Tequila

by Rebecca Sharp

  “I worked my ass off, and was in my final year, preparing to take the bar when my dad called and told me they needed my help for a friend out in Grand Teton.” His finger rubbed over the label on the glass as he spoke.

  A sense of fear coursed through my blood, colder than the anxiety from my own confession.

  Logan’s eyes hardened with a familiar mix of anger and regret—one I’d seen in the mirror too many times these last several weeks.

  “I thought it was strange they were in a National Park. I thought it was strange they had a friend there—my parents were always the city socialite people. But I was busy and stressed with school, so I went knowing that this was what I’d wanted to do—to help.”

  He handed me the bottle and mostly, I took another sip just so I could taste him around the lip.

  “They went and introduced me to a man, Mr. Green, who they said had mineral rights in the park but that there were some groups trying to prevent him from accessing some of the unique minerals contained in the ground,” he went on.

  My expression must’ve indicated I was unfamiliar with what mineral rights were and how they worked.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he explained, “There are these rules—the 9B regulations—they’re called. And they deal with this idea of a ‘split estate’ inside a park—where the government owns the surface land, but private individuals own the mineral rights beneath the ground.” He let out a long sigh. “They told me that Mr. Green wanted to access his rights, but the park service was fighting him, preventing him access to property that belonged to his family generations before the park even existed.”

  I listened in both astonishment and dread. I had no idea two people could own the same earth.

  “They asked if I could put together every piece of legal defense justifying his right to access those resources, with minimally invasive procedures, of course.” His shoulders slumped. “So, I did. And because it was my parents, I gave it every effort I had.”

  “What happened?” I swallowed hard.

  “Several weeks later, I was back at school, out grabbing a bite with my two roommates and one of them nudges me and points to the TV. I look up and I remember it took me a minute to process what I was seeing, not because I didn’t understand, but because I couldn’t believe what was on the news,” he told me with a low strangled voice. “Mr. Green, in conjunction with my parents, had begun to drill in Grand Teton without permission from the park service, claiming to have all legal rights to do so.”

  “Oh, Logan…”

  “All legal rights that I gave them.”

  “It’s not—” I broke off, my own words smacking me in the face.

  “Not my fault?” He pulled me against his chest. “Exactly, sweetheart. I spent years working in that park to fight my mistake, to stop my parents, telling myself the whole time that I should’ve known. That I was just as guilty. But I’m not… and neither are you.”

  “I have rules to remind me who I am when mistakes—either intentional or not—make me forget,” he rasped. “Sometimes, the only way to separate what you did from who you are is to look at what came after. What came after I found out was that I went and tried to fix the mistake I’d been complicit in.”

  His eyes searched mine, and I realized he wasn’t going to say it for me.

  “What did you do after, Shay? Because that is who you are,” he told me. “Our mistakes don’t define us, it’s what we do in their wake that does.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, I began to release the balloon of guilt inside me that had been constantly filling for weeks.

  “What came after I found out was that I went and reported what happened to my CO,” I repeated.

  “Did you have to do that? Was there a guarantee he was going to find out regardless?” Logan asked all the questions I was beginning to realize were also important. “Was there a chance Scott wouldn’t have said anything and no one would’ve known? A chance you could’ve made it out unpunished?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” I watched his lips form over the words, all my fear and self-loathing draining from my cells.

  I’d made a mistake, but I wasn’t the one at fault.

  “Because it wasn’t right,” I admitted, unsure if it was more to myself or to him. “I told him the truth because what I’d done wasn’t who I was.”

  “Exactly.” He nodded vigorously. “And if you won’t listen to me, listen to the woman who refuses to be called a superhero because super isn’t real. Well, guess what? Being infallible isn’t real either. Real heroes make mistakes. Real heroes fall. And then real heroes pick themselves back up and keep going because who they are meant to be is greater than the mistakes they’ve made.”

  My watery eyes slid up to his Anejo gaze, intoxicating myself in its caramelized comfort.

  “Logan…”

  “The truth is, Bae, even though I’ve known that, I’ve still let my parents’ actions define my life. I’ve let their choices drag me all over the country trying to clean up after their mistakes, as though it was my responsibility to make up for them.”

  The buzz of tequila whispered into my blood the few words he’d told me that night about moving from place to place because of a larger project.

  “I came here because I thought my parents were setting their sights on here next, but when I met you, what you said stuck with me.” He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “A lot of you stuck with me, but when I thought about leaving again, I heard you, in the back of my mind, reminding me that we can only do so much. And after five years, I wondered if I could do more by staying than by leaving.”

  “You stayed because of me?”

  Logan nodded. “In part because of what you said. In part because I’d hope to see you again. And in part because I needed to start living like the girl I’d met one night in a bar—the one who made her own path in life.” He sighed. “I needed to make my own path. I needed to stop following my parent’s footsteps to try and remedy the disaster they left behind.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Though, that decision got a lot easier when they were killed in the rig explosion two years later,” he admitted, ruefully.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Now? Because I stopped letting what they did define me six years ago when I realized that just because I’d been involved in a mistake didn’t mean it was my responsibility to make up for it. But six years ago? Because I was still ashamed of what they did, and I’d just met the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in a park I loved. The last thing I wanted you to know was that my family was responsible for destroying places like this if they had a chance.”

