Page 28 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

MANDY

Fuck, this man can wear a pair of shorts.

Tex fusses around my apartment like he lives here, straightening pillows and muttering about the dust on my shelves. He looks hot as fuck wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts that should be illegal and a raggedy tank top that reads: Frankie Hated Hollywood .

He’s insisting I take it easy today. I’m not gonna argue. My shoulder’s acting up again, and I’m grateful for the excuse to lounge on the couch with an ice pack and the remote.

Tex dropped said remote about fifteen minutes ago.

He’d bent over slow and dramatic, glancing over his shoulder like he was waiting for a catcall.

I barely looked. My eyes stayed on the television—some documentary about unsolved heists—though I caught a flash of his ass in my periphery.

The soft curve of his plump cheek peeking from beneath the short hemline. It was impressive. But I stayed quiet.

A few minutes later, he dropped his phone. “Oops,” he said, entirely unconvincingly.

He bent over again, putting on a show, slow, suggestive, like a one-man burlesque. I watched the reflection of him in the dark corner of the TV screen, amused.

Still, I didn’t say anything.

So when he casually tosses my Guns and Ammo magazine to the floor with a shrug and a backward glance, I ignore him completely. It’s so hard to keep a straight face.

Tex straightens with a huff. “Really? Nothing? Not even a peep?” He throws his hands in the air. “You have no interest in ogling me like a juicy steak? I’m trying to be objectified here! Bending and snapping like a pro. They said it works every time,” he mutters.

I snort, unable to help the grin. “Oops,” I say in the same contrived voice he used, and toss the remote to the floor.

Tex’s eyes light up like someone lit a match. “Finally!” he cries, already sauntering over. “Let me get that for you, Big Guy. Wouldn’t want you to strain… something.” He licks his glossy lips, eyes dropping to my dick, which gives an appreciative salute right in front of his eager eyes.

He bends again— much closer this time—sticking his ass practically in my face.

I can smell his body spray, watermelon today.

He hands me the remote like a trophy, smug as sin.

I’d love to lick that gloss from his pouty lips and kiss that smirk off his face.

But I take the remote. And then drop it in my lap. “Oops,” I say again.

Tex’s smile turns wicked. He reaches down to grab it, and this time his hand grazes my sac, just enough to make my body jolt. A soft, involuntary shiver rolls down my spine.

“Come here.” The words come out hoarse.

Tex raises an eyebrow, mischief and curiosity in equal measure. “Right here?”

“Yup.” I tug him down gently, guiding him to straddle my lap. “Right here.”

He settles in, his hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with a mix of teasing affection and something quieter. Softer.

I lean forward, grazing my mouth along the side of his neck. His skin is warm and faintly sweet.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper against his skin.

“Do what?”

“This,” I say, my voice rough. “Flirt. Seduce you. I want to lay you down on my bed and tear your clothes off and worship you with my mouth for hours, but… I get stuck in my head.”

Tex lets out a soft exhale and pulls back just enough to look me in the eye.

“Well,” he laughs, “if that was you not knowing how to seduce someone, then I hate to see what you’re like when you’re feeling confident, because I’m already halfway to coming in my shorts.”

I laugh, more breath than sound, but it helps loosen something tight in my chest.

“You don’t have to be good at anything, Mandy,” Tex says. “You just have to be here. With me.”

Tex shifts on my lap, just enough to bring our faces closer. I love his warm, solid weight, the curve of his thigh against mine. His smile softens, just a little.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispers.

He kisses the edge of my jaw, barely a brush. A featherlight tease. Then the tip of my nose. A soft press. I swallow, too aware of my own breath, my pulse hammering in my ears.

His lips find the corner of my mouth, then pull away again before I can chase the touch. I let out the smallest sound of protest, and he smiles like he’s just won something.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, voice rich with affection.

Great , but not cock-hardening passion.

He takes my hand and brings it to his chest, pressing my palm flat over his heart.

“This is where I want you,” he says. “Right here.”

His heart thunders against my hand. Steady. Strong.

He trails kisses across my cheekbone, my temple, and back down again—closer this time, closer to my mouth, but never quite giving in. Like he’s sketching a map of my face with his lips. My skin burns in the places he touches, and aches in the places he doesn’t.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I grip his waist, his hips, let go, reach up to touch his neck and then pull back again, like I’m afraid of breaking something.

