I dry off and realize I don't have clothes. Right. He said he'd leave something outside the door. I wrap the towel around myself and crack open the bathroom door. The hallway is empty. There's a neatly pile of clothes on the handle—a flannel shirt and sweatpants.
I grab them quickly and close the door again.
The flannel is massive. So big it falls to mid-thigh on me, the sleeves hanging past my hands. I roll them up and breathe in deep. It smells like him. The sweatpants are just as oversized, requiring me to roll the waistband several times to keep them up.
I look ridiculous. Like a child playing dress-up in her father's clothes. But I also feel... safe. Wrapped in Boone's scent, in fabric that touched his skin. It's probably weird. Definitely pathetic. But I don't care.
There's no way I'm wearing a bra to sleep. I never do, so I leave it in the bathroom with my other clothes. The flannel is thick enough that my nipples won't show. Probably.
I open the door and step into the hallway. Boone's bedroom door is closed, but I can see light underneath. He's still awake.
The guest room is small but cozy. A queen bed with a thick quilt, a nightstand with a lamp, and a small dresser. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable.
I climb into bed and pull the quilt up to my chin. The sheets smell fresh, like detergent and sunshine. The mattress is firm but not uncomfortable. Under normal circumstances, I'd probably fall asleep immediately.
But these aren't normal circumstances.
I'm in Boone Sullivan's house. Wearing his clothes. After he saved me and punched out my attacker and held my hand andcalled me sweetheart and maybe—*maybe*—got hard when I hugged him.
My heart won't stop racing. My mind won't stop replaying every moment. Every word. Every look. Every touch.
Did he really get hard? Or am I delusional?
I press my thighs together. I'm still wet. Still aching. The orgasm in the shower barely took the edge off. If anything, it made things worse because now my body knows what release feels like and wants more.
I could touch myself again. Boone's right across the hall. He'd never know.
But that feels like too much. Like I'm pushing my luck. Like I'm taking advantage of his hospitality by turning his guest room into my personal fantasy playground.
So, I just lie there, throbbing and wanting, listening to the sounds of the house. Water running in another bathroom. Boone's probably showering. The creak of floorboards. The house settling.
Then his door opens. Footsteps in the hallway. They pause outside my door.
My breath catches. Is he going to check on me?
But the footsteps continue past, heading toward what must be the kitchen. I hear cabinets opening. The fridge. A glass being filled with water.
I should go to sleep. Should let him have his space. Should stop obsessing over every little thing. Instead, I get out of bed and pad quietly to my door, opening it just a crack.
Boone's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He's changed, too. Flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt thatstretches tight across his chest and arms. His hair is damp from his shower. He's holding a glass of water, staring at nothing, jaw clenched.
He looks... frustrated. Tense. Like he's fighting something inside himself.
I should go back to bed. Should leave him alone.
But I don't.
Chapter 4 - Boone
I hear her door open before I see her.
My entire body tenses, every muscle coiling tight. I should've stayed in my room. Should've fought through the insomnia and the hard-on that won't quit and the obsessive replaying of every single moment from tonight.
Instead, I'm out here drinking water at midnight like that'll solve any of my problems.
"Can't sleep either?" Her voice is soft, hesitant.
I turn and immediately regret it.
