Chapter 11 #2
“I need more.” I’m beyond pride now, beyond pretense. “Please, Boone. I need—”
“I know what you need.”
His mouth moves lower—across my stomach, my hipbones, the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants. He hooks his fingers in the elastic and looks up at me.
“Yes?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He slides the sweatpants down my legs, taking my underwear with them, and I’m bare before him. Completely vulnerable.
For a long moment, he just looks. His gaze travels over me like a physical touch—my breasts, the soft curve of my stomach, the flare of my hips, the place between my thighs where I’m already aching for him.
I’m suddenly, painfully aware of what he’s seeing.
Not just the body of a forty-year-old woman with all its imperfections—but the patches of stubble where they shaved my head for surgery.
The angry red line of stitches near my temple.
The ugly purple bruising that still runs along my ribs.
The bulky cast encasing my wrist like a plaster prison.
Not to mention that I haven’t exactly been personally grooming lately.
I’m a mess. A disaster. The furthest thing from sexy I’ve ever been.
But the way he’s looking at me—like I’m a feast and he’s been starving for years—makes none of that matter.
“I’m not exactly at my best,” I manage, gesturing vaguely at the stitches, the cast, the general wreckage of my body.
“You’re alive.” He presses a kiss to the bruise on my ribs—so gentle it makes my chest ache. “You’re here.” Another kiss, to the inside of my arm, just above the cast. “You’re mine.” His eyes meet mine, blazing with heat. “That makes you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jesus Christ. I’ve never felt more powerful.
“Look at you.” His voice is lower now, rougher. Reverent. He settles between my thighs, broad shoulders forcing my legs wider, and the position feels obscene in the best way—me spread open, him still fully clothed, all that coiled power focused entirely on me. “So wet already. Is this all for me?”
I make a noise of affirmation.
“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. “Good girl.”
Oh god.
And then his mouth is on me, and I stop thinking entirely.
He licks me with long, slow strokes—learning my body, discovering what makes me gasp and moan and writhe. The flat of his tongue drags through my folds, hot and wet, and I hear myself make a sound I don’t recognize. Something between a whimper and a plea.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear you.”
He explores me like he has all the time in the world. Traces the seam of me with the tip of his tongue. Dips inside, just barely, then retreats. Finds my clit and circles it lazily—once, twice—before moving away to press open-mouthed kisses to my inner thighs.
“Boone—” My hips buck, chasing his mouth. “Stop teasing.”
“Not teasing.” He holds my hips down with one broad hand, pinning me in place. “Savoring.”
He returns to my center, and this time his tongue moves with more purpose.
Long strokes from my entrance to my clit, over and over, each one building the pressure coiling low in my belly.
He finds a rhythm that has me keening, my good hand fisting in the sheets, my head thrown back against the pillows.
But every time I get close—every time I feel myself climbing toward the edge—he pulls back. Changes the pressure. Slows down.
“Boone—” I’m panting now, my skin flushed and damp, desperation clawing at my throat. “Please—”
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes. His lips are swollen, his chin wet with me, and the sight of this powerful man between my thighs—wrecked and hungry and completely in control—makes my core clench deep.
“Please what?” His voice is rough, raw. “Tell me.”
“Make me come. I need to come.”
“Since you asked so nicely.”
This time, he doesn’t tease.
He seals his mouth over my clit and sucks—hard, relentless—at the same moment he slides two fingers inside me. The stretch burns in the best way, and he crooks his fingers, dragging against my front wall, finding a spot that makes my vision blur.
His mouth works me in time with his hand. Tongue flicking, lips pulling, fingers thrusting in a rhythm that tightens the coil inside me until I can barely breathe. The pleasure builds and builds, layer upon layer, climbing higher than I thought possible.
“That’s it,” he growls against me, the vibration shooting through my nerve endings. “Come for me, Josie. Let me feel it.”
I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me like a wave—cresting, crashing, dragging me under. I come with a scream that I’m sure the entire clubhouse can hear, my body arching off the bed, thighs clamping around his head, pleasure pulsing through me in endless, devastating waves.
He doesn’t stop.
His fingers keep moving, gentler now but relentless, wringing every last tremor from my body. His tongue laps at me softly, easing me down even as he stokes the embers for a new peak.
“One more,” he murmurs against my sensitive flesh. “Give me one more, Josie.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes me see stars. “You will. Come on, baby. Be a good girl for me.”
He works me relentlessly—tongue and fingers in perfect concert—and I feel the second orgasm building even as aftershocks from the first still ripple through me. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.
“That’s it,” he coaxes. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
The second orgasm blindsides me—sharper, deeper, ripping a sob from my throat. I clench around his fingers, crying his name, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
He eases me through the aftershocks, his touch gentling until I’m boneless and trembling. Then he withdraws this fingers slowly—so slowly—and crawls up my body, pressing kisses to my hip, my stomach, the curve of my breast, my collarbone. When he settles beside me, he pulls me into his arms.
I can feel him against my thigh—hard, straining against his jeans—and I reach down, my fingers finding his belt.
“Your turn.”
He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips instead. Kisses my knuckles. My palm. The sensitive skin of my inner wrist, just above the cast.
“Later.”
“Boone—”
“Later,” he repeats, softer this time. He threads his fingers through mine, pinning our joined hands against his chest. “When you’re healed and I don’t have to worry about hurting you.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
His smile is crooked, almost boyish. “But I want to take my time with you, Josie. Hours. And I can’t do that while you’re still recovering.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, careful to avoid the stitches. “Tonight was about you. Let me have that.”
The tenderness in his voice undoes me more than the orgasms did.
“Okay,” I whisper. “But I’m collecting on that debt. With interest.”
“I’m counting on it.”
I lie curled against Stone’s chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip.
He makes a rumbled sound of contentment. I shift so I can look at him, propping my chin on his chest. In the dim light of the guest room, he looks softer than he does during the day. Less invincible MC president, more man who just spent two hours learning exactly how to make me fall apart.
“That was a supremely satisfied sound for someone who has yet to get off.”
He grins. “I have the taste of you on my lips, and the promise of more to come. I’d say I’m doing okay.” His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone as he sobers. “I was an idiot, Josie. I’m sorry.”
My heart clenches. “You’re forgiven. I’m just glad you finally gave in.”
His mouth curves once more. “You’re very persuasive, Counselor.”
“I’ve been told that before.” I lean up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Usually right before I win a case.”
“I bet.” He pulls me closer, tucking me against his side. “I’m not going to push you away again, Josie.”
“Good.” I settle against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
We lie in comfortable silence, the sounds of the clubhouse muffled through the walls. Somewhere, I can hear music playing. Voices. The normal chaos of MC life carrying on around us.
“We should probably make an appearance at some point,” I murmur. “People will talk.”
“Let them talk.” Stone’s arm tightens around me. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”
“Possessive beast.” I love it.
“You have no idea.” He tilts my chin up, brushing a kiss across my lips. “But we do need to eat. I’ll have someone bring up food.”
“Such service.”
“Only the best for my woman.”
My woman.
Damn if I don’t like that.