that thought, it does.

I come with a scream, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rushes through me. He takes every sliver of ecstasy from me until I’m a trembling, whimpering mess.

When he finally pulls away, his face is glistening with my juices, his lips swollen and wet. He looks up at me with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction that he can bring me to the edge so easily.

“Damn, darlin’. That might be a record,” he purrs, his voice dripping with confidence.

The air is thick with a heady cocktail of sweat, musk, and us. His cock is a monument, veins thick, like they’re about to burst. I’m sprawled on the silk sheets of the bed, my legs spread open, waiting.

“Give me what I want.”

“Just admiring you,” he murmurs. His voice is like gravel being dragged over my skin.

“My pretty little storm. You’re mine.”

I whimper, nodding, my body trembling with need. “Yours.”

He doesn’t make me wait any longer. In one brutal motion, he slams into me, stretching me to the limit. I scream, my back arching off the bed, my nails digging into his shoulders. He’s so big; it feels like he’s branding me from the inside out.

“Every fucking inch of me belongs to you,” he whispers, his hands gripping my hips so tight that I know I’ll bruise.

“Yes, I want all of you,” I confess.

He fucks me like he’s mine, his hips bucking into me with a rhythm that’s relentless and unforgiving. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with my moans and his grunts. My pussy is wet and aching for him, and every thrust sends shocks through my body.

“So damn perfect. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take me.”

“Technically,” I gasp, my head thrashing against the pillows, “you were made for me.”

Colt leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You gonna squirt for me, darlin’?” he asks.

He shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside me that makes my entire body convulse. He keeps driving into me, deeper, harder, until I can’t catch my breath.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he encourages. “Let it go, sweetheart. Give it all to me.”

I explode, my pussy spasming around him as I squirt all over his cock, the sheets, everything.

The sensation is so intense that it feels like I’m being ripped apart and put back together at the same time.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me a moment to recover.

He keeps pounding into me, driving deep with a force that leaves me trembling.

“You’re mine to fuck, mine to claim. Say it.”

“Yours,” I sob, my body still shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm. “All yours.”

He growls, an almost-animalistic sound, and then he’s coming, too, his length pulsing inside me as he fills me with his cum. Every hot drop spills into me. He collapses on top of me, his body heavy and sweaty, his breath ragged against my neck. We stay like that for what feels like forever …

He’s still inside me, warmth spilling between us, like even our bodies don’t want to let go. I’m a mess, my body limp and spent, but I’ve never felt more alive.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, brushing hair from my face.

“So are you.”

Colt slides out of me with agonizing slowness, as if drawing out every second he can keep us tangled. For a long moment, he watches me with rawness in his eyes. I’m still reeling. Even after he fucked me like he tried to break me, the way he studies my face is gentle.

“I love you,” he whispers.

My breath catches. My pulse skips. He just said it—out loud, without fear, without condition.

I try to remember how to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t go another minute without telling you. I knew I’d love you the moment you said my name. And you deserve to know that.”

“I love you too,” I whisper.

He gently moves back to me, sliding his mouth across mine. I kiss him back, tasting myself on his tongue. We breathe each other in and out, and when he pulls back, he brings a thumb up and wipes the tear from my cheek.

“You’re crying,” he says.

I sit up, feeling the wetness on my cheeks, knowing I haven’t cried in over a decade. Not over Donovan or my sister. “I’m so happy.”

“You deserve to be,” he says, voice like velvet.

“You do too.”

His breath is ragged, his hair an absolute disaster, and he’s stunning in that wild, ruined way I can’t look away from.

He studies me. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

“I hope you do, cowboy,” I say, but I already know I’m his, body and soul.

Every storm led me right here. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.