Chapter 23 A Kiss To Remember
Ibarely get two steps past the door when something hard slams into me. The breath whooshes out of my lungs as my back hits the wall, a sharp thud echoing off the marble floor.
Tex.
His arm is braced against the wall beside my head, eyes burning into mine. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch in his cheek. He smells like smoke and leather and something darker. Wilder.
“What the hell—”
“Did you enjoy that?” His voice is low. “Did you like his lips on yours?”
My heart kicks up, but not from fear. It’s the kind that comes when a storm rolls in and you know something is going to happen.
I swallow hard, trying to push past the heat of his body, the intensity of him so close I can feel it in my bones. “Move.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he steps even closer, and it’s too much. Too close. His chest brushes mine. His breath hits my lips.
“Did he make you feel anything?” he asks, quieter now — but somehow even more dangerous like that.
My spine stiffens. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he says.
But it’s a lie. He knows it. I know it.
He leans in, his eyes flicking to my mouth and back up again. “He doesn’t even know you.”
“And you do?”
Tex exhales through his nose like he’s trying to hold something back. His fist curls beside my head.
“I know you don’t like people getting close.”
I clench my jaw. “Maybe I wanted to try.”
His dark eyes stare into mine. I feel like he can see every part of me.
“You think a pretty face and soft hands is gonna fix it?” he spits. “You think he can make you forget?”
“No,” I snap. “But at least he doesn’t try to tear me down every time I take a damn breath.”
That shuts him up.
For a second, we just stand there — two live wires sparking in the dark.
The next second, he kisses me.
It’s brutal and hot and starved — as if he’s been holding himself back for far too long and finally snapped.
His mouth crashes into mine, and I gasp, the sound lost as he presses in closer, deeper, harder.
His hands bury into my hair, pulling me against him like he can’t stand even an inch between us.
It’s greedy and raw and full of everything he won’t say out loud.
My back’s pinned to the wall but my hands find his shirt, twisting into the fabric like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.
I gasp into him, and that’s all it takes for the kiss to deepen — his lips parting mine, his tongue brushing with a hunger that lights a wildfire under my skin.
My knees go weak. My mind blanks. I forget my name.
I forget where I am. Heat tingling and pooling in my core.
He growls low in his throat — the sound making my pulse stutter — and then he’s lifting me, like I weigh nothing. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he presses me harder into the wall. His mouth never leaves mine, not for a second.
Like he wants to own every breath I take.
He tastes like trouble. And I want more.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against mine. His breath fans across my lips that are still parted, stunned.
“I know for a fact,” he breathes, “he doesn’t make you feel like that.”
Then he kisses me again. Slower this time. A deep, consuming drag of lips and tongue and heat that makes my bones melt. I feel every plane of his hard body as he presses against me, the rough fabric of my jeans rubbing against my clit and making me moan.
He trails kisses down my neck as my fingers curl into his hair and his rough hands make their way under my sweater and move across my waist.
“Tex.” I breathe, “Stop.”
He freezes, and slowly I slide down against the wall and him, legs shaky, body burning. I can feel his erection against me as he gently lowers me back down.
Before I can say anything, he turns and walks out. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just soak my panties with a single kiss.
I close the door behind me with a soft click, but it might as well be thunder in the quiet that follows.
My legs are still trembling.
I lean against it, head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as I try to catch my breath — but it’s useless.
He’s still there.
Tex.
On my skin, in my lungs, like smoke I can’t cough out.
I press my fingers to my lips, swollen and tingling, and it’s like I can still feel him — the rough drag of his mouth, the heat of his breath, the way he kissed me like I’m his and he was done pretending otherwise.
My heart won’t slow down.
It pounds against my ribs like it wants to escape, like it doesn’t know what to do with the storm he left behind.
He kissed me. He wanted me. No games, no venom, no walls. Just fire and heat and want.
I swallow hard and peel myself from the door, locking it behind me. I turn off the main light and slip into the bathroom. The mirror catches me in passing—lips a little swollen, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.
I turn, half-stumbling toward the bed. The silence in the room feels louder than anything, like it’s pressing in from all sides. But still — I feel him.
