Page 39 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

“Fuck me… yeah, so good, right there. Ungh, ohhhhh, argh!”

Tex is a talker, so rendering him speechless feels like I’ve earned a medal of honor. His body absorbs every brutal thrust I give him, and then I remember, fuck! He needs to see me—my face—to know it’s me and not some…

My hips still. “Tex?”

“Huh?” He lifts his head in a daze and glances back over his shoulder at me. “Why’d you stop? I’m about to come.”

A lump slides down my throat as I swallow. “Do you need to turn around and see me?”

Recognition dawns, and a soft smile curves his lips. “Big Guy, there’s no denying it’s you inside me. Your girth, your scent, your voice, and your calloused hands. I know it’s you.”

My heart expands so rapidly it actually stings. “So, you’re good like this?”

Tex pulls forward, sliding off my dick, and turns beneath me to lie on his back. “I don’t have to see your face to know it’s you, but now that you mention it, I want to.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “When you make me come, I want you to see it written on my face and know you did that.”

Fuck, I love him too much to ever put into words. There aren’t enough days left in my life to prove to him just how much.

I slide back inside his soft, wet hole and slow my thrusts, making love to him. With my hands planted on either side of his shoulders, I’m not able to grab his dick like I want to.

“Jack your cock for me. I want to see that look on your face before I lose my load in you.”

He works his shaft furiously, which tells me he’s riding the edge of oblivion, just like I am.

The muscles in my neck strain from holding back, but I keep the slow pace.

Long, deep strokes that rub his gland just right.

Teasing it instead of pounding it. His orgasm starts slow and drags on forever.

I can feel every muscle in his body tense, his ass throttling my dick, his fingers digging deep into my shoulders, his face scrunching before going slack with relief.

Tex tries to say my name, but it comes out in a string of discombobulated consonants and vowels that don’t make sense.

As I spill into him, I take his lips, crying his name into his mouth.

Sweaty and exhausted, I collapse beside him and tug him into my arms, holding his warm body against my chest like a body pillow. “I love you.”

“Love you right back, Big Guy.” After a quiet moment, he whispers in the dark, “I’ve never lived with someone I loved before.”

I bury my lips in his damp hair. “Me neither.”

There’s a quiet comfort in that. A shared first.

We fall asleep in the same bed, under the same blanket, breathing the same air. When I wake up at two a.m., tangled in his arms, I don’t panic. I don’t pull away. I settle deeper.

Because this is what home feels like.

In the morning, Tex makes coffee and burns the toast. I don’t care. I eat it anyway. He hums along to some nineties R&B while folding laundry. I tease him about his sock-matching method. He throws one at me. We kiss in the hallway and bump into each other while brushing our teeth.

He takes out the trash without being asked. Leaves love notes on the fridge. Steals all the hot water because he knows I take lukewarm showers. Falls asleep with his hand wrapped around mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

I don’t mind.

Because this is what trust looks like. What building a life together really means.

We don’t talk about forever. But we plan meals and argue about movie nights and laugh in the grocery store like we’ve got nothing else in the world to worry about.

Some days are harder. I still flinch when I catch my reflection at the wrong angle.

He still curls in on himself when old guilt creeps in.

But now, when it gets hard, we talk. We hold each other. We wait it out together.

Tex tells me one night, curled up in bed, “I used to think I’d always be running.”

“You’re not running now,” I whisper.

He nods against my chest. “No. I’m not.”

We’re running. We’re staying put. Together.

We swing by West and Brandt’s to drop off the dolly cart we borrowed for moving. The minute we step onto the porch, West sniffs the air dramatically.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, squinting at me like I’m a suspicious candle.

“White lotus and mandarin with tea tree oil,” I say, deadpan.

Tex smirks and leans on my shoulder like he’s proud of himself.

He’s the one who rubs that lotion into my skin every night with gentle hands and quiet focus.

I don’t complain about smelling like a Bath & Body Works employee, because the massages usually turn into sexy times, and because my skin doesn’t pull so tightly anymore.

“It’s kinda nice, no?”

West blinks, then shrugs. “Could be worse. Could be Axe.”

Tex looks personally offended. “I have taste.”

“You have something, ” West snorts.

We head back to the car, and Tex bumps me with his hip. “See? I’m upgrading you.”

I bump him back. “You’re spoiling me.”

Rounding the car to his side, I open the door for him, and he gives me a smart little bow as he ducks inside. If only I could do it as gracefully as he makes it look. Then again, he’s half my size. I wrestle myself into the car, and when I turn to face him, Tex is fighting back his laughter.

Goddamn, he’s beautiful. A strand of hair caught and stuck to his glossy lips. Specks of shimmer from his peach eyeshadow have fallen onto his cheekbones, making them shine in the sun. He has a crooked front tooth, but it doesn’t detract from his smile, it just makes me want to kiss him.

“Hey,” I say, suddenly unable to hold it in. “I meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“When I asked you to stay. To move in. I meant all of it. I don’t want this to be temporary.”

Tex pops his bubble gum loudly and grins. “Good. Because I unpacked all my shit, and I’m not doing it again.”

I laugh, and he gives me a glowing smile.

It fades slowly, and he says more seriously, “I never thought I’d have this. A place that felt safe. A person who didn’t make me feel small.”

“You’re not small,” I say fiercely. “You’re everything.”

He squeezes my hand. We drive in comfortable silence as the road stretches ahead of us, full of every mundane, beautiful moment we’ve yet to live.