Chapter 33 Rosie
Boone doesn’t get home until well after dark later that night.
A part of me can’t help but wonder if Cain planned it that way—keeping him out late on purpose, like he’s suspicious of Boone staying the night with me again. Suspicious of the fact that he’d willingly subject himself to my guest bedroom, fully knowing it’s about as comfortable as a bed of nails.
I have a strong sense that Cain has already figured out my feelings for Boone.
That this isn’t all a complete facade to me.
And then there’s the lawyer part of me, the one trained to ignore inconvenient evidence, clinging to the hope that he’s choosing to look the other way.
For both of our sakes but mostly for the case and my promotion.
Cain texted me earlier in the afternoon, letting me know they were still working and not to wait up for dinner. Why Boone couldn’t text me himself, I didn’t know. I tried not to overthink why he hasn’t reached out.
I tried not to check my phone while I cleaned up my weekend home and caught up on emails. It didn’t work. I typed and then deleted a message to him about a thousand times.
Hi.
How are you?
This morning was fun.
Thanks for dragging me out of the lake.
What are we doing?
They’re working, after all. And Boone’s here for a reason: he’s paying us to help him win this case and rebuild his reputation. Not to have deep conversations about the future and fuck me senseless every night, no matter how badly I want him to do that.
By the time dinner had rolled around I’d made myself homemade Pad Thai, ate it on the deck despite the freezing temperatures, and stared out at the lake I fell into last night wondering how the hell so much changed so quickly and what Boone was thinking about right now.
It’s refrozen now, back to looking safe. But the memory of him pulling me out of the icy water, the raw concern in his eyes as he held me under the warm shower, and the way he felt inside me later that night—all of it lingers, warming me from the inside out.
When I finished dinner, I tossed the leftovers, cleaned up the kitchen, and thought more about Boone. Frankly, that’s all I’ve been doing all day. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Missing him.
To be honest, I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of obsession and that’s terrifying because I don’t know where he stands and I’ve never been this into a guy before.
And then, like I summoned him from thin air, the front door finally opens.
“Hey,” he says, stepping inside and dropping his bag on the kitchen floor—a bag I’m sure is stuffed with notes from whatever he and Cain worked through today to defeat his case on Tuesday. I just hope it’s enough.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice low and soft, taking him in.
He looks perfect. But doesn’t he always? It doesn’t matter that he’s been working all Saturday with my brother on something that I know he despises. He looks handsome. Broad in all the right ways. Strong and tired yet completely irresistible to me.
I’m standing in my black silk robe, the sexiest thing I own in this house.
I still haven’t brought my actual cute lingerie from New York to Brookhaven, but I know that doesn’t matter to him.
There’s nothing underneath the robe which is what he cares about.
My legs are smooth, my pussy even smoother, and I’m already so worked up that if I rubbed my thighs together hard enough, I swear I could come just from looking at him.
Boone yanks off the Mayhem-logo wool hat he’s wearing then rakes a hand through his dark hair and fixes me with a cool stare and a raised brow.
His hands move to the buttons on his flannel shirt, and he begins to undo them.
No coat for Boone. The man runs hot no matter how freezing it is outside. Another thing I love about him.
With slow, deliberate precision, he undoes each button until the flannel hangs open, exposing the carved lines of his abs and the corded muscles of his chest. Dark coarse hair dusts against his pecs and down into his waistband.
If he hasn’t thought about modeling before, he should really consider that as part of his retirement plan.
“Come here, girl,” he says, his voice low and commanding as he spreads his arms wide.
I don’t hesitate. Shamelessly, I rush into his arms, and he catches me with ease, scooping me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. It’s like something out of a movie and nothing that I’ve ever done before.
My robe flutters open, and the second that the bare skin of my breasts and core presses against his chest, he lets out a deep, guttural growl.
“I can feel your pussy making a mess on my stomach,” he growls. His lips graze my ear in a soft nip. “I fucking love it. I need a shower. And a taste of you. Now.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice trembling with anticipation. My lips brush the hair at the nape of his neck, and I feel his muscles relax under my touch.
He strides upstairs without pausing, his grip firm, his body flexing with the movement of carrying me so easily, until we’re back in the bathroom where he left me this morning. He turns on the showerhead and the steam clouds the surrounding space.
“Let’s get you naked,” he murmurs, his eyes hooded and heavy with heat. He yanks the tie of my robe the rest of the way free and slides the fabric off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet. His gaze burns into me as he strips himself bare, taking his time and savoring the view.
When he’s done, he pulls back the shower curtain and curses at it under his breath, stepping inside first and holding out a hand for me to follow.
Once we’re under the hot spray, his hands are everywhere, roaming over my body, claiming every inch of my skin. His touch is rough and reverent all at once, and then his teeth sink into my shoulder, hard enough to leave another one of his marks I've come to cherish.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he growls against my skin. “How’s that possible, Rosie? Only a few hours apart, and it feels like a fucking lifetime.”
