He moves lower, nipping at my lace panties before taking a long, deliberate inhale.
“I’m taking these with me.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, but it dies in my throat as he hooks his fingers in the waistband and slowly peels them off, tucking the fabric into his back pocket like some kind of trophy.
Then, with one smooth motion, he settles between my legs.
“Mine,” he murmurs, slipping a finger inside my pussy and pumping languidly.
“Yours,” I whisper back, the word as serious as a vow as my body tightens around him.
I prop myself up on my elbows, watching him like I can commit every moment of this to my memory. Boone adds a second finger, coaxing it inside and stretching me before he reaches for his wedding band and slides it off his finger.
My breath catches as he drags the ring through my pussy, coating it before rubbing the cool metal reverently against my clit and then slipping it back in place on his hand.
“Going to jerk off tonight with your panties on my face and this ring under my nose since we can't be together,” he says, his voice darker.
“No, you won’t,” I laugh, even as heat blooms across my skin.
“I promise you I will.” His grin falters, replaced by something that’s raw and conflicted. “Fuck, Rosie, I don’t want to do this.”
Our gazes collide, the sincerity of his words catching me off guard. I feel the same way, but I know it’s not something we can say out loud. We don’t have a choice. We have to do this.
Before I can respond, his hand moves lower, adding a third finger as his palm presses down on my clit and rubs.
“Boone,” I gasp, my orgasm rising. “We have to—”
“I know,” he cuts me off, his voice tight. “I know.” Then he lowers his face and seals his mouth over my clit to suck.
His tongue moves in perfect rhythm with his fingers, his lips teasing and sucking until my body is spiraling toward release.
All thoughts of the fight we’re supposed to stage, the better future that’s waiting for us on the other side, blur into nothing as the tension inside me snaps.
My orgasm crashes over me, hard and overwhelming, and tears sting my eyes as I cry out his name. Myhusband’sname.
I collapse into the bed, trembling and lost in the haze of sensation and the passion from how he touched me.
But the moment it’s over, Boone is there, pulling me into his arms, holding me tightly to his chest. He kisses me deeply, tenderly, whispering promises I’m too scared to believe but desperately want to. That when this is over, we'll still want each other. That we’ll be together.
“This is the start, Rosie,” he murmurs, holding me close as though he can keep the rest of the world that’s waiting at bay.
He cleans me up with a gentleness that makes my chest ache and helps me slip on a fresh pair of panties while he keeps mine in his back pocket.
And moments later, we’re sitting in a taxi, the cold New York streets blurring outside the window. My knee bounces nervously, but Boone’s hand stays wrapped around mine, steady and unrelenting, as if he’s willing me to hold on just a little longer.
I can feel his gaze heavy on me, but I refuse to look at him. If I do, I’ll lose it in this cab and that won’t work. I’m sure the driver won’t be willing to corroborate our story no matter how much money my dad or brother throw at him to lie.
“We’re here,” the driver says.
Boone gives my hand one final squeeze before he opens his door, and I open mine. And when we step out onto the street, everything else fades away. Lawyer Rosie kicks in, my emotions shift to business, my focus tunnels, and the bustling street becomes my final stage.
And... action!
“Youpromisedme this was your last year!” I shout, my voice sharp and trembling with feigned frustration.
Boone’s step falters for only a moment before the warmth in his gaze vanishes, replaced by the cold, detached expression that we rehearsed.
It’s unsettling how distanced he looks. Like whatever feelings he’d confessed for me over the past month have disappeared. I know we’re acting but it’s still a bit of a mind-fuck to look into those eyes that I’ve loved and see nothing now.
