We stand and begin a slow sway in front of the mural, bodies close, the music wrapping around us. His hand slides up my back, fingers splayed like he’s memorizing the curve of my spine. I breathe him in—soap and smoke and something like home.
“You’re dangerous,” I tell him.
He smirks. “You love it.”
“Maybe,” I say. “You’re also mine.”
His grip tightens. “That’s not a problem.”
We move until the music fades and the kids yawn and Saxon flicks the lights. Boone doesn’t let go until we step into the cold,stars sharp above Devil’s Peak. He drapes his jacket over my shoulders without asking.
“Firefly,” he says, voice soft now. “I don’t know what comes next.”
I look at him—at the man who learned to listen to fire, who chose to step into light without burning. “We’ll make it,” I say. “Together.”
He nods. Then he kisses me again, slow and certain, beneath a mural that proves what fire can become when you refuse to be afraid of it.
And for the first time, I believe it.
An hour later, Boone carries me into my studio, depositing me on the hardest sofa in existence.
I feel his lips press softly against mine, warmth flooding me as his fingers twist gently through my hair. A low moan tumbles from my throat, vibrating against his mouth. When he pulls back just enough for me to hear, he breathes, “Touch yourself for me,” and I feel a jolt of surprise— my hands trembling at my sides. “I want to see you touch yourself.”
My voice catches. “I-I…okay.”
My heart pounds under his hot gaze.
Watching him, so hungry and patient, shifts something inside of me. He’s seeing me—truly seeing me—for the first time, and I’m suspended between fear and desire. When he lifts my T-shirt in slow, deliberate movements, I realize I’m as raw and untouched as he believes.
Heat floods my cheeks as his hand guides mine down the smooth slope of my thigh. Our fingertips brush the elastic of mypanties under my skirt, and my breath hitches; my heart pounds, loud and eager beneath his touch.
He meets my eyes with a soft smile that loosens something inside me, and I let go of his hand. My fingers slide against my waistband, trembling. He urges me with his gaze: “Slide your fingers around the top. Show me where it feels good, Firefly.”
I do as he says—slow, cautious strokes that build slowly. A shiver runs through me. “That’s it, nice and slow,” he murmurs. “Do you feel that?” I close my eyes and swallow against a sigh. “Keep going,” he encourages, voice thick with something deep and fierce. My body responds, inching toward a trembling edge. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my bra, and a flush spreads from my chest to my toes. I’ve never felt anything like this—his attention, this warmth, this purpose in his voice.
Then he slips a hand inside his panties. My pulse races as he watches, breathing ragged. I imagine how it will feel when he’s finally inside me, and the words escape me in a hushed promise: “I’m thinking about how you’ll feel when you’re inside me.” My fingers quicken, slick now, and his eyes darken with need.
He growls softly, unable to hold back, and suddenly he’s covering me—crashing onto my lips in a fierce kiss. My fingers clutch at his hair as his mouth devours mine, igniting fiery sparks all along my spine. He trails kisses down my neck, over the gentle dip of my collarbone, hands roaming until they cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over the peaks through pink fabric. The trembling in my body grows; I arch into him, craving more.
He moves lower, lips and tongue mapping every tender spot: the inner crook of my elbow, the curve of my wrist, the soft plane above my pubic bone. My hips lift in yearning as he parts the wet edges of me with a slow, teasing stroke. My breath hisses when his tongue slides up, swirling around my slit, nipping gently. I press back against him, thighs quivering, heart racing.
He pulls up to kiss my breasts again before sucking one nipple into his mouth, moaning softly. Then two long fingers slide inside me—careful, measured—to ensure I’m ready. I arch and gasp at the delicious stretch, every nerve singing. When he adds a second finger, my body relaxes into a slow, molten rhythm, and I cry out as pleasure blossoms deep within me.
He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, savoring my taste, and my mouth goes dry as I watch him. He unzips his pants, and I can’t take my eyes off him—his muscular thighs, the promise of all that he is.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks softly.
I swallow, meeting his gaze. “There hasn’t been anyone before you, Boone,” I whisper, wrapping my thighs around his waist as he slides his pants off. My pulse thrums with need and excitement. “You’re the only person I’ve ever even kissed,” I admit, wanting him to know how precious this moment is.
“God, baby, you don’t know what it does to me to hear you say those words.” He growls with pleasure as he lines himself up with my entrance, dragging the head of him along my slit so that my clit brushes over the tip. A jolt of pleasure shoots through me. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, stroking against me. I dig my nails into his shoulder as I push back, chasing the friction.
When he thrusts gently inside, I hiss at the delicious burn of his heavy intrusion. He pauses at the perfect depth, giving me a moment to acclimate, thumb stroking my cheek as if to say it’s okay. “Shhh… I’m sorry,” he whispers against my lips, hand threading through my hair.
I cling to him, breath trembling. “I-I’m okay–I’m perfect. You feel perfect,” I hum as tears of pleasure press at my eyelashes.
“It’ll feel good soon,” he assures me, kissing me slowly before my body relaxes around him. His rhythm shifts from caution to a slow, seductive drive. I wrap one leg higher around his waist,pulling him deeper. My hands roam over his strong back as he begins to move, each thrust sending waves of exquisite sensation rolling through me.
“Please… more,” I gasp, arching against him. “I want all of you, Boone.”
