Page 14 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Fourteen

I t starts with her standing in the guesthouse doorway, one hand on her hip, the other holding a picnic basket.

Tight jeans, a white T-shirt, I’m pretty sure no bra, and a thin leather jacket hanging off one shoulder.

Her hair’s pulled back, but a few curls have escaped to frame her face.

She looks flushed from the sun that’s already heating up the day or maybe from thinking about what she’s about to say.

Either way, I feel it in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m ready to ride with you today,” she says. I nod, reaching for my keys on the table. She holds up her hand. “Wait.” Stepping inside, she closes the door behind her. Her eyes find mine and hold. “I want you to do something for me today.”

Cocking my head, I try to read her, but I can’t quite get what’s in her eyes. “What is it?” She sets the basket on the floor and walks toward me. Her fingers reach for the edge of my shirt, but they don’t lift it.

They just rest there. “I want you to wear the harness.” My pulse kicks. She says it without a smile, without a wink. Like it’s not a game, but it’s like something she needs.

“During the ride?”

“Yes.”

I stare at her, and she doesn’t blink. “You want me to strap it on, pull my jeans over it, and take you on the Harley?”

She nods. “I want to know it’s there the whole time.”

Taking a slow breath, I let the silence stretch, just to feel the tension in the air. My strap-on is in the saddlebag by the bed. The black leather harness with the curved silicone shaft and a base that presses against me when I wear it. “Yeah, I can do that,” I say, moving to the bag.

Slowly, I unzip it and pull the strap-on out.

She watches every movement. Her eyes don’t leave me.

I strip down to nothing but my T-shirt right here in front of her.

No ceremony. Just skin and muscle and purpose.

Sliding the harness up my thighs, I cinch the straps and adjust the shaft until it sits snug.

The base presses against my clit, and it’s already making me throb.

I pull on clean boxer-briefs, then my jeans, zipping them slowly.

I don’t tuck the bulge away yet. I want her to see it.

When I look at her, she’s already biting her lip.

Her eyes drop to my crotch, then back up.

She crosses the room, presses her palm to the denim, and looks me in the eyes.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, holding her gaze.

She nods. “Good. Because I’m going to feel it all day, and it will make me crazy. ”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she whispers before kissing me.

She doesn’t push for more. I can tell she likes the anticipation, and frankly, so do I.

It buzzes beneath my skin, sharp and sweet, almost like lightning waiting for a strike.

I know every mile of this ride will grind that tension deeper into my bones, but I want it too.

We pack. I attach the picnic basket to the back of the Harley with a few bungee cords I keep rolled in my saddlebag.

She throws a blanket over her shoulder, pulls on her jacket, and swings her leg over behind me.

Her arms wrap around my waist, and her thighs press tight.

I feel her hot breath against my neck. Jesus.

This will be a hell of a ride. I start the engine and roll the Harley down the driveway.

At the highway, I wait, and she points left.

Without hesitation, I go that way. Today is about her being in control.

The road curves through the hills, long and open; the kind of stretch that makes you feel like you’re the only two people left in the world.

The bike eats the miles. Kristin holds me tighter with every turn.

Her hips rock against my ass, subtle but insistent.

Her hand grazes the bulge between my legs.

She’s eager for it. I feel it. I feel her heat through two layers of denim and it’s driving me out of my mind.

My clit is hard for miles. The friction from the base of the harness is just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy.

I grit my teeth and focus on the road, but every bump, every shift of her hips, sends a jolt through me.

She gives me directions with a tap to my shoulder or a squeeze of my thigh.

We turn down a narrow road, then another.

Eventually, we pull off onto a dirt path that winds up a small hill.

At the top, the view opens wide. A canyon stretches below us, still and majestic in the mid-afternoon sun.

Trees line the far side. A few birds wheel overhead.

It’s quiet, private, perfect, and I kill the engine.

Kristin slides off first, her movements deliberate.

She reaches back and unstraps the basket, then lays the blanket beneath an oak tree.

I dismount and follow her, the bulge in my jeans still heavy, still aching.

I’m not sure how much more I can take, but I sit beside her on the ground.

She unpacks the food. Cold sparkling water.

