Chapter 18 Boone
“Fuck…” Rosie whispers.
Her forehead drops against my shoulder; her breath is coming in uneven bursts.
When she finally lifts to look at me, her expression is everything I was hoping.
She’s satiated. Softer. Bewitching. Unreserved.
Beautiful in a way that’s almost devastating. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen, her body relaxed like I’ve never seen her before.
She’s radiant, the perfect mix of blissed out and wrecked. And it takes all my willpower not to guide her onto the floor so that I can bury myself inside of her tight cunt.
Instead, I stand, lifting her effortlessly, her legs hanging loose around my waist as I move to carry her up the staircase.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask, my voice still hoarse.
She points to a door two rooms down on the left. I open it to find a warm primary bedroom with a large porch across from the bed that looks like it overlooks the lake just as she'd described.
It’s peaceful, like her. Beautiful and now I get it—why she loves spending weekends here. It’s quiet in a way the city could never be. I think I could love it here too.
I lay her gently on the bed. Her eyes flutter open for a moment before they start to drift shut again.
“Rosie,” I command, my tone sharper now. “Look at me.”
Her eyes snap open this time, the weight of my voice pulling her from her post-orgasmic haze and bringing her to attention. Slowly, her gaze drifts down my bare chest to my sweatpants.
My cock is still halfway hard, and the massive wet spot that’s marking my release is visible for her.
“Do you see that?” I ask.
Her mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.
“Rosie, do you know what that is?”
This time she nods.
“That’s what you do to me. That’s what you’ve done to me since the first night that I met you.” I step closer, my gaze locked on hers until I'm so close that if she wanted to, she could reach out and press her palm over the wet mess that's seeped through the fabric.
“I didn’t know who you were, but I knew you were someone special. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. And I want you to see it—what your arousal does to me. You in my hands, your scent, your heat, your body… It controls me.” She draws in a sharp, surprised breath.
“I was ready to come the second you stripped down and put on my shirt. Your pussy, that tight, wet heat—God, Rosie.” I shake my head, staring at her like she’s the only thing that’s keeping me breathing. “You have no idea.”
We’re both a mess. Married but pretending we’re not when we’re alone. Dancing around what’s real between us, too afraid to do anything more than a lap dance and a little grinding.
I should be embarrassed for nutting in my pants like a teenager, but I’m not. Not one fucking bit.
“I’m going to go clean myself up,” I say, turning on my heel before my restraint snaps entirely. Because if I don’t walk out of this room right now, I’m going to fuck her. And I don’t think she’s ready for what that means.
Because if I fuck Rosie, this won’t be temporary anymore. And she doesn’t understand that yet.
I head for the bathroom downstairs, stripping off my cum-soaked boxers and pants, brushing my teeth, and pulling on a fresh pair of sweatpants from the bag I packed for this weekend.
I splash some water on my face, run my fingers through my dark hair, then look at myself in the mirror.
And instead of seeing the guy who’s been disappointing his mom and everyone who loves me, the professional hockey player trying to figure out a way to extend his contract and fix his reputation, I see a man worthy of being loved.
Willing to put in the work for a woman so far out of his league it’s laughable.
I check my phone for missed messages and see a text from my older brother Levi.
Levi: When are you going to call me and explain how you married a woman that no one has ever heard about?
Five minutes later he’d texted again.
Levi: And she’s smart, gorgeous and successful? No fucking way this wasn’t some arranged marriage type shit.
Levi: Anyway, happy for you. Don’t fuck this up.
I sigh and slip my phone back into my pocket. I’ll need to explain the truth to my family eventually, but right now things feel too delicate. I get the sense that if I make one wrong move, Rosie’s going to push me away and blame the lawsuit.
And I can’t have that happening. Especially when we’re just getting started.
Five minutes later I’m clean and calm—or as close to calm as I can get. But one look at the guest bed she told me I’d be sleeping in, and I know this isn’t going to work.
No way in hell am I sleeping here when she’s right down the hallway.
I walk back to the primary bedroom and silently push open the door. Rosie is curled up in the center of the massive bed, small and soft, still wearing my shirt with nothing underneath.
