Page 65 of Fixing to Be Mine

His hands move to my thighs like he’s making sure I’m real.

I’m in his lap, remembering exactly what it’s like to want someone so damn bad that it almost hurts. It’s been years.

I slide my hands up his chest and over his shoulders, letting my fingers curl into the back of his hair as I lower my mouth to his.

The kiss is immediate, deep, and aching. There’s no warm-up. No slow play. Just heat and breath and the sound of my name somewhere in his throat. He’s hard beneath me, and I rock once, gently. His grip tightens on my hips like he’s barely holding on. His mouth opens wider beneath mine, and our bodies fall into rhythm, breath syncing, heat rising. With strong hands, he roams higher, one slipping under the hem of my shirt to rest at the small of my back.

My heart is thudding so loud that I can’t hear the crickets anymore.

I can’t hear anything but his ragged breathing and the sounds of my whimpers. But even as my body pushes closer, something in me pulls back. It’s not out of fear, not because I don’t want this. I want him. But I can’t hurt him.

I break the kiss and press my forehead to his, breathing hard, trying to steady the crash inside me.

“I want you,” I whisper, my voice shaking slightly. “God, Colt, I do, but …”

“This is enough.” His hands stay on my waist, grounding me. He doesn’t move or pull away. His lips brush against my jaw as he exhales, and then I feel him smile. “But don’t make rules with me, darlin’. I already warned ya once. I’ll purposely make you break them.”

I close my eyes, swallowing against the ache in my throat. He slides his hand up to my face, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear with a kind of gentleness that undoes me more than anything else tonight.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he says. “You’re the one in control of us.”

I open my eyes, and he’s watching me like I’m the only thing in the room worth waiting for. And just like that, I melt into the safety of him. Of knowing that he respects me so much that he doesn’t push. He holds me like I’m enough, even if I don’t believe I am.

Not wanting to move, I stay on top of him for a while longer, tangled up in something that’s too important to break. I’m still straddling him, and he holds me in his arms. His thumb traces slow, mindless circles along the curve of my hip. Neither of us talks. We breathe in the quiet and let the weight of everything that’s happened settle between us.

I move from him but am still close enough that we’re still touching. Colt leans forward and reaches for the whiskey bottle.

“More?” he asks, pouring more into our glasses without waiting for an answer.

“I suppose,” I say, drinking this one slower.

We’ve both made it through some invisible test neither of us knew we were taking.

The room is dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner. Outside, I hear the crickets again, and they sing like they’re trying to fill in the spaces between our words.

Colt leans his head back against the cushion and exhales slowly. “You ever have one of those nights where everything seems like it might work out?”

“You mean like tonight?”

“Exactly,” he says.

We drink in easy sips, and after a few minutes, I shift to face him. My knees draw up, my elbows resting against them, and I study the side of his face—his scruffy jaw, his perfect mouth, the way his lashes curl.

“I didn’t know what to expect when I escaped to Texas. Meeting you wasn’t on my agenda,” I admit.

He lets out a chuckle. “Starting this conversation strong. Truth be told, you weren’t on mine either. But we were both in the right place at the right time. I don’t know what happened that made you want to escape, but I’m real damn glad it did.”

I memorize the blue specks in his eyes, knowing it’s time to be honest with him.

“I walked out on my wedding,” I admit, my voice softer now. I can’t look at him this time, so instead, I down the rest of the whiskey in my glass and grab the bottle. “I saw my fiancé with his hands in my sister’s panties forty-five minutes before the ceremony.”

Colt doesn’t say anything. The silence is filled with understanding and anger that only shows up when a person hurts someone you care about.

I risk a glance at him. His jaw is tight, but not with judgment.

“I was ready, wearing the designer dress that had been made for me,” I say. The words come out too fast, but I don’t stop. “Hair and makeup were done. The bridal room was too loud, soI stepped out for a breather. I saw them laughing, kissing, and fooling around.”

He finally speaks. “Fuck him. Fuck your sister too.”

---