Chapter 35 #2
"It's like that, huh?" The dark amusement in his voice sent heat straight down her spine. "Now it's your turn to scream some fuck yeahs."
Before she could get a single word out, a big, masculine retaliatory hand came down on her ass with a crack that made her jump. Not enough to hurt her—just enough to remind her exactly who was boss.
Payback never felt so good.
He tossed her onto the bed and she bounced, laughing.
He was already moving, crawling up her body without stopping until his mouth found hers in a drugging kiss that rewrote everything she thought she knew about foreplay.
It was languid and lustful and completely, devastatingly thorough, and Vivi's entire history of being kissed restructured itself around this moment.
If a single kiss could reduce me to this, she thought hazily, actually having sex with him in this state was going to destroy me.
He laughed softly against her lips and the sound rolled down her belly like it had a GPS straight for the southernmost parts of Vivi. Boone had this ridiculous, infuriating ease about him—a superpower that left her flustered, flushed, and halfway convinced she was losing all control.
"You like that?" He pulled back just enough to nip her bottom lip.
She moaned in ecstasy. Her pulse was somewhere in the atmosphere, her skin prickling in all the best places.
His mouth found hers again, leaving her wondering if he even knew the fire he could ignite with just a smile. Every flicker of his gaze felt like a dare, every casual lean closer a challenge, and she was more than willing to lose this round.
His lips met hers, and her brain short-circuited because this was the full-on, sparks-everywhere, can't-breathe, need-to-rethink-every-life-decision kind of kiss.
He kissed her with a slow purposefulness.
So purposeful she could feel it in the deliberate drag of each tease, the unhurried press of his mouth, like he wanted her to feel every last detail.
"Now," she murmured, breathless. "About those riding lessons?"
"First," he said, his tongue tracing the swell of her breast where it spilled over her corset. "I want to taste every inch of you."
"You promised me a fuck yeah and I want my fuck yeah,” she demanded with a sweet smile.
"There's time."
"The time is now."
He rose onto his elbows and looked down at her, expression somewhere between amused and undone. "You're going to be the death of me."
"If you're going to die, can you at least get my fuck yeah out first? It's only fair."
Something shifted behind his eyes. "Want to see fair?"
He picked her up like she weighed nothing, sat on the edge of the bed, and then with a grace that had no business existing in a six-foot-something cowboy, spun her around to face away from him, her ass settling onto his bare erection.
And since her chaps were assless, she was sitting reverse-cowgirl with nothing but skin on delicious skin.
Hands around her hips, he jerked her backward until her hands were forced to land on either side of his thighs and her ass landed inches from his face. She went to cover it, but he clucked his tongue.
“Don’t hide that pretty ass from me." He gave a light smack to underscore his point.
Then his hands slid to her waist and he began to drag her slowly forward and back, her folds covered his massive penis, which was already reaching for the stars.
Speaking of reaching for the stars, her nipples were straining against the corset like they were trying to escape the gravitational pull of the man beneath her.
Back and forth—every drag wetter than the last. The tension coiled, and heat bloomed slick between her thighs.
"Ready, Boots?"
She heard the cellophane tear, and then he was covered, nudging at her entrance with devastating patience. One hand splayed flat against her entrance—not guiding, just holding, like he needed to feel her breathing.
"Now straddle me and ride me like you’re a rodeo champion.”
Vivi lifted her hips and let him in slowly, taking a breath to adjust to the sheer size of him. He was massive.
Everywhere.
She started with a slow rolling trot that had him groaning low and gripping her waist with both hands like a guy who’d just realized he’d hit the jackpot in the middle of a rodeo.
She kept her pace teasing, tilting her hips just enough to make him chase it, her hands braced on his thighs like she was mounting a stubborn steed—but he was the one about to be ridden into oblivion.
"Christ," he gritted out. "You're going to ruin me before we've even started."
"I guess it's time for a little canter."
She felt his sharp inhale as she picked up the pace, hips finding a rhythm entirely her own. He let out a rough hiss, one hand locked on her hip, the other yanking her hair until her head tipped back.
"Look at me."
She turned her head and glanced back over her shoulder—just enough.
"You ready to admit I've got you right where I want you?" she whispered, grinding down slow and deep.
She leaned forward, teasing every angle, every nerve ending, and let him feel the full force of her—every thrust, every tilt, every deliberate roll of her hips a separate and distinct challenge.
And he was loving the fight. She could feel it in how tightly he held her, in the restrained grunt that escaped him every time she hit exactly the right spot.
By the time she slammed back into him, they'd broken free of the paddock entirely—racing over open ground, kicking up nothing but speed and heat and the wild, untamed pleasure of two people who couldn't get enough.
Boone's jaw locked, every muscle taut, his body matching hers beat for beat.
The room dissolved until there was nothing left but motion and heat and the sound of their ragged breath.
"Vivi." Her name in his mouth sounded like a warning, or maybe a prayer. Either way, she could listen to him for eternity.
She reached back and pressed a finger to his lips, laughing breathlessly. "Shh. Let the horse do the talking."
And they flew—fast, free, completely reckless, and ridiculously, gloriously alive.
Her hands wandered, but stayed just shy of claiming, just enough to make him ache without letting him win outright. Each touch, each laugh, each drag of lips across skin was a conversation—a challenge that neither of them had the first idea who would give in first.
She arched against him, chasing the pleasure as it coiled tighter and tighter until it broke, crashing through her in waves that buckled her thighs and made her vision blur. She yanked the hat from her head and swung it skyward like a battle flag.
"Fuck yeah!" she screamed.
Boone's groan hit her chest like a drumbeat reverberating so loud she felt it in her bones. It was ridiculous and perfect and exactly right. Like she was the queen of the known world, wild and untamed and entirely herself.
The hat landed somewhere on the floor and their bodies stayed tangled, still trembling, riding out the aftershocks until every nerve ending hummed quietly. Her laughter mixed with his ragged breath and the room felt too small for both and the heat they'd made inside it.
When the last wave settled into a low, satisfied burn, they leaned into the quiet together. Her hair stuck to her forehead, his chest still rising and falling against her back, and there was this sinful, almost silly sense of victory—like they'd stolen something precious, just for themselves.