Goat cheese wrapped in wax paper. Sliced figs.

Crusty bread. A small tin of dark chocolate truffles. Everything for the perfect picnic.

We eat with our fingers. She feeds me a piece of fig, her thumb brushing my bottom lip. I lick it clean. “You always pack like this?” I ask.

“I’m trying to impress you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t need to impress me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “But I want to.” We eat in silence for a while.

The bread crumbles. The cheese melts on our tongues.

The sky is blue without a cloud in it. Then she says, “Before I met Will, I wanted to open a mobile clinic. Only for women. One that could go into rural areas. Places no one else wanted to serve.”

Turning from the view, I watch her. “What stopped you?”

She shrugs. “I met Will and when I told him my idea, he said it was too idealistic. If I was going to do anything, he at least wanted me to ‘build something real.’”

“You did,” I say, meaning it.

Kristin nods, but her eyes are distant. “Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve looked like. A van full of supplies. Pulling up to a parking lot in some remote town to give Pap smears and pass out birth control.”

“Sounds like you,” I say with a smile.

With a sigh, she shakes her head. “It was.” I don’t tell her she could still do it. She knows that. She only needs to believe it’s possible again. Leaning back on her elbows, she tilts her face toward the sky. “You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t joined the Army?”

I shrug and lick a remnant of cheese off my thumb. “No. I didn’t have a backup plan.”

“No dream?”

Pausing, I think about it. “Not of my own, but there was this girl once. We were stationed in Kuwait,” I say.

“She used to sketch, and she’d draw these places she wanted to see.

Mountains. Oceans. Cities. One night, she showed me this drawing of a cliff in Montana.

Said it was the most peaceful place she’d ever seen a picture of.

I remember thinking, if I ever got out, I’d try to find it. ”

“Did you?”

“No,” I say. “Not yet anyway.”

Kristin is quiet for a long time. Then she sits up, crawls toward me, and straddles my lap. Her hands rest on my shoulders. Her mouth hovers over mine. “I want you to fuck me,” she says.

My breath catches. “Here?”

She nods her head toward the Harley. “There. On the bike.” I look at her.

Her pupils are wide, her lips are parted, and I know in a heartbeat how much she wants this.

Standing, she unbuttons her jeans, shimmies them down her thighs, no underwear.

She’s wet. I see it. Slowly, I climb to my feet, and she reaches for my fly, unzips me, and pulls the shaft free from my jeans.

The walk to the bike feels like the longest of my life, but somehow I manage to swing a leg over and settle onto the seat.

I plant my feet on the ground, ready for whatever comes next.

Like she’s fantasized about it a hundred times, Kristin slips her own leg over until she is facing me.

Biting her lip, I look into her eyes while I feel her take hold of what she wants.

Guiding the tip, she lowers herself onto it, inch by slow inch.

Her breath leaves her in a shudder, and her head falls back.

My hands tighten on her hips, and she starts to ride me.

I feel every inch like it’s being carved into memory.

She grips me, not just with her body, but with the weight of everything we haven’t said.

This isn’t simply fucking but is something carved out of longing and defiance and need.

We move slowly at first. She’s rocking her hips, grinding down, and the harness presses against my clit.

I feel every thrust, every shudder. I won’t last long.

The need for release all day is near the breaking point.

Her hands dig into my shoulders, and my mouth finds her neck.

I kiss her there. Bite her just enough to make her gasp.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “You feel so good.”

I hold her tighter, pulling her down onto me harder.

She rides me, and I’m ready to explode. Her thighs are trembling.

Her breath is ragged, and I know her pussy grips the cock with every thrust. As the wave of my orgasm starts to crash over me, I hear her come with a cry too, her body locking around me, her nails digging into my back.

I feel it. The way she shakes. I slow my movements until she collapses against me, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot on my lips.

We stay like that another minute. Still connected.

The shaft still buried inside her. The canyon behind us.

Eventually, she lifts her head and kisses me. “I needed that,” she says.

With a chuckle, I nod. “Me too.”

On the ride back, she holds me tighter than before. Her hands splayed across my stomach, her cheek pressed to my back, and no space between us. And for the first time, I wonder what it would feel like to stay.