Chapter 25 First Steps
The air shifts the second the door clicks shut. It’s just us now. No uniforms, no assignments, no war games or politics.
Just me and him.
Tex doesn’t speak at first. He takes one slow step closer, like I might bolt if he moves too fast.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. The words sound brittle. Useless.
“You let me in.”
God, I did. I did.
I should be smarter than this. I should hold the line I keep drawing. But my chest aches and I’m so tired of pretending I don’t feel it when he looks at me like this. As if I matter. Like I’m fire and he wants to burn.
“You kissed me like you meant it,” he says, stepping into my space. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t.”
I don’t. I can’t. My silence is answer enough.
His fingers come up, slow, tracing a line from my jaw to the edge of my mouth. “Still think you want normal? Something easy?” His voice is low now, intimate. Like a secret meant for just us.
And then he kisses me again.
His kiss feels like something feral, barely held back. His hands anchor at my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space between us. I gasp, and he swallows the sound like he needs it.
I fist the front of his shirt without thinking, gripping tight, grounding myself in the weight of him. He doesn’t flinch. Just deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against mine like he’s starving for this.
I’ve never been kissed like this, not before him — like I’m wanted, claimed, devoured.
My back hits the wall, and I don’t even register how we got there. One of his hands slides up my ribcage, not greedy, not fast — just enough to make my knees shake. He pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing hard.
“I’ve tried to stay away,” he admits, forehead resting against mine. “Tried to convince myself this wasn’t real.”
“And?”
“And it’s killing me.”
I close my eyes. My pulse is thunder in my ears.
Because it’s killing me too.
When I open them, I whisper, “Then stop pretending.”
He kisses me again — softer this time, but no less intense. And this time, I kiss him back like I don’t care who I’m supposed to be.
Just a girl.
Just a boy.
And all the fire between us.
His body is pressed to mine, mouth hot against my throat, and my hands fist the back of his shirt like I’ll drown without the anchor of him. I can feel him—hard, insistent—and I’m losing track of what I’m meant to say, what I’m even trying to protect.
His hand trails down, slow and possessive, gripping my hip before sliding around to the front of my leggings. He doesn’t slip underneath. Just presses.
Right there.
I jerk, inhaling sharp and fast, thighs clenching. His lips brush the shell of my ear. “You’re soaked,” he mutters, voice dark and reverent. “Tell me, Isobel—did I do that to you?”
I don’t trust my voice, but I nod, already trembling.
His fingers flex, the pressure making my head tilt back against the wall. “Were you this wet last night too?” he asks, tone wrecked. “When you were alone in your bed?”
Heat floods my cheeks. My breath catches.
He leans in closer, nose brushing mine. “Did you touch yourself?”
A beat. Then, quietly, “Yes.”
He groans. It rips out of him, low and guttural. His forehead presses to mine like he’s trying to breathe through it. “Did you think about me?” he rasps.
My answer is barely a whisper. “Only you.”
His hand moves away like it burns him, like if he keeps touching me, he won’t stop. “Fuck.” He paces a short step back, then forward again. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I exhale shakily, dizzy from the intensity.
“I want you.” He kisses me again. “I want to be the one you choose,” he says, jaw clenched. “I know what you went through. I don’t want to push you.”
My chest tightens. “Tex…”
His gaze flicks down again, hungry and tortured. “But god,” he mutters. “You touching yourself to me? I can’t stop seeing it.”
My lips part.
He steps in again, eyes locked on mine. “Show me,” he says roughly. “Show me what you did.”
My breath stutters. And he moves his head like he’s trying to shake the thought out.
The second Tex starts to pull away, I reach for him. “Wait,” I whisper.
His eyes flick back to mine, stormy and confused.
I take a breath. “You asked me to show you.”
He stares, silent. I can hear the rush of his breath, the thud of my heart.
“I want to,” I say, voice steadier now. “I want to show you. I want you to see me… Just me.”
His throat works. “Are you sure?”
I nod, stepping back from the wall, leading him with my eyes until I reach the bed, peeling my leggings off and sitting down. I ease back against the pillows, my knees drawn up. My chest hammering, but I don’t look away.
