Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sedona
My heart is racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.
Tex pulls his cap off and ruffles his hair. The dark strands catch the sunlight filtering through the trees.
He looks younger without the hat. Less guarded.
He tosses the cap onto the dashboard and turns to me.
“Come on,” he says.
He opens his door and jumps out. I follow, my boots hitting the grass.
We’re at the edge of the property, where the pasture gives way to woods. The creek runs below us, but Tex isn’t heading down to the water.
He walks toward a trail I haven’t noticed before. It winds up a small ridge, hidden by a thicket of mesquite.
I follow him. The incline is steep, and I grab onto branches to steady myself.
We crest the hill and stop.
The view opens up. We’re above the creek now, looking down at the water that twists like a silver ribbon through the valley. But that’s not what catches my breath.
The ground is covered in daisies.
Thousands of them. A carpet of white and yellow stretching out under the shade of an ancient oak tree. They sway in the breeze, a sea of delicate petals.
“I always go to the bottom,” I say, quiet. “I’ve never been up here before.”
Tex shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks almost shy.
“I found it last summer. When things were bad with the drought. I needed a place to think.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
He turns to me. The sunlight dapples his face through the leaves.
“Yeah,” he says, but he isn’t looking at the view. He’s looking at me.
I smile.
He smiles back and steps closer. The daisies crush under his boots.
“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he says, “since I saw you in your house.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover.”
I laugh. “I was a mess.”
“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”
He reaches out and cups my face. His thumb strokes my cheekbone.
My breath hitches.
He leans down and kisses me.
It starts gentle. A brush of lips. A tease. But the restraint doesn’t last. The hunger from the truck resurfaces, and he deepens the kiss.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth. He tastes like orange juice and mint.
I grip the front of his shirt. I pull him closer. I want to feel him. All of him.
He groans against my mouth, and the sound vibrates through me.
He walks me backward, my heels sinking into the soft earth. My back hits the rough bark of the oak tree.
He doesn’t stop. He presses into me. His body is hard, solid. I can feel the heat radiating through his clothes.
His hands roam. They slide down my sides. They grip my hips. He pulls me flush against him.
I feel it, the hard ridge in his jeans.
My core clenches.
“Tex,” I moan against his lips.
He breaks the kiss. He trails his mouth down my jaw. He tugs at my earlobe with his teeth. I feel his breath, hot and ragged.
The scent of him fills my nose. Leather. Hay. Sweat. And underneath it all, the sharp tang of Alpha arousal.
It coats my throat. It makes my head swim.
“I want you,” he growls, the words raw and strained. “I want you so bad it hurts.”
“Then take me,” I whisper.
He pulls back, his eyes dark and dilated with a hunger I can feel. With a firm grip on my hand, he leads me away from the tree and lowers me onto a bed of daisies.
The ground is soft beneath me, flowers cradling my back as the scent of crushed petals rises in a sweet, heavy cloud.
Rolling on top of me, he pins me with his weight, though his forearms take the brunt of it. He stares down, a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead as he searches my expression.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
His next kiss is different, charged with purpose. His hands find the hem of my shirt and slide underneath, his rough palms skating up my ribs in a way that makes me arch into him, desperate for his touch to go higher.
But he has other plans.
Backing away to sit on his heels, his gaze drops to my waist. His fingers find the belt buckle, and the metal clinks in the silence before the leather is pulled free and tossed aside.
The button of my jeans pops open under his thumb. Then, the sound of the zipper sliding down rips through the quiet of the clearing.
“Tex,” I moan again. I can’t help it. My body is on fire.
He leans down. He nuzzles my neck. He breathes me in.
“Your scent,” he says. His voice is strained. “It’s driving me crazy.”
He slides his hand down, pushes past the open waistband. He slips his fingers under the fabric of my panties.
He groans. “You’re so wet.”
I am. I can feel it. The slick has been building since he kissed me in the truck. It’s pooling between my legs.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “So wet for me.”
He slides a finger through the slick. He finds my entrance, circles it. He doesn’t push in. He teases.
I cry out. My hips buck off the ground.
He smiles against my neck. He kisses the sensitive spot below my ear.
I reach for him, finding his belt, and fumble with the buckle. My hands are shaking.
I finally get it undone and unzip his jeans.
I reach inside. My fingers trace the outline of him through his boxers.
He is hard. Huge. The head of his cock beads with moisture.
I wrap my hand around him and squeeze.
