Page 9 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Nine

A lthough Kristin’s voice is soft, it cuts through the quiet. “Can you just… help me forget all of this for a little while?”

Her eyes are glassy, and her mouth is tight with the kind of restraint I know too well.

That look like she’s barely holding herself together.

I’ve worn it. Slept in it. Bled with it.

I nod once, slowly. “Yeah. I can do that.” The truth is, I want to do more than only help her forget.

I want to rewrite the whole damn script, but I’ve learned not to want things I can’t promise to keep.

She exhales, but it’s not relief. Not yet.

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, not really, but I do.

I know exactly what to give her. Moving back, just enough to give her space, I tilt my chin toward the bathroom.

“Stay right there,” I say, voice low. “Don’t move.

Don’t think. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her brows pull together, but she doesn’t argue.

She doesn’t ask what I’m doing but only watches me cross the room with those big, bourbon-colored eyes.

It’s like she knows whatever’s coming will be better than the ache she’s sitting in now.

I grab one of my saddlebags from beside the bed and step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

After setting the bag on the counter, I unzip it.

My gear’s neatly packed. It’s a habit from the Army.

I push aside my extra T-shirt, my small med kit, the folding knife I hope I never have to use, and my fingers wrap around the harness.

Black leather, soft in all the right places.

For a second, a vision of Jax fills my head, but I smile and push it away to focus on the thick, curved, matte-black dildo with a base that is made to be snug against my clit when I ride someone hard enough.

Once I’ve stripped down to bare skin, I slide the harness up my thighs and over my hips, cinching it tight.

In the mirror, the dildo juts forward, solid and ready, and I take a second to adjust the straps until it sits just right.

Low, and snug, pressing against me in a way that already makes my pulse thrum.

I roll my hips once, testing the weight, the feel, and I recognize this is not only about the sex.

It’s about control. About giving someone what they need and taking what I want.

And right now, what I want is to make Kristin forget everything but the way I feel inside her.

It’s not just anticipation, it’s the sense of control, of clarity.

Out there in the world, everything can be hazy, but here, right now, I know exactly who I am and what I want to give her.

Pulling my jeans back on over the harness, the bulge is barely visible, but I know it’s there.

She will too and that’s part of the game.

I scrub a hand through my hair, take one last look in the mirror, and open the door.

She’s moved and is perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands resting in her lap like she’s praying I’ll deliver on the promise I didn’t say out loud.

Her eyes drop to the bulge in my jeans. Then back up to my face. She swallows hard.

“Stand up,” I say, voice low and even. She does, but slowly, like she’s unsure what is about to happen next.

Reaching for the hem of her blouse, I tug it with one finger.

“Remove this,” I say, and she does. She’s wearing a soft black bra underneath.

“Now your pants.” She slips out of them, revealing a matching pair of black panties.

She’s fucking stunning, and I take a step closer until our bodies almost touch.

“You sure you want this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

After a beat, she nods. “I want you.”

I feel her words right in my chest, but I don’t say anything.

For now, I just believe her. Reaching, I slide my hands to the hem of her bra, fingers brushing the soft skin of her ribs.

I lift it slowly, dragging it up over her breasts, watching her nipples pebble in the cool air until it is off and I drop it to the floor.

Taking my time, I kiss the swell of one breast, then the other.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur against her skin.

She laughs, but it’s shaky. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe.” I kiss her neck, her collarbone, trail my tongue along the line of her throat.

She tilts her head to give me better access, her breath catching when I suck gently at the spot just below her ear.

My hands roam down her sides and over her hips, until I reach the waistband of her panties where I hook my thumbs in the lace and pull them down slowly.

She steps out of them, bare now, flushed and breathing heavy.

I step back enough to look at her. Really look.

Her legs, long and strong. Her waist, soft and inviting. Her eyes, dark with want.

I guide her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sits, then lies back, propped on her elbows, legs still dangling off the edge. I kneel in front of her, my hands sliding up her calves, over her knees, spreading her thighs wide.

“Reggie…” she breathes.

I lean in and kiss the inside of her thigh, then the other.

I don’t go straight for her pussy. Not yet.

I want her shaking before I even push inside.

Dragging my tongue up the crease where her leg meets her hip, I kiss the bone jutting from her pelvis.

She’s already wet. I smell the scent of her, and I press my mouth to her, licking through her swollen lips, tasting every part of her.

