Page 38 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

MANDY

The Mini is packed to the roof with bags.

Tex’s duffel, a laundry basket of mismatched hangers, a thrifted lamp shaped like a cowboy boot, and a stack of half-read recovery books.

He doesn’t own much, but what he does have matters, and it’s smacking me in the back of the head every time I brake.

It smells like him. Familiar. Watermelon sugar body spray, the lingering scent of refried beans and fryer grease, and a hint of laundry detergent that isn’t mine.

When we pull into the parking lot of my—no, our building—Tex looks around with stars in his eyes.

He acts like he’s never seen the place before, but maybe he’s just never seen it through the eyes of someone who lives here now.

He grabs the last bag from the postage stamp-sized trunk, then turns to me with that grin that’s half nervous, half proud.

“That’s it,” he says. “I’m officially moved in. You sure about this?”

There was a time, not too long ago, when either one of us would’ve run at the first sign of permanence. But we’re not those men anymore.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

Tex leans in to kiss me, smearing bubblegum flavored lip balm over my lips and then licking it off with a wicked grin.

We carry everything upstairs together, unloading in spurts between jokes, kisses, and takeout breaks. He claims the small dresser. Organizes his hangers by color. Leaves his toothbrush in the cup next to mine. His cowboy boots sit beside my work boots by the door.

The decorating phase is where things get interesting.

Tex insists on hanging his framed picture of Dolly Parton over the bed.

He says it’s motivation to get out of bed each day and do something with your life.

I counter by putting a tiny, crocheted cactus I made him on the kitchen windowsill.

He tries to sneak a bedazzled cowboy hat onto the coat rack.

I hang up a framed black-and-white print of a warplane.

Somewhere between Dolly and the jet, we find a rhythm.

“Compromise,” Tex says, sticking washi tape shaped like tiny stars around our calendar. “The cornerstone of cohabitation.”

“You just wanted to use that tape.”

He grins. “And you love it.”

No, but I love him .

The Bitches drop by over the next few days, each one carrying some ridiculous housewarming gift like we just moved in yesterday instead of me having lived here for two years.

Pharo and Jax bring a bathmat that says GET NAKED in all caps.

Tex loves it, of course. Rhett and Riggs drop off a basket of gourmet popcorn and sex dice.

West shows up with a cactus-shaped humidifier, ‘cause my nutter buddy knows my skin needs humidity.

Brandt insists we need matching aprons. We laugh and hug and pass around beers, but after the fifth drop-in, Tex groans.

“Do we ever get to be alone?”

“We’re alone right now,” I point out, leaning in for a kiss.

Just as our lips brush, a horn blares outside, loud and ridiculous. The mariachi version of "La Cucaracha" echoes through the neighborhood. We break apart and look out the window.

“Nacho,” Tex mutters.

We peek out the window, and there he is, waving like a maniac from the open window of the taco truck.

We groan in unison.

He drops off a deep fryer so Tex can make his favorite loaded nachos at home, and I have to admit, I’m looking forward to trying them.

After years of keeping my feelings for Tex hidden—though I understand now I was never fooling anyone—not the Bitches, and certainly not Tex, it feels amazing to be able to revel in the attention they’re showering on us.

I want to make a big deal about us. I want to shout it from the rooftops that the most beautiful man with the kindest heart wants to live with me.

That he wants to build a life with me.

As soon as the door shuts behind Nacho, Tex disappears into the bathroom and prances back out a moment later wearing nothing.

Absolutely nothing. My eyes drop to the pink bow tied around his hard cock.

Nacho hasn’t even pulled the truck out of the parking lot yet and my boyfriend is already primed and ready to christen…

something —some new surface we haven’t fucked on yet.

“Whatever this is, I love it,” I assure him.

“This,” he says coyly, sashaying toward me with all the confidence of a man who knows he looks like my wettest dream and is about to get fucked good, “is your housewarming gift, from me.”

“I don’t remember adding this to our gift registry, but it’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Good, because there’s no returns.” His fingers work my pants open, and he pushes them down my legs to pool at my feet.

Tex walks me backward until my legs bump against the cool leather of the couch, and I fall back on my ass. He drops between my spread legs and stares at my dick like I gift-wrapped it for him.

“So thick,” he purrs in a filthy voice, “And hard.” Tex wraps his slender fingers around my shaft and slides his hand up and down, making my balls tingle. “Just the right size to fill my mouth.”

Damn, this is gonna be over quick, whatever this is.