She looks like everything I shouldn’t want. But I do. It’s my career that’s at risk here, the one thing that I've centered my whole life around, and I don’t even care.
I slide into bed on one side, scooping my arms underneath her to nudge her closer to the edge. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open as she realizes it’s me.
“What are you doing Boone?” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.
“Sleeping next to my wife.”
“What?” she whispers, a little more awake that time.
“That guest bed is a death trap, and I know you just bought this fancy new mattress. I overheard you talking about it with Rhiannon.”
She bites her lip nervously, her teeth worrying at the soft skin. Then she nods. “I guess I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself on that thing.”
I grin, sliding fully under the covers and wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her snugly against my chest in a bear hug.
She tenses for half a second—a funny reflex for a woman that I was just finger-fucking downstairs—but then she relaxes into me, letting out a soft sigh as she melts against my chest.
I can tell this is all new to her. Being held. Being taken care of. Someone who wants to always be close to her.
Rosie’s probably never had anyone who made her feel safe before, wanted to listen to her thoughts and dreams, wanted to take care of her needs first. And while that might be a sore spot for her, it feels like a win for me.
Because I intend to do all that and more. For as long as we’re married.
She goes quiet, and for a second, I wonder if she’s fallen asleep while my mind keeps racing, running a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out how to make this work without me fucking everything up by doing the wrong thing.
Then she speaks, her voice cutting cleanly through the dark. “I hate my ring.”
I cough. “What?”
“The ring I have to wear to pretend we’re married. I hate it.”
I smile against the top of her head. She’s so short that even when we’re lying down, her head barely reaches my neck.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, even though I already know. I knew the second I saw it. It’s not her style. It’s not her.
“It’s the type of ring my dad would pick out if he ever got married again. Just to make a point. It’s too flashy and over the top. It’s gaudy. Unoriginal.”
I hum in agreement but stay quiet. She holds her hand up in front of her, twisting her wrist back and forth to inspect it.
“This wedding band I bought for ten bucks from one of those random street vendors in NYC. I like it better than the engagement ring. I'd wear just it if I could, but my dad would have a heart attack if I went out in public without a ring.”
That makes me laugh—a deep, rumbling sound I feel all the way to my toes.
She laughs too, her body vibrating with it, until she finally stills, her breath evening out as she falls asleep easily against me. Her little snores are soft, her body warm and heavy on mine, and I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. Because she feels safe enough in my arms to fall asleep.
And because now I know exactly what I’ll be doing next week.
◆◆◆
The sound of a phone ringing jolts me awake. There’s sunlight streaming through the blinds and dust dancing in the early light.
I fumble around in the bed, my arm bumping into something warm. It takes me a second to realize it’s Rosie I nudged, still tucked into the crook of my arm like she’s trying to stay there.
I grin. This is the first time I’ve slept next to a woman in two years, and it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.
I drop a soft kiss to her temple where she smells like warmth and rest then brush a few pieces of hair from her pretty face. Fuck, how did I get to be the lucky guy to marry her?
Reaching over to the side table, I grab my phone without even checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“You’re still asleep? You didn’t even drink last night.” Cain’s voice comes through the line, sharp and impatient.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the grogginess. My eyes flick to the clock—It’s already 8 a.m.
I ignore his tone. “What’s up, Cain?”
He sighs, the kind of sigh that immediately puts me on edge. “Bad news.”
My stomach drops. “What kind of bad news?”
“They need us back in New York City right now. The judge on your case for Monday’s appearance is being a bit of a dick.
Mayhem wants you to do an interview at their headquarters today to talk about how you expect your case to be cleared, how you’re confident the judge will uphold the law and do the right thing since you are innocent. ”
I sit up, careful not to disturb Rosie as Cain’s words settle like a weight in my chest.
“Can’t we do that virtually?”
“No. Gotta do it at the facility. A few of your teammates have been called in as character witnesses to reinforce your image.”
Dammit.
“We’re in the home stretch, Boone. Just gotta get through Monday’s appearance, then the final judgment in a month, and this will all be behind you. Things are looking good for your reputation, too. Being married to Rosie has been boosting your public approval rating, and everyone’s buying it.”
Of course, they are. Because Rosie doesn’t just excel at her job, she excels at everything she does.