In the way my hands shake.
In the phantom weight of him pinning me to the wall. In the heat between my thighs and the throbbing I’ve never felt before.
My fingers tremble slightly as I strip off my clothes, layer by layer.
The softness of the fabric against my skin feels amplified, like I’ve been turned inside out.
I slide into bed wearing just a camisole and underwear, trying to calm the fire he’s left in me.
But I can’t. Not really. I curl beneath the blankets, covers pulled high, but it’s no use.
Tex Ward is still with me — in every breath, in every pulse. I can feel his rough hands on my waist, in my hair.
I’m not even sure why I stopped him.
River.
His name drifts in like smoke under a door.
He was… sweet. Gentle. Said all the right things. Held my hand. Kissed me like I was fragile.
And for a moment, I wanted that. The ease. The quiet safety of someone who smiles with their whole face and doesn’t come with jagged edges.
But that kiss didn’t burn. It didn’t brand. I didn’t feel it throughout my body.
It didn’t feel like I was standing on the edge of something dangerous and delicious.
Tex kissed me like he wanted to consume me. Like he’d been starving. Like he couldn’t help himself.
And I kissed him back. I let him.
Worse — I wanted more.
I pull the covers tighter, burying myself in the cocoon of fabric like it’ll muffle the truth.
River is the good thing. The safe thing. I should want him. I do want him.
Just… not the way I want Tex.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.
I breathe in through my nose and out slowly.
Try to center myself. But my skin is flushed, thighs pressed together on instinct.
I can’t stop replaying it—his mouth claiming mine, the way he said I know for a fact he doesn’t make you feel like that as if he already knew what I was thinking.
Like he feels it too. The effect I had on him. His erection.
I let my hand trail down, past my stomach. Tentative at first. I’ve never… really done this before. It was never safe in that house, and after… I’ve just been surviving. No one has made me feel like this. I’m left just… wondering what it would feel like if I permitted myself to want something.
My fingers dip lower. I shudder. Half from nerves, half from the way the ache inside me grows. I close my eyes and think about his voice in my ear, the scrape of his stubble, how his breath turned ragged against my cheek. How his body felt like it was vibrating with restraint.
I slide my hand into my underwear and gasp as my fingers brush over how wet I already am. It’s startling—and a little embarrassing—but something about it thrills me too.
My clit is throbbing. I brush my fingers against it gently and gasp.
I find a rhythm slowly, fingers circling just right, hips lifting.
A breath escapes me, shaky and soft, and then another.
I imagine Tex’s mouth again. His heat. That possessive growl in his throat when he kissed me like I belonged to him.
A soft moan slips out before I can stop it.
My other hand grips the sheet as my thighs begin to tremble.
It builds so quickly, unexpected and overwhelming.
I can feel his hand on my body, his lips against mine.
The way he kissed my neck, his hard body pressed against me.
I try to stay quiet as my orgasm crashes, one hand fisting the sheets, my body arching, back curling off the mattress in a wave of heat and release.
My chest rises and falls, breathless and shaky, and I blink up at the ceiling in the dark. I feel flushed and raw and a little like crying—but not in a bad way. Just… overwhelmed. Because for the first time in a long time, my body feels like mine.
I wake up with feelings I didn’t expect. Electricity hums under my skin. My limbs heavy and warm under the blankets, body still humming with memory. Last night was mine. No one else’s.
By the time I make it to the dining hall, the noise of conversation and clinking plates feels oddly distant. I scan the room automatically—habit, not paranoia, though sometimes they feel like the same thing.
Dakota spots me and waves me over. I make my way, still adjusting the sleeves of my sweater, hair loose and soft around my shoulders. As I slide onto the bench beside her, River appears out of nowhere and drops onto the seat across from us.
“Morning,” he says with that easy grin, kissing my cheek. “You look… well-rested.”
I don’t mean to blush, but I do. “Morning.”
Dakota raises a brow at me over her coffee like girl, spill, but I ignore her, nudging my tray forward and trying to focus on peeling the shell off a boiled egg instead of the way River’s knee brushes mine under the table.
But then I feel that pull.