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… Justme.”
His throat works. “Are you sure?”
I nod, stepping back from the wall, leading him with my eyes until Ireach 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.