She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Please,” she gasps. “I need—”

Pulling back, my lips wet, I lock my eyes on hers. “You need what?”

She moans, hips lifting. “I need you inside me.”

Goddamn. I stand, unbutton my jeans, and let them fall. The strap-on springs free, thick and dark. She’s already so wet there’s no need for lube. Her eyes go wide at the sight of the strap-on and her breath catches.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Yes. Yes.”

Stepping between her legs, I lift them and hook her ankles over my shoulders. She’s open to me now, wide and wanting, and I guide the head of the toy to her entrance. I push in slowly. Inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, her back arches, and a low moan slipping from her lips.

“Jesus, Reggie…”

Thrusting deeper, I bury the strap-on inside her until my hips meet hers.

I can tell from the resistance she’s tight, her body gripping the shaft.

I start to move slowly at first, dragging out every stroke, watching her head drop back against the pillow as I hit that spot deep inside her.

Her legs tremble against my shoulders, her hands clawing at the sheets.

“Harder,” she pants. “Please.”

I give it to her. Deep, hard thrusts that rock the bed, my grip bruising on her hips with the sound of skin slapping, of her cries echoing off the walls, and it’s all I hear.

All I want. I reach down and rub her clit with my thumb, fast and tight, and that’s all it takes.

She explodes. Her whole body locks up, her thighs clenching, her mouth open in a silent scream.

I fuck her through it, gentler, letting her ride the waves until she collapses against the sheets.

I slide out and drop down beside her on the bed, pulling her into my arms.

She curls into me, her face buried in my neck, breath ragged.

And then I feel it. The shake in her shoulders.

The soft hitch in her breath. Kristin’s crying.

Not loud. Not broken. Just quiet tears, like something inside her finally cracked open and let go.

I hold her tighter with one hand stroking her hair, and the other wrapped around her waist. I don’t speak.

Don’t offer bullshit comfort. I just let her cry.

After a few minutes, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and I recognize it’s not weakness that causes her tears. It’s release. It’s the weight of holding everything together finally letting go, and I know that kind of cry because I’ve buried it in my own chest more times than I can count.

“Don’t be,” I say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “You needed that.”

She nods, eyes still red but clearer now.

“You make me feel good,” she says. “Safe.” That’s not just a compliment.

That’s a responsibility. And I’m not sure what scares me more, the fact that she said it, or how much I want to suddenly live up to it.

The reality hits me harder than I want to admit, but I push it away to examine later.

She leans in, presses a soft kiss to my jaw, then stands slowly, wrapping the sheet around her body.

“Come to the main house,” she says, voice steadier.

“I’ll make us breakfast. Something big. Bacon, eggs, maybe French toast.” I watch her move across the room, her back straight, her steps sure.

Like she’s put something down. Like she’s lighter.

Freer. I watch the door click shut behind her, the room going still in her absence.

The sheet she left behind is still warm where her body was, and I sit there a moment, the scent of sex still thick in the air. I should follow her, but I don’t move until my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it. One new message. Matt.

Swiping at the screen, I read his text. “You alive, Holliday?”

I snort. That’s him. Always straight to the point. I tap out a reply. “Breathing. Still in Texas.”

It takes him less than ten seconds to answer. “Still? Thought you’d be halfway to somewhere by now. Anywhere but Texas.” I stare at the screen. He’s not wrong. I was supposed to be. That was the plan.

Until Kristin. “Something came up.”

“Something with great legs and a name?”

I smile because the bastard knows me too well. “Maybe.”

“You good?” Reading his message, I hesitate. He means it. Matt’s not the kind of guy who throws questions around only to fill space.

He was there when they pulled me out of the sand, blood pouring from my side, screaming through my teeth while he held pressure on the wound and promised me I wasn’t going to die. “I’m good. I’ll tell you more later.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it. Eventually.”

There’s a pause and then one more message. “Don’t disappear on me. You’re still one of the good ones.”

I stare at the words for a long time. Longer than I should. Then I tap out the only thing I can say. “I won’t.”

As I set the phone down, the screen dims to black, and I think about my friend.

Matt’s got a job as a city cop in Seattle now.

A wife. Two kids. A house with a porch and a swing.

He sends me pictures sometimes. Like his daughter in a Wonder Woman cape, or his boy covered in peanut butter.

He’s got roots, and I love that for him.

He earned it. But me? I’m just not ready for that.

All I’m ready for is living in the moment, and this morning, having Kristin’s French toast.