Page 7 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Seven

I wake to the early morning light filtering in through gauzy curtains, and for a long moment, I only lie there.

Still. Breathing. The bed smells like sex.

Like skin and sweat and sleep. Kristin is curled into me, her leg slung across my thigh, one hand resting just beneath my breast, possessive even in sleep.

Her breath is slow and even, her chest rising and falling against my arm, and her skin is soft against mine.

There’s a curl of dark hair stuck to her cheek, and I want to reach over and brush it away, but I don’t because this is the kind of morning that feels dangerous.

Staring at the ceiling, I feel that old itch already crawling in under my skin.

The one that whispers things like “Don’t get used to this.

Don’t let it mean something.” I slide my arm out from under her slowly, carefully.

She stirs but doesn’t wake. The sheet falls away from my chest as I sit up, the cool air brushing my nipples, tightening them instantly.

My T-shirt and shorts are on the floor beside the bed.

I can be gone in sixty seconds. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feet finding the hardwood.

“You were gonna sneak out, weren’t you?”

Her voice is sleep-rough and low, soaked in the kind of intimacy that makes my gut twist. I turn slowly.

She’s propped up on one elbow now, watching me, hair a wild mess around her face.

Her eyes are dark and unreadable, but there’s no anger there, only curiosity and a little amusement.

And maybe something else I don’t want to name.

“I was thinking about it,” I say honestly because I don’t want to lie to her, especially not with her looking at me like that.

Kristin stretches, slow and unbothered, like a cat in sunlight.

The sheet slips off her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her breast, and the dip of her waist. She doesn’t cover herself.

She doesn’t need to, and she radiates confidence in every inch of her body, and fuck me, she’s gorgeous.

“That’s a shame,” she murmurs. “I was planning to make it worth your while to stay.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She nods, and it’s the slow kind. The kind that makes my pulse throb in places that haven’t come down from last night yet. “Come back to bed, soldier.”

It’s the soft command in her voice that does it.

The way she says it like she already knows I will, and she’s right.

I slide back under the covers, and the second I do, she’s on me.

Her mouth finds mine, hot and hungry, and I kiss her back like I’ve been starving for her all night.

Her hands are everywhere. My ribs, my hips, my ass.

Pulling me closer, dragging me into her heat.

I groan against her lips and roll her onto her back.

She spreads for me without hesitation, thighs falling open, and I slide between them like I belong there. And right now, I do.

I trail kisses down her neck and then suck gently on that spot right below her ear that makes her gasp.

Her skin tastes like sleep and sex and something sweet I can’t place.

My hand moves between her legs, and Jesus, she’s already soaked.

I slide two fingers through her heat, teasing her clit with the pad of my thumb, and her hips buck off the bed.

“Yes…” she gasps, breath catching. “Just like that.”

Slipping two fingers inside her, I move them.

She’s tight and hot, pulsing around me like she’s been waiting for this all along.

Her back arches, her hands fisting the sheets, and I press deeper, brushing that spot inside her that makes her cry out.

She’s fucking perfect like this. Open and writhing, her body begging for more, her voice thick and desperate in my ear.

I thrust harder, faster, my thumb circling her clit in time with my strokes.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her thighs shaking around my wrist.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I’m so close.”

“Let go,” I whisper, lips brushing her jaw. “I’ve got you.”

And she does. She comes hard, crying out my name, her whole body locking up and then unraveling in waves.

I hold her through it, never stopping, fucking her until she’s trembling and breathless, her body slick with sweat and pleasure.

When she finally collapses against the mattress, her skin flushed and glowing, I slide my fingers out gently and kiss her.

Her lips are soft against mine. “Jesus,” she murmurs. “You’re dangerous.”

I grin, a little breathless myself. “You have no idea.” The words come easy, but something about the way she looks at me, like she wants to peel back every layer, makes me want to say more.

But I don’t and instead, I just follow where she leads.

She’s still panting, but there’s a wicked gleam in her eye.

Without a word, she grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed, laughing as she tugs me toward the bathroom.

I follow. The master bath is all stone and glass, sleek and modern like something out of a magazine.

The shower is massive, a full wall of glass with a rainfall head and jets built into the tile.

She steps in first and steam curls around her like something out of a dream.

Her body is bare and beautiful, curves and muscle, soft skin and sharp edges.

I can’t stop staring. Kristin turns and holds out her hand. “Get in here, soldier.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. The water hits me hot and hard, sluicing over my skin, and I groan as it loosens the last of the tension in my shoulders.

Kristin steps in close, her hands slick with soap, and starts to lather me up.

Her touch is slow, teasing, sliding over my shoulders and the muscles in my arms. She cups my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until I gasp.

“Goddamn,” she murmurs, voice low. “You really are built like a dream.”