I let my head fall back against his chest and nod because I feel it too. “I missed you too. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
“I want your cunt,” he says, his hand sliding down to cup me from behind. His fingers massage my clit before slipping one inside my opening. He pumps it slowly, taking his time, and I shudder, already lost to the feel of him.
Why did I make this so complicated in my head today? Boone wants me and I want him. Rhiannon’s right. That’s the only thing that matters.
“Bare,” I blurt out before I can take it back. “No condom. Fuck me with nothing between us tonight.”
He pauses his fingers before gently removing them and spinning me to face him, his dark eyes searching mine for any hesitation.
He won't find it there. There isn’t any.
I’m certain of this. I’ve never had sex without protection before.
I’m on the pill, but no one I’ve ever slept with has been worth the added risk.
Boone’s worth it.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice softening just enough to remind me that Boone cares about my pleasure and my safety.
“I’m on birth control,” I assure him, my arms wrapping around his neck to play with the damp hair there. “I would never do anything to trap you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He chuckles and drops his lips to mine, kissing me softly. “Baby, when are you going to realize that it’s me trying to trap you?”
A flood of heat races down my spine and into my core.
“I get tested regularly for the team,” he says, his voice rough. “I’ve been celibate for an unholy amount of time. I’m clean.”
“I trust you,” I reply, pulling his face down to mine because I do. In so many ways it makes my head spin and heart hurt. I trust him with my reputation. I trust him with my life, and I trust him with my heart.
He kisses me hard, his lips possessive and hungry, his teeth nipping at my lower lip before his tongue soothes the sting. Then he lifts me again, pinning me against the shower wall, his hard, bare cock nudging at my entrance.
“Fuck, this is going to feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with need.
I nod. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Thank fuck I’m the first.” Then he presses in, the thick head of his cock sliding just past my opening.
We both look down, watching where we're joined as he feeds another inch inside before pulling out, allowing me to adjust to his width.
He rocks his hips forward harder, and then pulls back, gliding easily in and out of me like we were made to do this all along.
"Fuck, Rosie. Just... fuck. You’re so good."
Slowly, he works his way in, his hands gripping my ass as he lifts me effortlessly, holding me against the tile until finally he’s buried all the way to the root. He stills for a moment, the hot water cascading down on us, pooling where we’re joined together like a cup.
“Rosie,” he whispers, his hand sliding up to my neck.
His fingers wrap around the back of me and squeeze.
It’s firm but not painful. It’s possessive like he can’t get enough of touching me and having my attention focused on him.
I understand the feeling. It feels good to have Boone’s focus on me.
“I’m never, ever, fucking you with a condom again. That… was a crime against humanity.”
I laugh and the motion makes my pussy squeeze him harder because his eyes press shut and he lets out a long breathy sigh.
“It feels good for me too,” I tell him.
He drops his forehead to mine. “We still need to talk.”
“I know,” I whisper back. And I also know that right now’s not the time.
He pulls out completely. His cock, covered in my arousal comes into view. The water hits it, attempting to wash away the evidence of my desire for him and failing before he slides back inside me, the stretch so good it burns.
“You were made for me,” he murmurs.
Every ridge of him, every deep, deliberate stroke as he moves in and out of me sends shockwaves through my body. It’s as if I can feel the veins adding to the friction, those delicious ones I've enjoyed licking while he's come down my throat.
Warm water splashes between us, right where we’re connected, the light slapping sound as my ass meets the shower wall making my moans echo off the tile. His fingers dig into my skin, gripping me hard enough to leave marks that I hope never will fade while he holds me up.
I open my mouth, about to tell him how good he feels, how I’ve never been stretched like this before and never want to be by anyone else. I’m prepared to lay it out on the line. To ask if he feels the same way.
This isn’t sex brain, this isn’t just lust, this is clarity. But before I can say anything, a sharp knock at the bathroom door shatters the moment.
Boone freezes mid-thrust, his cock buried so deep inside me I swear he’s touching my cervix. My eyes widen in fear. His lips pull into a tight line as he mouths at me, “Who the fuck is that?”
Panic blooms in my chest. I shrug helplessly, mouthing back, “I have no idea!”
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Who is it?” I call out, forcing my voice to project over the rush of the water from the showerhead and blood in my ears.
The bathroom door creaks open slightly, and my heart stops. I swear I can feel the moment where I start to lose grip on reality, and the shower wall. Boone catches me easily and pins me in place. Not letting me fall to the ground.
We didn’t lock the door!
Of course, we didn’t. I live alone. No one has a key to my house except Eden and her boyfriend who’ve been doing renovations and…
Cain?
My brain spirals. No. There’s no way Cain would just walk in on me showering. Right?
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Maybe Rhiannon took it?
And then, the voice that follows makes my stomach drop.