Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Tessa
The sunlight was too bright. The air was too warm. My chest felt too tight, like someone hooked fingers behind my ribs and pulled. It wasn’t until I was in my truck, door shut, windows up, that the sound of my heartbeat softened enough for me to breathe.
I sat there a moment, hands on the wheel, head tipped back.
I could still feel him beside me. His thigh brushing mine under the table. His hand, God, his hand holding mine, warm and steady, like I could lean without falling. And for the first time in weeks, something in me unclenched and remembered what being wanted felt like.
I turned the key. The engine rumbled to life, grounding me but it wasn’t enough.
Driving away from town, the image of the booth kept replaying.
Wyatt’s profile in the soft light.
Maddy’s eyes bright with curiosity.
His hand under the table, palm up, waiting without pressuring, letting me choose.
I’d chosen.
I didn’t know what that said about me, except that maybe I’d been lonelier than I’d admitted. Try as I might to shove the feeling away, it stuck to me like dust on a wet boot.
Halfway down the long stretch toward the ranch, the unraveling shifted. The softness curdled.
No.
I didn’t have time for this.
I had a ranch on the edge of collapse, a stack of debt so high I couldn’t see over it, and a past relationship I hadn’t fully escaped. Wanting someone, wanting him, was the last thing I should let myself do.
By the time I hit the gravel of my lane, the softness hardened into something sharper. Anger mostly. At myself. At him. At Ray for leaving me this mess. At the world for handing me everything at once.
I was still stewing in it when I noticed the gate latch hanging open.
Not loose-from-wind open, or something the livestock opened. It was deliberate.
I parked and stepped out slowly, eyes scanning the yard.
Another detail hit next, the barn door cracked wide, too wide for the breeze drifting across the foothills. The ground carried prints, boot treads I didn’t recognize, edges sharp and fresh.
The unease slid from my stomach up into my chest.
Someone had been here.
Recently.
I walked toward the barn, drawn forward and repelled at the same time. Sunlight hit the dust motes floating in the doorway, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone too still, like even the air was holding its breath.
“Ray,” I whispered, barely audible. “What did you leave behind?”
No answer came.
My own fear echoed back at me from the dim inside of the barn.
I stood there for a long moment, arms wrapped around myself, the afternoon heat pressing against my back, the cool of the barn brushing my face.
Everything felt wrong.
Everything felt unsettled.
And despite every part of me insisting I didn’t need him—
The first name that rose in my throat was Wyatt.
I shoved it down, walked to the house, locked the door and closed the blinds.
And that night, when the house was quiet, and the fear finally dissolved into loneliness, I did the one thing I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do.
I imagined him.
The bedroom felt too big that night.
Too quiet.
Too hollow around the edges.
I lay on my back in the dark, the sheet warm against my legs, the window cracked open enough for the breeze to carry in the smell of cut grass and the distant sound of cattle shifting somewhere beyond the tree line.
But all I could think about was the booth.
His thigh against mine.
His breath brushing the side of my cheek when he leaned in to pass me the salt.
Those long, roughened fingers curling slowly around my hand under the table.
My body remembered the moment before my brain did. Heat pooled low in my stomach, a slow, traitorous ache. I rolled onto my side, pulled the blankets up, pressed my knees together like that could smother the feeling.
It didn’t.
It only made it worse.
I should’ve stopped myself. I should’ve shoved these thoughts down the way I always did. But the harder I tried, the clearer it became, I wanted the way he looked at me. I wanted the steadiness in his voice, the warmth of him beside me.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, my hand slid down my stomach beneath the sheet.
A soft exhale escaped my lips.
I closed my eyes and let the memory take shape.
Wyatt’s hand finding mine first—firm, warm, certain.
His thumb brushing the inside of my wrist like he was memorizing my pulse.
That low breath I’d felt more than heard when I didn’t pull away.
My fingers slipped lower, parting myself gently, the first touch sending a tightening shiver through me. A small, surprised sound escaped me, softer than a whisper.
I imagined him sitting beside me on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Not touching yet—just close enough that I could feel the heat of him along my back. Close enough that the room itself felt smaller with him in it.
My breath hitched. My fingers moved again, slow circles, the kind that made my thighs tense.
I exhaled his name before I could stop it, barely audible in the dark.
My hips lifted slightly, chasing the pressure. I bit my bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible when the fantasy sharpened.
Wyatt leaning down behind me.
His breath warm against my shoulder.
His voice low in my ear, the way I imagined it would be when he was losing control.
“Tessa.”
Just hearing it in my own mind made everything inside me tighten.
My fingers moved faster, small strokes that built heat with every breath. The tension coiled deep, the slow kind that spread upward, through my chest, into my throat.
I imagined his hand covering mine, guiding me.
The weight of it, the steadiness. The way he’d kiss the back of my shoulder first, not rushing, just learning me. How he’d murmur something quiet, something that made my whole body soften.
Another small sound slipped out of me, muffled by the pillow.
My breathing grew unsteady. My thighs shook faintly. The pleasure built quicker now, sharp and trembling around the edges, curling tight like a pulled thread.
“Wyatt…” Barely a breath.
The tension snapped.
Heat rushed through me, wave after wave, quiet but overwhelming. My body arched, my hand stilling against the ache as I came undone, soft and shaking, breath shuddering out of me into the dark.
When it passed, I lay still for a long moment, my heart slowing, the night air cooling the flush on my skin.
Shame didn’t come. Only the surprising, painful truth, I wanted him.