  I searched his eyes, finding in them the comfort and confidence in myself that I’d lost behind the clouds of humiliation and regret.

  “The last thing I wanted to admit to the woman who’d learned about my rules was that I came from a family that only broke them, and that destroyed some of the most beautiful stretches of land on this earth.”

  I’d made a mistake. But it wasn’t my fault.

  It wasn’t my responsibility.

  “So, you’re not mad?” I knew, but I wanted to hear it.

  “Oh, I’m mad,” he said roughly.

  I balked and shuddered in surprise against him.

  “I’m mad at the motherfucker who treated you so disrespectfully. I’m mad at the motherfucker who acted so disgustingly it made you question the woman I know you are.” I began to breathe again. “But, no, I’m not mad at you, Shay. You are still incredible to me, no matter what title you hold or what planes you fly. You are still fearless. You are still driven. You are still strong. And most importantly, you are mine.”

  My laugh was all thick and watery as though I’d drank some of the floodwater before letting the sound escape.

  “Oh, really?” I wound my arms around his neck and pressed my body flush to his, feeling the pulsating warmth seep into my limbs.


  I needed this.

  I needed him.

  The weight I’d carried had been like the flood, sudden and damaging. And Logan? He didn’t stop the water—because who could stop nature?—but he was there to remind me that my foundation was built into solid rock, and that no matter what the water or the world brought against it, I would still be standing when it was all said and done.

  “Maybe I should’ve made it clear that night, Shay, but just because I don’t want to stop you, doesn’t mean I’m willing to let you go,” he growled.

  And then his mouth swooped down and claimed mine, marking me with his promise.

  Angling my head, I welcomed his tongue deeper into my mouth, stroking him with slow, steady motions, tasting the truth he’d encouraged me to see. I moaned my gratitude.

  Just like I’d gone with him that night to the sunrise, I’d come back to Colorado not sure the reason why I was doing it, but knowing it was the right thing to do.

  Because Logan was my right thing—my rule.

  Logan was my place to land—a place to call home.

  And Logan was my love.

  “I don’t want you to stop me,” I told him, sinking my hands into the thick strands of his hair and pulling his head tight to mine. “And I don’t want you to let me go.”

  He growled his approval as his hands roamed down my back, stripping away the remains of my guilt as he pulled my shirt from the waist of my pants and slid it up and over my head, dropping it on the floor.

  I didn’t even feel him undo my bra until my hard nipples brushed against the fabric of his shirt a second before his rough, scabbed hands covered my breasts and began to knead their sensitive weight. Their roughened texture did even more damage to my senses as he rubbed over my skin. It only took moments for my senses to disappear as my hips began to roll frantically against the hard ridge of his erection, needing him to be naked. Needing him inside me.

  His fingers skated over my stomach and settled between us to undo the fastening of my pants.

  “What are you doing?” I murmured against his lips.

  I wasn’t going to be able to stand steady much longer. We needed to take this into the bedroom.

  He hummed. “Haven’t you heard what they say about tequila?”

  My eyes popped open, and I grinned as he branded a hard kiss against my lips.

  “What do they say?” I shivered as he bent down my body.

  Holding my stare, he shoved the rest of my clothes to the floor with one swift motion, giving me a devilish quirk in his lips that made my core clench and ache.

  His smirk grew as he rose, picking me up with him and wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “Tequila makes her clothes fall off.”

  I laughed, but it was swallowed whole by his demanding mouth as he carried us toward the bathroom.

  I had fallen.

  Not from grace.

  But in love.

  My lips stayed on hers as I carried us into the bathroom.

  She tasted like tequila and truth—the most potent and most dangerous combination.

  The truth was I was in love with Shay Covington, and I had been for some time.

  How much time? Rationally, I knew it wasn’t a lot. Maybe it was the flood on top of how I’d wanted her for all these years. Maybe it was seeing just how fragile life could be and how easily it could be lost. Maybe that threw emotions into overdrive and distilled down all the unnecessary details.

  I didn’t need to know her favorite food or move. I didn’t need to know who her friends were or what her childhood had been like. I wanted to know it all, but I didn’t need to know it to know love.

  Love was knowing that with floodwaters rising and life on the line, she was the only person I could imagine spending my last days with.

  That was why hearing what brought her back to Colorado had hurt so much—knowing how, after everything we’d been through these last several days, she hadn’t told me the truth. But when I saw how she looked at me when she spoke, I knew exactly what she was feeling.

  Sometimes the people we need to confess to and the people we are most ashamed to tell are one and the same.

  My tongue speared into her mouth, carving out new places and new truths inside its walls, etching into her very breath that no matter what happened or what she did, I would be here. I would catch her.

  I would hold her.

