Page 25 of Texas (Route 69 #1)
She leans in and kisses me, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that tastes like goodbye and gratitude and something that might last even after I’m gone.
Then she turns and walks back inside, her shoulders straight, and her steps sure.
She doesn’t look back. I stand in the parking lot for a long minute, watching the lights in the library windows and the shadows of people moving and laughing inside.
Then I walk to the Harley, swing my leg over, and fire her up.
The engine rumbles through my bones, already becoming steady and familiar.
I roll out of the lot, the wind cool on my face, with the road stretching ahead, full of promise and possibility and whatever comes tomorrow.
By the time Kristin rolls in the driveway, I’m sitting on the porch, boots kicked up on the rail, a beer sweating in my hand.
The night is quiet, the heat has finally broken, and there is the hum of crickets.
The lights from the house spill across the yard, catching the curve of the lake in the distance.
My saddlebags and backpack are packed and ready for morning.
I keep telling myself I’m not focused on leaving, but I am.
My body is already halfway gone, restless as hell, but my heart is still here, waiting for her.
Kristin’s headlights cut across the lawn, and I watch her park the Corvette, engine ticking in the cooling air.
She steps out and looks at me, her face soft in the porch light, and for a second, we only stare at each other in the still night.
Finally, she climbs the steps and sits beside me in the other rocking chair, close enough that our knees touch.
I hand her the last beer. Opening it, she takes a long swallow, then sighs.
“You’re packed,” she says, and it’s not a question.
I watch her face. “Yeah,” I say. “I figure I’ll hit the road at sunrise. Get ahead of the heat.”
She turns, searching my eyes. “You can stay, you know. As long as you want. As long as you need.”
My chest twists. I want to say yes. I want to say I could build something here, that I could be the kind of woman who stays, but we both know better. “Thank you. But you don’t need saving anymore,” I say. “You never really did.”
Her smile is sad and beautiful. “Maybe not. But I still want you.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “Tonight?”
Nodding, her eyes are dark. “Let’s make tonight our best night.”
“I can do that.”
Standing, she presses a kiss to my mouth, and it’s full of promise.
“Give me five minutes,” she whispers, then slips inside, leaving the door swinging in her wake.
I don’t waste time. I walk to the guest house, heart pounding, skin already buzzing with anticipation.
I strip down, every scar and bruise bared to the night, and pull the harness from the drawer.
Black leather, molded to my body like it belongs there.
I cinch the straps, adjust it until it sits snug against me, and I feel the familiar, hungry ache.
I wait, stretched out on the bed, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
The door opens. Kristin stands in the frame with her body haloed by the moonlight.
She’s wearing nothing but a silk robe, some deep color, maybe green, tied loosely at the waist. Slipping it off her shoulders, she lets it fall to the floor, and underneath…
fuck. She’s in black lace, a bra that barely covers her nipples, panties that disappear between her thighs, garters clipped to sheer stockings.
She looks at me like I’m the only thing she ever wants.
Crossing the room, with confidence in every step, and climbs onto the bed, straddling my hips.
The harness presses between us, thick and hot.
She leans down, her hair falling around my face, and kisses me, hungry, open-mouthed, with her tongue teasing mine.
I grip her thighs, feeling the tremble in her muscles, and the heat of her skin.
“Ride me,” I whisper, voice rough and she smiles, both wicked and loving.
“Gladly.”
She reaches down, guiding the shaft inside her, sinking onto it, her eyes locked on mine.
Wetness drips onto my thighs and I know she’s soaked, body open and greedy, taking me deep.
She gasps, head thrown back, hands braced on my chest. I grab her hips, holding her steady as she starts to move.
Slow at first, rolling her hips in lazy circles, grinding down so the base of the harness drags over my clit.
Every nerve ending lights up, and I bite my lip, fighting not to come too soon.
Riding me harder, faster, her breath coming in broken moans, and her hands clutching my shoulders, I watch her start to fall apart, watch her chase her own pleasure, every movement desperate and beautiful.
Her thighs tremble, her back arches, but before she comes, I hold her in place.
“Not yet.” She moans, but not as much in frustration as in anticipation.
I turn her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, pressing her face into the pillow.
Sliding back in, I fuck her slowly from behind, with my hands gripping her waist. She pushes back, greedy for every thrust, her moans muffled by the sheets.
I lean over her, my mouth at her ear. “You feel so good,” I whisper, fucking her deeper, harder, until we’re both gasping.
Again, her whole body is shaking. “Wait, Kristin. Not yet.”
Sliding the strap-on out slowly, she rolls onto her back and pulls me down, wraps her legs around my waist, and kisses me, hard, insistent, and I know she is close.
Pushing inside her again, this time it is slow and tender, my mouth on her neck, her jaw, her lips.
She holds me close, her hands in my hair, her body open and trusting.
We move together like we’ve done this a thousand times, like we’ll do it a thousand more.
There’s no rush. Just the steady thrum of goodbye and gratitude and everything we never said out loud.
With a cry of release, she comes at last, and in a few more thrusts, I follow her over with an orgasm more intense than I might have ever felt.
We lie there after, tangled in sweat and lace, her head on my chest, and my arm around her.
The night presses in, and I close my eyes, memorizing the feel of her, the sound of her breath, the ache in my chest that tells me this is the kind of goodbye that will live in my bones forever.
Tomorrow, I’ll ride out, but tonight, I’m hers.