Chapter 10
TEN
BOONE
When she asks me to come to bed with her, I don’t hesitate.
Not because I’m not scared.
But because this feels like the kind of moment you don’t get twice.
I follow her down the hallway, past the soft spill of candlelight, past Georgie curled into a judgmental loaf on the couch. The bedroom door closes quietly behind us, and suddenly the world is just this space. Warm. Dim. Real.
She turns to me, nerves flickering across her face.
“Still okay?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and mean it.
I kiss her again, slower this time, like I’m trying to learn the shape of her instead of memorizing it. She presses into me, hands sliding under my shirt, fingertips warm against my skin.
I’ve had sex before.
This feels different.
When we reach the bed, I guide her to sit down on the edge. With hungry eyes, I settle myself on the floor between her thighs, pushing up her skirt. She gasps as I trail my lips up the smooth skin, nuzzling her silk panties.
Her fingers slide into my hair and hold tight in anticipation. I grin as I lean forward to press a kiss at her center. Her hips buck up as I push the panties aside, removing the barrier between my tongue and her clit.
I swirl around it, applying just enough pressure to have her crying out my name.
It’s a sound I could hear every day of my life. It’s a taste I’ll never get tired of having on my tongue.
As the first waves of pleasure simmer in her, I know it’s not enough. I want to give her more. I want to make her feel what’s burning inside of me. Not just desire.
Love.
Pulling me back up onto the bed, we undress each other without rushing. Pausing to kiss, to touch, to laugh softly when I bump my head against the bed frame and she nearly tumbles over the side.
When I finally ease her down onto the mattress, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath all day.
I take my time with her.
I want her to know that with every every touch, with every movement together, I care about her.
That she’s not something to be claimed or conquered. That I’m here to give, not take. That whatever this is between us, I respect it enough to move carefully.
That I love her.
Even if I don’t have the words just yet.
Her hands tangle in my hair. Her breath catches when my mouth finds places she didn’t expect. She whispers my name like it means something, and that alone nearly undoes me.
When I finally thrust inside of her, bringing us as close together as two people can be, we cry out together.
Unlike our first time, all those months ago, it’s unhurried. With every whispered word, with every caress, we guide each other to new heights.
When she finds her release as we stare into each other’s eyes, it’s a kind of intimacy that makes you feel completely whole.
I’m aware of every sound, every breath, every shared movement. In this moment, I feel as if I know her better than I know myself.
She clings to me, and I hold her like I’m afraid she might disappear if I don’t.
After, we lie tangled together, the firelight from the other room flickering faintly under the door.
She rests her head on my chest.
I trace slow lines along her arm, grounding myself in the fact that she’s here. That this is happening.
“This was… really nice,” she murmurs.
“Nice?” I huff out a laugh. “That might be the understatement of the year.”
She smiles against my skin. “Okay, it was amazing.”
Silence stretches comfortably between us.
Then she shifts slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What do you want,” she asks softly, “when you picture the next few years?”
The question settles into me slowly.
I think about it.
“I want to keep building things,” I say. “Things that last. Infrastructure, sure. But also… a life that feels steady. Useful. I don’t want to drift anymore.”
She nods, listening.
“And you?”
She exhales. “I want to write. Not just one book, but lots of them. I want to feel like I’m standing on my own two feet doing the thing I love. I want my work to matter.”
“It already does,” I say without thinking.
She smiles.
We don’t say the bigger things.
We don’t say love or family or us.
But they sit there anyway, unspoken and heavy in the air.
Eventually her breathing slows. Her fingers relax against my chest.
She falls asleep.
I lie there for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the storm ease outside. My heart feels too full for my ribs.
Carefully, I ease out from under her and tuck the blankets around her shoulders. She murmurs but doesn’t wake.
In the living room, the candles have burned low. Georgie lifts her head as I pass, blinks slowly, and settles again.
I sit at the table and open my notebook.
The spiral creaks softly.
My pen hovers over the page for a long moment.
Then I write.
I don’t know how to say this to you out loud yet.
I’m still learning how to want things for myself without feeling like I’m stealing them.
But tonight felt important.
When you choose me, I chose you too. Because I love you.
I may not be brave enough to tell you everything on my heart just yet.
But I hope I will be soon.
—Boone
I close the notebook and set the pen down.
The day will come. When it’s time for more discussions and decisions about where we want this magnetic connection between us should go.
For now, it’s enough to love her. It’s enough to think that maybe, just maybe, she could one day love me too.