  “You have too many clothes on,” she grumbled, her fingers clawing at the edge of my shirt and pulling it over my head before retreating to the waist of my pants.

  I bit back a groan as her hand cupped over my hard cock as I bent forward to flip the shower on. Her eager strokes made the pleasure border on pain.

  “In,” I commanded.

  Her eyes widened and then darkened.

  For all her need to be the best, she liked when I ordered her—when I demanded things she knew would bring her pleasure.

  Steering her inside the glass cavern and into the steamy water, I quickly shed the rest of my clothes and joined her in the warmth.

  “Back against the tile, arms at your sides.”

  “You’re very demanding tonight, Ranger Daniels,” she said hoarsely while she did as I bade.

  My head dipped close to her. “It’s a good thing you’re such a good soldier, Captain Covington.”

  Her teeth sunk into her lower lip and I knew if I reached between her legs, I’d find her drenched and it would have nothing to do with the shower water spilling over her jaw-dropping curves.

  I stared at her, watching as she shifted and rubbed her thighs together, tortured by just my gaze, as I soaped up a washcloth.

  Being careful not to let my finger brush hers, I began to drag the sudsy cloth over her skin, leaving a trail of white foam in my wake.

  Her head pushed back against the cold, unmoving tile as I washed over her collarbone and down onto her chest, leaving behind a mixture of bubbles and goosebumps on her pale skin. But when I reached the generous swell of her breast, she let out a hiss as I worked my way around the heavy, needy flesh all the way to the tip.

  “Know how many times I dreamt of fucking your tits?” Her eyes flared as I weighed one breast in my palm. “How many times I dreamt of shoving my cock between them and coming all over your chest?”

  “Fuck…” she breathed, squirming against the wall. “Then do it.”

  My head dipped. “Not tonight. Tonight, I need to fuck you. My woman. My captain.”

  “Logan,” she cried and arched into my hand begging for me.

  It had been a long day. I had the strength to only resist so much. Obliging my perfect pilot, I kneaded and pulled her nipple, the coarse fabric of the cloth driving her insane.

  “So beautiful, Shay.”

  She hummed with pleasure as my hand moved to her other breast. “Even with all the mud?” she taunted me, her voice hitching as my hand drifted down over her quivering stomach to where she needed me most.

  The water washed away the soap from her tits. So, to answer, I dipped my head and pulled one budded peak between my lips as I cupped my hand between her thighs. Her gasp made me ravenous as I sucked hard on the silken tip, causing her hips to jerk against my hand and rub her clit over the cloth.

  I’d never get tired of this—of making her soar.

  Her moan was music to my soul. I felt the pulsing in my cock become more insistent, but I needed to give her this first. Pleasing her, making her feel beautiful and cherished for simply who she was, was one of the most powerful and satisfying feelings in the world.

  I rubbed her gently there for several strokes until she was rolling her hips into my hand before I slid the washcloth onto her thigh.

  She whimpered in protest as I laved over her other nipple, making sure to give it equal attention to the first. The peak came alive under my tongue and her strangled cry when I sucked on her made my dick jolt with the violent need to come.

  “Need to taste you,” I growled and dropped to kneel in front of her.

&nb
sp; After a long day, my knees should’ve protested against the tile but all I could think about was tasting her pink pussy that dripped in front of me.

  Holding her needy gaze, I hooked one of her legs over my shoulder and bent my head forward, swiping my tongue up through her slit to the swollen bud of her clit.

  Fuck, she tasted like heaven.

  She gasped and jolted against me.

  I didn’t stop her when her hands left their place on the wall and dove into my hair.

  “So good, Shay,” I murmured against her tender skin. “Just like tequila.”

  She half-groaned, half-laughed and then gasped out, “Not funny.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agreed, delving my tongue inside her tight pussy. “Far too intoxicating to be funny.”

  As much as I loved to command her, knowing how much it turned her on, I also loved to worship her because I knew, no matter who she’d been with in the past, she’d never let herself become so vulnerable as to be worshipped.

  Except with me.

  With a low groan, my tongue swirled between her slick folds as I devoured her desire.

  I licked over every inch of her sweet sex, my tongue addicted to her taste, before spearing back inside her clenching muscles.

  I wanted to be in there. Not with my tongue but with my cock. I wanted to feel her suction around me and wring me dry, and the thought made me impossibly hard. But I wanted to give her this more.

  Dropping the cloth, I dragged my tongue back up to her clit and replaced it with two fingers pushed inside her hot core.

  She gasped and pulled my head tighter to her.

  “Fuck, Logan,” she moaned mindlessly, grinding herself against my mouth and hand.

  I felt her legs shake and lose control as my lips tugged on her clit with strong, steady draws. I looked up her body, knowing I was claiming every inch of her glistening skin.

  Moving my tongue faster, I slid my fingers in and out, mimicking what I would be doing with my cock soon.

  Very soon.

  I watched her breasts bounce, water dripping off their swollen pink tips as her breaths caught and locked inside her chest, unable to be set free as her orgasm closed in a cage around her senses, holding her captive as she spiraled higher.