Tex watches like he’s afraid to breathe too loud and break whatever spell this is.
I slip my hand beneath my panties and press gently between my thighs, gasping at the sensation. I’m already so wet it’s obscene. For a second, I close my eyes, grounding myself in the feeling—not shame, not fear—desire.
When I open them again, his jaw is tight, his fists clenched at his sides. An obvious bulge in his pants, I lick my lips.
“You don’t have to just watch.” It comes out in a pant, voice trembling but real. I want to see him. I need to.
His eyes darken. He drags the chair from the side of the room closer, sitting just to the side of the bed. Then, slowly, deliberately, he unzips his pants and frees himself.
He’s already hard, my eyes widen.
Watching him wrap a hand around his cock while his gaze stays locked to where my fingers move over my clit—it lights something in me I didn’t know I needed. Not just the want, but the control. I’m letting him see me, but I’m the one choosing it.
Tex groans, low and guttural. “Jesus, Isobel.” He squeezes his cock, liquid shining at the tip.
My name in his mouth makes me shiver. Goosebumps pepper my skin from the heat of his stare.
Tex groans under his breath, his hand tightening around himself. I clench, wanting to feel him between my thighs. I moan louder than I mean to.
His reaction is instant: a stuttered breath, a ragged curse. “Wait.”
I freeze.
“Take your hand out.”
I obey.
He moves closer, his chair next to the bed, his hard cock jutting out towards me. My pussy aches. My legs are still spread to him. He moves slowly, his hand touching my panties, feeling the wetness. I inhale sharply as my clit throbs. I want him to touch me.
He moves my underwear to the side and his eyes darken as he looks at me.
“That for me?” he asks, voice thick. “All that… Is that because of me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He groans, fisting his dick and I whimper.
“Good girl.” He sits back, and I slide my hand back between my thighs.
His hand moves back to his cock as his eyes lock with my fingers. I watch him as his hand strokes up and down his shaft, how he circles the head. My fingers move faster; I feel like I’m dripping.
“Was this how you looked last night?” he asks, voice rough as his pace quickens matching me. “Were you this desperate for me?”
I nod, circling harder, my breath hitching.
“Answer me,” he growls out.
“Yes, Tex.” i moan.
He lets out a low, strangled noise, and his movements speed up as I work myself faster. My body is humming, on fire, every nerve lit up like I’ve never felt before. It’s not just the pleasure—it’s the power from seeing what I do to him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growls. “Strong. Brave. Mine.”
Tex watches like he’s memorizing me. Like I’m something sacred and precious all at once.
The sound I make is halfway between a moan and a gasp. I’m so close, and when he leans in just a little more, eyes burning into mine.
“Let me see you, Isobel,” he grunts.
I tip over the edge with a cry, my body trembling as I fall apart. My back arches, my toes curl and I stare into his eyes.
He follows moments later with a deep groan, chest heaving, jaw clenched as he spills into his hand.
We sit there, nothing but the sound of ragged breathing. The silence thick but not awkward. The air is heavy with the scent of desire and something deeper—something that feels like understanding.
He’s looking at me with something I can’t decipher.
“You wreck me, Isobel,” he says, tucking himself back into his pants.
I smile—tired, trembling, and proud.
Because I did that. Me.
I wake up tangled in my sheets, my body still pliant and relaxed.
The sunlight bleeds softly through the slats of the blinds, painting pale lines across my comforter, across my skin.
My legs shift restlessly beneath the blankets, sensitive.
A pulse still hums low in my stomach, like my body hasn’t caught up to the fact that Tex is no longer here.
I touch my lips. They feel swollen. Branded.
Last night wasn't supposed to happen. But it did. And I let it. Wanted it. Craved it so badly it scared me.
The shame tries to creep in, slow and ugly, but I shove it back. I wasn’t going to be ashamed for wanting something—for feeling alive. Not anymore. Still, my head throbs with the question. What now?
I kissed River. Said yes to him. Let him hold my hand. Let him believe there was room for him inside whatever version of a life I’m building. And maybe there was—until last night. Until Tex.
