Someone, maybe Silas, cups the back of my head and tips it gently, as if I might drown. I want to. Boone’s hands guide me, fingers splayed wide.
All I can do is hold on and feel: the raw wood beneath my knees, the hot pulse of Boone’s cock as he lines himself to me, the brush of Silas’s palm down my back, slick with sweat and afterglow. Caleb murmurs in my ear, a litany of gentle commands as if I might shatter beneath the wanting.
Boone fills me hard, all at once, and my gasp breaks the silence, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He groans, a low, almost shocked sound, surprised by how I take him, by how perfectly he fits.
The friction is immediate and right. He kisses me again, teeth clacking, barely coordinated, and I wonder how he keeps just enough restraint, as if the world, or I, might snap if he lets go.
I ride him with the desperation of someone who knows this moment is scarce. Boone’s hands bracket my hips, holding mesteady as I rise and fall, every movement a frictioned blessing. He stares at me intently, and I keep my eyes open, locked onto his.
Silas crowds me from behind, lips and teeth and tongue at my shoulder, anchoring me. He nips, then soothes, pushing my hair aside so Caleb can kiss the tender skin at my nape.
I’m surrounded, and I want more. Need it. My brain is static, all transmission lost beyond the singular point of hands, mouths, moans, and the relentless heartbeat of being watched and wanted. I shudder as Boone’s cock splits me wider than I thought possible, my hips catching on the upstroke. He mutters “Fuck,” head thrown back, throat a column of muscle and salt.
I can’t stop looking at him, the line of his jaw, the sweat pooling above his sternum, the way his hands leave fingerprint bruises where he holds me.
Every instinct screams the same truth:
I never want this to end.
Thisis where I’m meant to be.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Caleb
Sadie is already bouncingwhen I say it.
“I’ll come with you this morning.”
She freezes mid-zip of her backpack, then looks up at me with as much excitement as if I just told her Christmas moved to today.
“Really?” she asks, eyes wide. “Like… with Daddy?”
“Yeah,” I say. “If that’s okay.”
She grins so hard it might hurt. “Yes! Daddy, Uncle Caleb’s coming to school this morning.”
Boone pauses halfway through pouring coffee. He turns slowly, brows drawn together, clearly not tracking how this became a group decision.
“You are?” he asks me.
I shrug, easy. “Figured I would.”
There’s a beat where he studies me, trying to decide if this is help or interference. Boone doesn’t love surprises. He tolerates them at best.
Sadie doesn’t give him time to object.
“That means you can see my classroom,” she barrels on, words tumbling over each other. “And Micah. And the turtle. And Mrs. Hanover. And?—”
“Sadie,” Boone interrupts gently. “Shoes.”
She scampers off, still talking, her excitement echoing down the hall.
Boone finishes pouring his coffee and sets the mug down harder than necessary. “You don’t have to do that.”
I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “Didn’t say I had to.”
He exhales through his nose, jaw ticking. “School drop off isn’t exactly… fun.”