Even though I’m barely holding it together, I grin. “You haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Then she slips onto her knees. The tile is slick, steam curling around us, and her hands part my thighs.

Her mouth is hot and wet as she licks a slow stripe up my slit, and I nearly lose it right there.

My head hits the glass with a soft thud, my hands braced on the wall.

“Fuck, Kristin—” She moans against me, the vibration making my knees threaten to buckle.

Her tongue circles my clit, flicks, sucks, then dives lower, teasing my entrance.

She’s relentless, hungry, like she wants to memorize every inch of me with her mouth.

“You taste so fucking good,” she murmurs, and her mouth works my clit like she’s trying to ruin me.

The pleasure builds fast, my body pulled so tight it feels like I’m going to snap. “Oh fuck,” I growl. I’m close.

“Let me taste you coming,” she begs, and I do, my whole body convulsing as the orgasm tears through me.

My legs threaten to give out, but I manage to stay upright as I ride it out, shaking and gasping.

She kisses the inside of my thigh, then rises slowly, mouth wet with me, and kisses me, deep and filthy, letting me taste myself on her tongue.

“You still thinking about sneaking out?” she whispers against my lips.

My body feels like it’s unraveling and rewiring at the same time. Like every time she touches me, something shifts. I shake my head, breathless, and entirely wrecked. “Not a fucking chance.”

She smiles and pulls me back under the spray, her arms wrapping around me as the water washes us clean.

Her fingers trace a lazy path down my spine as the water begins to cool.

We linger under the spray a little longer, our skin flushed from more than the water’s heat.

She presses one last kiss to the hollow of my throat before reaching past me to turn the water off.

I lean against the glass, catching my breath, still trying to come down from the high of her mouth on me.

She grabs a towel off the warmer and wraps it around herself, then tosses one to me. “I’m gonna go start some coffee,” she says. “Mrs. Tomas is off today, so no need to worry about running into anyone.”

I nod, still drying off, my body humming in the places she touched. “You make it strong?”

Grinning over her shoulder, she’s already halfway out the door. “I make it lethal.”

I watch her go. The sway of her hips, the way her wet hair clings to her shoulders, the ease in her step like this is just another morning.

She acts like we’ve done this a dozen times before and that’s the problem.

I stare at the fogged-up glass. My reflection’s a blur, distorted by steam and water streaks, and I don’t look like myself.

I look like someone who belongs here. Someone who wakes up slowly and smiles into her coffee.

Someone who doesn’t bolt the second things get warm.

Someone who believes mornings like this can last. What the fuck am I doing?

Playing house with a woman like Kristin?

This is dangerous territory, and I know it.

She’s too good, too beautiful, and probably too smart.

And, let’s face it, I’m not built for this kind of softness.

I’m built for war zones and back doors and not leaving anything behind I can’t carry in a backpack.

I scrub a hand down my face, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.

That’s when I hear it. Footsteps pounding down the hall. Fast. Urgent. Then the bathroom door swings open and Kristin barrels in, her towel half open, eyes wide and panicked. “Shit,” she says, already grabbing a pair of shorts from the closet. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Kristin?” I stand, still naked and thinking that’s probably a bad thing right now. “What’s going on?”

She’s pulling a tank top over her head, not even looking at me. “My husband just pulled into the driveway.”

The word hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Husband. I blink, heart slamming against my ribs. “Your what?”

She finally looks at me, eyes pleading. “We’re separated. He doesn’t live here. I’m trying to get the divorce finalized, but sometimes he still shows up unannounced.”

I want to believe her. God, I do. But trust is hard when it’s been weaponized against you more than once. Still, the fear in her voice doesn’t sound like a lie. It sounds like regret.

I take a step back like the air just thinned. “You’re married?”

“Technically, yeah,” she says, zipping up her shorts. “But it’s over. It’s been over. I didn’t lie to you, Reggie. I just—” She exhales hard. “I didn’t think he’d come back today.”

I’m frozen for a second. Married. Jesus fuck. Kristin steps close, her voice softer now. “You should go,” she says. “Just… for now. Slip out the back, head to the guesthouse. I’ll come find you once he’s gone. Please.”

I look at her and I see the desperation in her eyes. Slowly, I nod, mostly because I don’t want to make a scene, but more because I don’t want to meet her husband in a hallway wearing nothing but a towel and a fresh orgasm.

Kristin grabs my hand, squeezes it once. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t answer. I just grab my shorts, my T-shirt, and slip out the back door with my heart beating like war drums in my chest. The sun’s higher now, burning through the early haze, but all I feel is cold.

Every step toward the guesthouse feels heavier than it should.

This was supposed to be simple. Just another night.

But I’m learning quickly that nothing about Kristin is simple.