Page 34 of Texas
Holding up her hand, she shakes her head. “Don’t. Please,” she says. “Just. Don’t.” Then she turns and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me there with dried blood on my face and a heart pounding like it’s about to break. The door clicks shut behind her, and it sounds a lot like goodbye.
Twenty
The backpack and saddlebags are zipped and sitting next to me on the floor near the end of the bed. I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, maybe longer, with my elbows on my thighs, and my hands clasped between my knees like I’m waiting for orders that aren’t coming. Somehow, as I contemplated this road trip from my bed in the vet hospital, I thought I’d always known when it was time to go. But now? Kristin’s not a stop on the road, she’s the fork in it, and that scares the shit out of me. Because even now, after everything, after the cameras, the trucks, the blood on my cheek and her asking me to leave, I still want to stay. I want to fight for her. I want to tear that town down brick by brick and salt the earth where Will Cleveland stands. But she told me to go, and I’ve never stayed where I wasn’t wanted. I don’t know what to do.
Outside, a car door slams, and I glance toward the window. Probably Mrs. Tomas heading home. I almost get up. Almost walk across the gravel to the main house. Almost knock once and ask Kristin to say it again, to tell me she doesn’t want me, but I don’t. I sit there, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. Then I hear three soft knocks on the guest house door. I’m on my feet before I can think twice and open the door.
Kristin stands there barefoot, wearing a soft gray dress that clings to her hips. Her curls are loose. Her eyes are bare of makeup, and I wonder if she’s been crying. Honestly, she looks like someone who just walked out of a fire and hasn’t decided if she survived it yet. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, calm on the outside but my heart’s already hammering. “For what?”
“For earlier.” She swallows hard. “For making it sound like I didn’t want you. I do. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” She steps inside slowly like she’s not sure if she has the right. “But I don’t see how this ends well. Will’s not going to stop and you’re getting hurt over me.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But you’re worth it.”
She looks at me and her eyes are wet but clear. “I need something from you,” she says. “One last thing. Please.” I don’t speak. I simply wait and she steps closer. “I need to feel you again. Really feel you. Before you go.” Her voice drops into something raw. “I need to remember what it’s like to be wanted.”
My throat goes dry. She’s not only asking for a goodbye, she’s asking for validation. I step back, letting her in, and she walks past me, barefoot on the wood floor, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding herself together, and stops in the center of the room. Turning to face me, she hesitates for less than a second, then she lifts the hem of her dress and pulls it over her head. No bra. No panties. Just Kristin. Her nipples are already hard. She’s not blushing, she’s burning.
I strip without a word. Shirt. Boots. Jeans. Everything. And I pull the harness from the saddlebag before sliding it on. She watches the whole time. Her eyes drop to the shaft between my legs and then back to my face. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I hold out my hand. “Come here.”
Climbing onto my lap, she puts one knee on each side of my thighs and her hands on my shoulders. I guide myself to herentrance, and she sinks down, gently, her breath catching on every inch. “Jesus,” she whispers. “I forgot how deep you go.” I grip her hips, holding her steady, letting her adjust. I know her pussy is tight, wet, pulsing around the shaft, and then she starts to move. Slowly, she grinds circles that drag the base against my clit and make my thighs tremble. Her nails scrape lightly against my shoulders, not to push me away, but to anchor herself. The air between us is humid, heavy with the sound of skin on skin and the low rhythm of our breathing syncing into one.
I groan, burying my face in her neck. “You feel so fucking good.”
Rocking harder, faster, her hands slide into my hair, pulling me close. Her breath is hot against my ear. “Don’t let me forget this,” she pants. “Don’t let me forget what it feels like to be yours.”
“You’re mine right now,” I growl, thrusting up into her. “Every goddamn beat of your heart.” She cries out, loud and raw, her hips slamming down to meet me over and over. Her breasts press against my chest. I take one into my mouth, suck her nipple hard, and she gasps, her body tightening a moment before she shatters. Her whole body locks, her pussy clenching around the shaft so tight we stop moving. Screaming my name, her nails dig into my back, her breath ragged and broken. I hold her tight, until she collapses against me, trembling and wet and perfect. The words taste like possession, like promise, like something I shouldn’t be offering but can’t keep back.
She’s crying. Soft, steady tears against my neck. There are no sobs, no words, only the sound of her unraveling in my arms. My hands stroke her back, and my lips are at her temple. After a minute, she pulls away, wiping her face. Her cheeks are flushed, streaked with tears and sweat and something fragile.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“For what?” My voice is rough, my feelings raw.
“For needing this. For asking. For making it harder.”
Starting to understand, I shake my head. “So this is it?”
She winces. “I didn’t mean to use you.”
“But you did.”
Without another word, she slips off my lap and stands naked a moment longer, then bends to pick up her dress. Sliding the soft gray fabric back over her body like armor, her hands shake as she smooths it down. “I should go,” she says, voice hollow.
I watch her walk to the door. “You’re not the only one who’s scared,” I say. “But I don’t run from fear.”
Turning, her eyes are shining again. “I know.” And then she’s gone.
I sit there for a long time. The room smells like her, like sex and something I don’t have a name for. Stripping off the harness, I drop it on the bed and walk to the window. The breeze is warm on my naked skin, and then I hear it. A car is coming up the drive. A door opens and then slams. I see Kristin on the porch, arms crossed over her chest like she’s bracing for impact, then a young sheriff’s deputy steps into view. If I had to guess, he’s barely twenty-five. He shifts like he’s nervous and holds an envelope in his hand. I open the window wider to listen.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Lennox,” he says. Kristin doesn’t answer and again I see the guy moving like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I’ve been asked to serve you this.” He holds out the envelope. “From Hartwell & Sons. Legal counsel for Mr. Cleveland.”
She takes it. “Thank you.”
“I’m only the messenger,” he adds. “I’m sorry.” He turns, gets back in the cruiser, and drives away.
Kristin just stands there, envelope in hand, her shoulders slowly folding in on themselves. After throwing on a shirt and jeans, I’m out the door and crossing the porch in less than a minute. Kristin hasn’t moved, and I walk up behind her.She doesn’t turn, simply holds out a folded piece of paper. I take it and read. It’s a formal notice from Will’s lawyers. Effective immediately, he’s seeking full control of all shared property citing “moral misconduct” and “reputational damage.” She has three days to vacate the house, and he will assume administrative supervision at the clinic until the board can review her “fitness to serve.” My jaw tightens and my fists clench. Kristin doesn’t speak. Just stares out at the lake.
