Chapter 15 #2
“Good to know.” He files the information away, I can tell, for future torment. Then he moves lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the jut of my hipbone.
I feel his smile against my flesh when I whimper.
“So responsive,” he murmurs. “I love how your body reacts to me. Like you were made for my touch.”
“My body is very enthusiastic about you.”
“Good.” He shifts lower, his shoulders spreading my thighs as he settles between them. “Because I’m very enthusiastic about it.”
But he doesn’t go where I expect. Instead, he presses kisses to the inside of my knee. My inner thigh. The crease where my leg meets my hip. Everywhere except where I’m aching for him.
“You’re a tease,” I accuse, propping myself up on my elbows to glare at him.
“I’m thorough.” He nips at my thigh, making me jump. “There’s a difference.”
“The difference is I’m going to die if you don’t touch me.”
“Dramatic.” But he relents, spreading me open with his thumbs, and I feel his breath hot against my center. The anticipation is almost worse than the waiting. “Look at you. Still wet from earlier. Still swollen. Still ready for me.”
“I’ve been ready for hours. I’ve been lying here thinking about you, about this, about how good you felt inside me—”
He licks me—one long, slow stroke from entrance to clit—and the words die in my throat. My head falls back, my elbows giving out, and I collapse against the pillows with a moan.
“Keep talking,” he says, his voice muffled against my flesh. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I can’t—not when you’re—oh—”
He’s eating me like I’m a delicacy to be savored. Long, lazy strokes of his tongue. Gentle suction on my clit. Nothing like the urgent devouring of this afternoon—this is slow, deliberate, designed to build me up gradually rather than push me over the edge.
“You were thinking about me,” he prompts, pausing just long enough to speak. His lips are wet, glistening with my arousal, and the sight makes my thighs clench. “About this. What specifically?”
“About—” I gasp as his tongue circles my clit. “About how you felt inside me. How big you are. How full. How I could barely walk after.”
He groans against me, the vibration making my hips buck. “What else?”
“About how you—fuck—how you pinned my wrists down. How you took control. How you made me beg for it.” I’m babbling now, saying anything to keep him going. “About how you made me come three times like it was nothing, like you could have kept going all day—”
“I could have.” He slides a finger inside me, so slowly I feel every inch, every ridge of his knuckle. “Would have. If we’d had time.”
“We have time now.”
“We do.” He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, curling them forward to find the spot that makes me see stars. “All the time in the world.”
He works me with his fingers while his tongue continues its maddening rhythm—slow circles around my clit, punctuated by long licks and gentle suction. The pleasure builds like a tide—slow and inevitable—and I feel myself climbing toward the edge.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against my most sensitive flesh. “I can feel you getting close. Feel you tightening around my fingers. Feel how much you want this.”
“Boone—”
“Don’t hold back.” He curls his fingers, stroking that spot inside me in time with his tongue on my clit. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come.”
The orgasm rolls through me like a wave—not the sharp, explosive peak of earlier, but deeper. Longer. I cry out his name as it crests, my whole body trembling with the force of it, my walls clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs. His fingers slip free slowly, and I whimper at the loss.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, crawling up my body to hover over me. His chin is wet with my arousal, and he doesn’t seem to care. “So fucking beautiful when you come.”
I reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss. I taste myself on his lips—tangy, musky—and the intimacy makes me even hotter.
“Inside me,” I murmur against his mouth. “Now. I need to feel you.”
“Not yet.” He kisses me deeper, his tongue sliding against mine. “I’m not done worshipping you.”
“Boone—”
“Turn over.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Turn over.” His voice is soft but commanding. The voice of a man who’s used to being obeyed. “On your stomach.”
I comply, and he settles over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. He’s still mostly dressed—jeans and an unbuttoned shirt—and the contrast of his rough clothing against my bare skin makes me shiver.
His mouth finds the back of my neck, kissing down my spine one vertebra at a time.
“I didn’t get to do this earlier,” he says against my skin. “Didn’t get to explore all of you. I was too busy trying not to come in the first five minutes.”