Tex notices. Of course, he notices. My throat feels tight. I want to speak—want to say thank you, or don’t stop, or maybe just please —but the words stay tangled up in my chest.

But Tex doesn’t need them.

He kisses me finally. A soft, slow press of his lips against mine.

No urgency. No pressure. He licks across the seam of my closed lips, coaxing me to open for him.

He grabs my hands and plants them on his ass, and I grab two luscious handfuls.

I part my lips, and his tongue slips inside to slide along mine.

He tastes warm and sweet, just like he smells, and I can’t get enough of him.

The beast inside me that’s been chained up far too long roars and rears its ugly head.

I kiss him like I’ve been starved for this. Because I have.

He moans into my mouth when I grip his ass harder.

Heat consumes me like a brush fire, scorching all of my doubts and fears to ash. All that’s left in its wake are need and want.

His hips rock slowly, instinctively, and his weight presses me into the couch. I feel every solid inch of him, his denim shorts rough against my thighs, the thin cotton of his tank brushing my chest like a dare.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips, and the sound goes straight to my nuts. “Mandy?—”

“I got you,” I whisper, not sure which one of us needs to hear it more.

He moves against me like he’s dancing, like this is something he was born to do—and maybe he was, because every grind of his hips, every soft gasp he pulls from me, makes my whole body feel like it’s waking up.

Tex kisses down my jaw, my neck, and bites gently where it meets my shoulder. My head falls back, and I let out a sound I didn’t know I could make.

His voice is thick with lust. “You don’t need to know how to do anything. You’re doing everything right.”

But the beast inside me is wild now, clawing at its cage, begging me to lose control.

I push him back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Tex,” I murmur. “I wanna take you to bed.”

His breath catches. That smile flickers again, half-wicked, half-sincere.

“You sure?”

I nod, the words tangled in the back of my throat. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He cups my face, leans in, and presses his forehead to mine. “Then take me, Big Guy.”

Hitching my hands under his ass, I lift him with ease and carry him down the hall. We make it to the bedroom with lips swollen and breaths ragged, clothes askew, desire curling tight in my gut like a live wire. I flick the switch off with my elbow before we cross the threshold.

Tex stills. “Hey—no.”

I blink through the darkness at the outline of him framed in the doorway. “What?”

“I need to see you,” he says gently. “Your face keeps me grounded. Keeps me here.” He steps close and lays a hand on my chest over my shirt. “You can leave this on if you need to. I just… I need to look at you.”

Shame prickles hot under my skin. “I’m not trying to hide,” I lie.

Tex doesn’t call me on it. Just kisses my jaw and murmurs, “You don’t have to explain.”

He’s so much braver than I am. Brave enough to ask for what he needs. I want to scream. Not at him, but at everything that hurt him before I ever had the chance to hold him. I’d carry all of it for him if I could.

I reach for the switch again, this time turning the light to a soft bedside lamp, muted and golden. Not enough to expose everything. Just enough to see.

He pulls back the covers, eyes never leaving mine, and I hesitate.

“Wait. We should talk about safewords.”

Tex smiles, looking hopeful. “You think you’re gonna blow my mind that hard?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He sobers. “You’re right. We go slow, we check in, and if anything feels off, we stop. Tactical glitter still your go-to?”

I nod. “You sticking with meatloaf?”

“I’d do anything for love,” he says, deadpan. “But I won’t do that.”

I laugh, nerves shaking loose for just a second.

Then I step toward the bed. I lie back against the pillows, shirt still on, heart hammering in my throat as he crawls up beside me.

Tex cups my face in both hands and looks at me like I’m holy. Like I’m not scarred or broken. Just a man worth wanting.

“We go at your pace,” he says. “And if it’s too much?—”

“I’ll say the word,” I promise. I’m more worried about him than me, but I don’t want to say that aloud.

He whips his tank over his head, his shoulder-length blond waves bouncing like he’s in a shampoo commercial, and I get my first glimpse of his small pink nipples and tight pecs. When he leans down to kiss me again, it doesn’t feel like giving in to the beast.

It feels like setting it free.

Tex kisses like he has all the time in the world.

He maps my mouth with the softest brushes of his lips, his tongue barely slipping in to tease mine. His hand cradles my jaw like it’s breakable. Like I’m breakable.

But with him, it doesn’t scare me.