He gives the tip an exploratory lick, looking up at me with submissive eyes that say, Tell me I’m a good boy , and my heart stutters.

Plunging my fingers into his dark blond hair, I guide his head, and he just opens his mouth and lets me use him. It’s hotter than my hottest fantasy. Everything with him is. Tex hollows his cheeks and turns on the Hoover effect, and I gasp as I plunge back down his willing throat.

“Goddamn,” I hiss.

I move him slowly, savoring the heat of his mouth, his velvety tongue rubbing along my swollen cockhead. When I pull him off, a thick string of saliva connects his lips to my dick, and my cock kicks with appreciation.

“Should I make a mess of your mouth? Or your ass? Which hole do you want used more?”

Tex’s bright eyes glaze with lust. “Jeez, Big guy. I didn’t know you had this secret inner-badass Dom hidden inside you. I’d have jumped your dick last year if I’d known!”

It’s the worst time to laugh, but with Tex, there’s no telling what’ll pop out of his mouth. “Answer the question.”

“Uh, my ass?” he asks, like it’s a quiz he’s being graded on.

“Sit on my lap, then.”

“Fuck, yes,” Tex says excitedly, scrambling to straddle my thighs.

I toy with the bow that’s riding the head of his perfect cock, about to fall off. “You give the best presents.”

“You like?” He spits in his hand and reaches behind him to wet his hole. His expression melts with pleasure, and I just know he’s fingering himself. “This gift keeps on giving. It’s only going to get better.”

I believe him. Being inside Tex is the literal definition of Heaven on Earth. There’s nothing better or more satisfying than sliding into his body and watching the expressions on his face as he falls apart on my cock. Absolutely nothing .

He slides his fingers free and sucks them clean before placing them on my shoulders, like he’s about to ride a mechanical bull and he’s hanging on for dear life.

“Work that fat cock inside me, Big Guy.”

His emphasis on the word big makes me grin, but I quickly lose focus on my thoughts as I push against his hole and am instantly enveloped by a tight, scorching vice. Jesus Christ, it’s so fucking good. Too good. And without lube, there’s more friction.

I go slow, sliding deep inside his body an inch at a time, and his face doesn’t disappoint.

Tex shows me everything he’s feeling, everything I’m making him feel.

This guy is high octane for my ego. When I bottom out, I wrap my arms around him and just hold him to me like the treasure he is, breathing in his sweet fruity fragrance.

He does that thing again, where he squeezes my cock with his muscles, and I have to think about the correct procedure of identifying and dismantling bombs to keep my head occupied so I don’t explode inside him.

“Fucking quit or it’ll be over,” I growl, squeezing him tighter.

“I can barely breathe,” he chuckles.

“Me either.”

His laugh becomes throatier. He loves the effect he has on me, the power he wields in his little painted pinky finger.

He’s always craved that power, to feel strong when he feels weak, to feel invincible when he feels broken.

Now, I just want him to feel worshipped, revered, because he’s the center of my whole world, and my heart—deep fried and stitched back together again—belongs to him completely.

“Take me to bed and fuck me on my knees,” he whispers, tearing my chest open with his plea.

I scoop him up in a hot second, but I’m not prepared for the change in angle or the increased pressure his weight adds to my sensitive cock.

“Tactical Glitter,” I chant repeatedly in a dire voice as I try to run down the hall while holding him. If I come or drop him, I’ve failed my mission, and failure is not an option.

Tex is bawling with laughter as he’s jostled unceremoniously, his elbow banging on the doorjamb. “Meatloaf! Meatloaf!” he screams through tears of hilarity. “Every step you take pounds my fucking prostate.”

“I’m about to pound it right outta your little ass,” I huff, throwing him on the bed with a bounce.

He scrambles to his knees, breathless, and assumes the doggy position, thighs parted, ass up, hands planted on the mattress. He looks unbelievable like this, an offering to the gods.

Instead of plunging back inside him, I dip my head and lick through his crease, dragging my tongue over his fluttering hole.

He gasps and pushes back against my face, and I dine on his ass until I’m out of breath and have to pull back to breathe.

His taste drives me wild, and I feel a little out of control as I grip his slim hips and work my dick past his tight rim.

Tex cries out and clenches around me. It takes a few smooth strokes before he loosens up and he's meeting me thrust for thrust.

His fists tangle in the sheets, head down low, back bowed in submission, and he’s babbling incoherently… music to my ears.