I laugh into the pillow. “You did remarkably well, for the record.”
“I’m a man of discipline.” He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. “When properly motivated.”
His hands knead my shoulders, my back, working out tension I didn’t know I was carrying. It’s half massage, half seduction—his fingers digging into my muscles while his mouth traces patterns across my shoulder blades.
“You’re so tense,” he observes.
“I wonder why. Couldn’t be the multiple orgasms or the impending FBI raid or the fact I’m in bed with the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
“Infuriating?” He nips at my shoulder blade. “That’s harsh.”
“Infuriatingly sexy,” I amend. “Better?”
“Much.”
His hands move lower, thumbs pressing into the muscles along my spine, and I groan into the pillow. It feels incredible—like he’s unwinding every knot in my body, every bit of stress I’ve been carrying.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask.
“Twenty years of riding will wreck your back if you’re not careful.” He works a particularly stubborn knot near my lower spine. “Learned to take care of myself.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky both of us.”
His hands reach the curve of my ass, and the massage takes on a decidedly less therapeutic tone. He cups my cheeks, squeezing gently, kneading the flesh with his strong fingers.
“Perfect,” he murmurs. “Every inch of you is perfect.”
“Boone, if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what?” He spreads my legs, settling between them. I feel the rough denim of his jeans against my inner thighs, and I realize with a start he’s still dressed while I’m completely naked. The power imbalance shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know. Combust. Die. Something dramatic.”
“We can’t have that.” I hear his zipper, the rustle of fabric, and then the hot press of his cock against my ass. “I have plans for you. Can’t have you dying before I execute them.”
“Then execute them already.”
He laughs softly, positioning himself at my entrance. The head of his cock presses against me—teasing, threatening, not quite pushing inside.
“Say please.”
“Are you serious?”
“Say please, Josie.”
I grind my hips back against him, trying to take what I want, but he holds himself just out of reach. The bastard.
“Please,” I grit out.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me before I murder you.”
“Good enough.”
He pushes inside—slowly, so slowly—and I feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me. This angle is different from earlier. Deeper. More intense. The weight of him presses me into the mattress, and I feel claimed in a way that makes me purr with primitive satisfaction.
“Fuck,” he groans when he’s fully seated, his hips flush against my ass. “You feel incredible. Every time. How is it better every time?”
“Because you keep making me wait for it.”
He laughs, the sound strained with pleasure, and pulls out almost completely before sliding back in with the same torturous slowness. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Patience is overrated.”
But even as I say it, I understand what he’s doing. This afternoon was about release—about finally giving in to months of tension. This is about connection. About learning each other. About proving that this isn’t just physical.
He sets a rhythm that’s almost meditative. Long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending. His body covers mine completely, his weight a comforting pressure, his mouth at my ear.
“I love you,” he murmurs, and the words send a different kind of pleasure through me. “I love you so fucking much, Josie.”
“I love you too.” My voice catches. “Boone—I love you too.”
“I know.” He reaches beneath me, finding my clit, rubbing in slow circles that match his thrusts. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
The pleasure builds slowly, inexorably. Layer upon layer of sensation—his cock stroking deep inside me, his fingers working my clit, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth hot against my ear.
I’m moaning into the pillow, my hands fisting in the sheets, my whole body tightening around him.
“That’s it.” His voice is strained now, his control starting to fray. “Come for me, Josie. Come with me inside you.”
I shatter with a sob, the pleasure crashing through me in endless waves. He follows seconds later, groaning my name, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me.
We lie there for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, still connected. He’s heavy on top of me, but I don’t want him to move. I want to stay like this forever—pinned beneath him, filled with him, completely his.
Eventually, he softens enough to slip free, and he rolls onto his back with a groan, pulling me against his chest.
“That was...” I trail off, unable to find the words.
“Worth taking our time.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “How do you feel?”
“Like I never want to move again.”
“Good.” His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip, his touch now gentle rather than demanding. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
“There’s more?”
“I told you.” He tilts my chin up, brushing a soft kiss across my lips. “All night. And I’m a man of my word.”
True to his word, he’s insatiable.