He sees me. Not the mask I wore around the school. Not the bruised girl in the file they hacked. Me.
And he wants me anyway.
I sit up slowly, pressing my palm over the space between my thighs. The ache is still there. Real. Heavy. He barely touched me, not really—but it’s like my whole body has been marked by him.
Heat flushes across my cheeks.
God. I let him watch me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to see all of me, and the way he looked at me…
No one has ever looked at me like that.
I bury my face in my hands, heart pounding. This wasn't supposed to be complicated. I wanted a clean slate. A normal life. Someone safe.
Someone like River.
But River’s touch didn’t set me on fire. River didn’t make me come undone with just a look and a low, hungry voice whispering my name.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance at it, already knowing who it is.
River: Morning. Breakfast?
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. My fingers hover over the screen like responding might set off a chain reaction I’m not ready to face.
Because no matter what I tell myself… Tex has made me feel something I didn’t know I could feel. And now, nothing else feels the same.
I sit with River at a quiet table tucked near the windows, sunlight spilling across the tablecloth in soft gold. He looks freshly showered, his hair still damp and pushed back, his smile easy. He passes me a muffin from his tray. A peace offering.
“Sleep okay?” he asks.
I give a noncommittal shrug, tearing off a piece of muffin I don’t really want. “More or less.”
He nods, watching me like he wants to say more.
I feel it first. The slight change in pressure. The prickle of awareness at the back of my neck.
“Am I interrupting something?” Luca is all smooth lines and amused eyes as he slides into the seat next to me — not across, not nearby, but so close it makes River’s jaw tighten.
Luca doesn’t even look at him. His full attention is on me, looking at me like I’m the most fascinating person he’s ever set eyes on.
“You weren’t invited.” I raise an eyebrow.
“That’s never stopped me before,” he replies, unbothered. “Besides, I missed you.”
River bristles, his hand going still around his coffee mug. “We were having a conversation.”
Luca finally spares him a glance. “You’ll live.”
“Luca,” I warn under my breath.
He leans closer, elbow on the table, his voice dropping low. “What? I’m just saying hi. It’s not my fault if things get… uncomfortable.”
River’s smile is strained. “You always make things awkward?”
“Only when it’s fun,” Luca says, his gaze sliding back to me. “So… did you miss me?”
I roll my eyes, heat prickling beneath my skin. “You should be resting.”
“I am,” he says, not missing a beat. “Resting my eyes. On you.”
River looks between us, clearly trying to piece together whatever the hell this is.
“You know,” Luca says to no one in particular, picking up an untouched strawberry from my plate without asking, “I can’t help but wonder what someone like you is doing with someone like him.”
River’s shoulders tense. “Excuse me?”
I open my mouth to shut it down, to snap at him, I don’t even know, but Luca gets there first.
“Chill out, dude. I’m just saying. You don’t really seem all that interesting,” he dares River, biting into the strawberry with a grin. “Bit of a safe bet.”
“And? You’re the better choice?” River’s eyes narrow.
Luca beams. “Exactly.” He turns to me. “Even he says I’m the better choice.”
“Okay,” I cut in, holding a hand up to Luca. “Enough.”
Luca holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the gleam in his eyes says I’m not done.
River looks at me, his voice softer. “You don’t have to deal with that, y’know.”
“I’m fine. I can handle Luca,” I say, though my heartbeat begs to differ.
Luca leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “You are fine. That’s the problem. I hope you do handle me.” He winks.
I glare at him. There’s no real heat behind it—the flush on my cheeks betrays me.
River stands, gathering his tray. “I’ve got to get to class.”
“I’ll see you later?” I already regret this circus.
He dips his chin, giving Luca one last glance before walking off.
The moment he’s gone, Luca leans in again. “So… when are you going to put that poor lad out of his misery?”
I scowl. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me this,” his voice as smooth as velvet. “When he kissed you, did you feel butterflies?” His smile curves knowingly.
“How do you even know about that?” I already know the answer. I stand too fast, tray rattling. “Never mind, you are so infuriating.”
I walk away to the sound of his laughter.