He hisses. His hips jerk into my touch.
“I have dreamed of this,” he confesses. He nips at my lip. “Every night for years. Dreamed of your hands on me.”
“Tex...”
“Say my name again.”
“Tex.”
He kisses me hard. He pulls his hand out of my pants and brings his fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean.
“You taste like heaven,” he says.
He slides down my body, settling between my legs.
“Can I taste you?” he asks. “Please? Can I?”
The question is polite, but his tone is ragged and needy.
I nod. “Yes. Please.”
He smiles. It’s a wicked grin.
He grabs the waistband of my jeans and tugs them down. They catch on my boots.
“Leave them,” I say. I don’t want to wait.
He nods, then freezes.
I look down.
My red panties.
They’re barely there, a scrap of lace.
But that isn’t what has his attention.
He stares at my thighs.
The slick has soaked through the fabric. It glistens on my skin.
“Baby,” he says.
“What?” I gasp. I look down and feel the heat in my cheeks. “I... I didn’t know it was that much.”
He runs a knuckle over the wet fabric. He presses down.
I cry out. The sensation is electric. Direct.
“I love this,” he says. “I love that your jeans are trapped by your boots. That you can’t get away.”
He presses harder. He rubs circles through the lace.
My thighs shake. I clutch at the grass and rip daisies from the ground.
He lifts my legs, hooking my knees over his shoulders.
“Hold them,” he commands.
I grab my thighs and hold them apart. He leans in.
He doesn’t pull the panties aside. Not yet. He presses his mouth to the lace and sucks.
The wet fabric drags against my clit, the heat of his mouth seeping through.
I scream and throw my head back.
He works me through the fabric. He nips. He sucks. He licks.
The lace adds friction. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“Tex,” I sob. “Please.”
He hooks a finger under the lace, pulls it to the side. He curses.
The air hits my wet skin, and I feel exposed.
He leans closer and breathes me in. “The scent is even stronger now,” he says. “It’s perfect.”
He blows on me, making me shiver.
“Kiss me,” I say.
He looks up. His eyes are locked on mine.
“Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want your mouth on me,” I beg. “I want you to eat me out. I want to come on your tongue.”
He groans. It’s a guttural sound.
“Gladly,” he says.
And then he dives in.
He drags his tongue flat against my slit, licking up all the slick. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
He finds my clit and wraps his lips around it. When he sucks, I come undone.
The orgasm hits me fast, crashing through me. My thighs clamp around his head.
He doesn’t stop, working me through it and licking up every drop of slick that gushes out of me. When he finally pulls back, he just watches me tremble.
I’m gasping, my chest heaving, and the daisies are crushed beneath me.
He stands up, unbuckling his belt fully and shoving his jeans down. His cock springs free, jutting out from a thatch of dark hair, the head swollen and wet. He wraps a hand around himself and pumps—once, twice.
Looking down at my exposed pussy and the slick coating my thighs, he groans. He comes, the hot spurts landing on the daisies between my legs, white on white.
He milks himself dry, shuddering as his head falls back, then collapses beside me. He pulls me into his arms, kissing my forehead, my nose, and my lips.
“Perfect,” he says.
I curl into him and rest my head on his chest. The breeze cools our sweat.
I smile. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
He laughs. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I was fifteen.”
I look up at him. “Really?”
“Really. Every time I saw you bending over a fence. Every time you smiled at me. I wondered what you tasted like.”
“And?”
He kisses me, and I taste myself on his lips.
“Better than I imagined,” he says.
Laughing, I bury my face in his neck.
We lie there and watch the sun move across the sky.
I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go back to the clinic. I don’t want to think about the meeting or the will or New York.
I just want to stay here. In this bed of flowers. With him.
But the real world waits for no one.
“We should go,” I whisper eventually.
He sighs. “I know.”
He helps me up, brushes the petals from my hair, zips my jeans. I watch him buckle his belt.
He looks satisfied and relaxed. He looks happy.
I feel the same.
The air in the clinic office feels heavy. It hangs in the room, pressing against my skin like a damp blanket.
I reach for the water bottle on the desk. It’s my third in the last hour. I unscrew the cap and gulp it down, a temporary relief from the dryness in my throat.
Dr. Morales sits across from me. He watches me over the rim of his coffee mug, brow furrowed.
“Are you okay, Sedona?” he asks. “You look flushed.”
I nod quickly and set the empty bottle aside.