Page 23 of Texas
“I know,” she says quietly. “But I want to.” We eat in silence for a while. The bread crumbles. The cheese melts on our tongues. The sky is blue without a cloud in it. Then she says, “Before I met Will, I wanted to open a mobile clinic. Only for women. One that could go into rural areas. Places no one else wanted to serve.”
Turning from the view, I watch her. “What stopped you?”
She shrugs. “I met Will and when I told him my idea, he said it was too idealistic. If I was going to do anything, he at least wanted me to ‘build something real.’”
“You did,” I say, meaning it.
Kristin nods, but her eyes are distant. “Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve looked like. A van full of supplies. Pulling up to a parking lot in some remote town to give Pap smears and pass out birth control.”
“Sounds like you,” I say with a smile.
With a sigh, she shakes her head. “It was.” I don’t tell her she could still do it. She knows that. She only needs to believe it’s possible again. Leaning back on her elbows, she tilts her face toward the sky. “You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t joined the Army?”
I shrug and lick a remnant of cheese off my thumb. “No. I didn’t have a backup plan.”
“No dream?”
Pausing, I think about it. “Not of my own, but there was this girl once. We were stationed in Kuwait,” I say. “She used to sketch, and she’d draw these places she wanted to see. Mountains. Oceans. Cities. One night, she showed me this drawing of a cliff in Montana. Said it was the most peaceful place she’d ever seen a picture of. I remember thinking, if I ever got out, I’d try to find it.”
“Did you?”
“No,” I say. “Not yet anyway.”
Kristin is quiet for a long time. Then she sits up, crawls toward me, and straddles my lap. Her hands rest on my shoulders. Her mouth hovers over mine. “I want you to fuck me,” she says.
My breath catches. “Here?”
She nods her head toward the Harley. “There. On the bike.” I look at her. Her pupils are wide, her lips are parted, and I know in a heartbeat how much she wants this. Standing, she unbuttons her jeans, shimmies them down her thighs, no underwear. She’s wet. I see it. Slowly, I climb to my feet, and she reaches for my fly, unzips me, and pulls the shaft free from my jeans. The walk to the bike feels like the longest of my life, but somehow I manage to swing a leg over and settle onto the seat. I plant my feet on the ground, ready for whatever comes next. Like she’s fantasized about it a hundred times, Kristin slips her own leg over until she is facing me. Biting her lip, I look into her eyes while I feel her take hold of what she wants. Guiding the tip, she lowers herself onto it, inch by slow inch. Her breath leaves her in a shudder, and her head falls back. My hands tighten on her hips, and she starts to ride me. I feel every inch like it’s being carved into memory. She grips me, not just with her body, but with the weight of everything we haven’t said. This isn’t simply fucking but is something carved out of longing and defiance and need.
We move slowly at first. She’s rocking her hips, grinding down, and the harness presses against my clit. I feel every thrust, every shudder. I won’t last long. The need for release all day is near the breaking point. Her hands dig into my shoulders, and my mouth finds her neck. I kiss her there. Bite her just enough to make her gasp.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “You feel so good.”
I hold her tighter, pulling her down onto me harder. She rides me, and I’m ready to explode. Her thighs are trembling.Her breath is ragged, and I know her pussy grips the cock with every thrust. As the wave of my orgasm starts to crash over me, I hear her come with a cry too, her body locking around me, her nails digging into my back. I feel it. The way she shakes. I slow my movements until she collapses against me, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot on my lips. We stay like that another minute. Still connected. The shaft still buried inside her. The canyon behind us. Eventually, she lifts her head and kisses me. “I needed that,” she says.
With a chuckle, I nod. “Me too.”
On the ride back, she holds me tighter than before. Her hands splayed across my stomach, her cheek pressed to my back, and no space between us. And for the first time, I wonder what it would feel like to stay.
Fifteen
Standing in her kitchen, Kristin pours me a mug of coffee. Black. Exactly like I want it, and I try not to think about the domesticity behind it. The kitchen’s quiet except for the soft clink of her spoon against her mug and the faint hum of the fridge. She’s barefoot, hair pulled back, in a tank top, and linen pants. It’s hard not to stare. There’s something dangerous about how easy this feels. About waking up to warmth and coffee and bare feet on tile. It’s the kind of thing I tell myself I don’t want, but this morning, I’m not so sure.
Leaning against the counter, arms crossed under her breasts, Kristin studies me for a moment. “You look like a woman with too much brain activity for this early in the morning.”
“Guilty.”
She tilts her head. “You thinking about what we did on that hill?”
Unable to help myself, I smile into my mug. “You mean the part where we had a nice picnic with a view or when you rode me on the Harley until we couldn’t move anymore?”
With a little laugh, she pushes off the counter. “I think you know which part.”
“I suppose I do,” I say. “Something I’ll never forget.” She walks to the fridge, putting away the creamer she enjoys in her coffee. The way her hips move makes my thighs tense. I shift in my chair and take another drink.
“I’ve got a full day at the clinic,” she says as she glances toward me. “Three prenatal appointments, a walk-in I suspect is more serious than she’s letting on, and Mrs. Tomas called. She can’t come to the house today. Her grandson’s got strep.”
I nod. “You need anything before you go?”
