With Texas, I cared.
“West. Oh. Lord.” She grabbed my face and lowered my head. I kissed her roughly, my fingers finding her clit between us and rubbing in circles.
Come, or I will have to die from cum poisoning.
“Are you close?” I groaned.
“I’m …” she started, but then flinched, froze, and every muscle in her body tensed like she was having a stroke. She clenched around me so hard the rest of my body had no say in what happened next. I felt my cum shooting into the condom as I experienced the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.
She spasmed around my cock.
“Comin’.”
Thank. Fuck.
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
Grace
I had sex.
With a boy.
Here was the real kicker—I enjoyed it. I even climaxed once.
Fine, twice.
All right, thrice.
Who would have thought?
Not me, that was for sure. The carnal need in me to feel another body against mine, warm and alive, blew up like a hand grenade the minute West put his lips on my marred nipple and didn’t even flinch.
I tiptoed my way to the living room in an oversized shirt after spending the past three hours with West. It took us ten minutes to recover before tearing at each other again after that first time. I’d suspected we could have gone all night if it wasn’t for West running out of condoms.
Grams was asleep on the couch, snoring softly, her lips pinched in stern disapproval. I scooped up the tiny woman like she was a toddler, carrying her up to her bedroom. It was probably a weird visual to an outsider, but I’d gotten used to it over the years.
Savannah Shaw had the childlike quality of not waking up when she was put to bed. I’d been doing it for a while now. Even before Grams began losing touch with reality. When she still worked two jobs to support us. She’d always fall asleep on the couch. At first, I’d woken her up so she could go to bed—our sofa was narrow, tattered, and itchy—but she’d always wake up for good and end up cleaning the house, doing the dishes, or folding the laundry. With time, I mastered the art of carrying her to her room and tucking her in.
After I put Grams in her bed, I went back to my room. It was dark, hot, and damp, the scent of sex and man lingering in the air. The iced tea glasses I’d brought hours ago remained untouched, framed by little pools of sweat on my nightstand. West was sprawled in my bed, his arms tucked behind his head, his eyes trained on my ceiling, which had been freshly painted four years ago. He was shirtless, his lower parts covered haphazardly with my blanket. I took a mental photo of him like this, in my territory, calm and content.
My gut wouldn’t let me believe this picture-perfect moment would last.
He patted an invisible space next to him. “Join me, Tex.”
“You’re not leavin’ much room.” I ran my eyes along his frame from the doorway. A lazy smile spread over his face.
“Guess you’ll have to get on top of me, then.”
It was still mind-blowing to me that he looked past my scars. Of course, he hadn’t seen the true extent of their ugliness under my makeup, but they were still there nonetheless. I slid on top of him, bracketing his waist with my thighs, squeezing as I ground over his erection through my blanket.
He groaned, kneading my butt cheeks.
“Pretty sure my dick’s got skid marks at this point. Up for a fourth round?”
“We ran out of condoms.” I laughed throatily.
“I’ll pull out.”
“Are you insane?”
“Horny. Which must be technically the same, because I’ve never suggested that in my entire life.”
“We’re not doin’ that.”
“Why not? I’ll be fast.”
“You’re really selling this to me.” I rolled my eyes.
He laughed. “Fast to pull, not to finish.”
I ran a hand over his forehead, cheeks, and chin, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. He was perfect. Every single part of him. Unmarred, smooth, and striking.
“We’ll do it again soon. And be safe about it,” I whispered.
“Promise,” he demanded, covering my hands with his on his chest so I couldn’t move. I thought about the promise he’d made me earlier tonight. To never break my trust.
“Promise.” I smiled.
We snuggled after that. I lay on top of him, skin-to-skin, my ear pressed against his pec, listening to the steady drum of his heart. I thought he fell asleep as the room grew dark.
Then he spoke. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you? And no, I’m not asking because I saw your scars today. I’m asking because you act like it never happened, yet you let that shit define you. Every. Single. Day.”
My breath caught in my lungs. Here we go.
It was one of the reasons why I hadn’t gotten close to anyone since what happened. Avoiding the questions, the confessions, the ugly truth behind the uglier scars. But didn’t West deserve a bit of honesty after everything we’d been through?