Zion and Boone also moved into the house Ravik had renovated.
But they were all upstairs again, while I stayed downstairs in the nest, which had a ridiculously large bed and its own private bathroom with a tub I was—new rule—required to soak in every night as part of my care mandate.
From there, we fell into a new routine.
On weekdays, Zion and I went to work after having breakfast with Ravik. I got used to kissing Ravik goodbye in the kitchen,and then walking out with Zion and getting another peck before he got in his car.
I’d spend the day working on the bear commissions, and Ravik would only disturb me for the lunch part of the care mandate. He would silently stand by until I actually stopped working and took a bite of whatever delicious handheld item he’d brought, then slip away without a word so as not to disturb me.
None of the guys ever disturbed me until it was time for dinner, which was an unspoken respect for my work that made my chest ache.
Boone slept in past breakfast, but evenings we all ate together—though, as July rolled around, Zion often had to stay up in Bear Mountain proper for pageant rehearsals, returning home late with complaints about lazy students and the latest gossip from the production.
Sometimes, I wanted to ask about coming to watch the production at the festival. But I didn’t want to let him down if I chickened out of showing my face in Bear Mountain before the wedding—or even during the wedding. I still had panic attacks whenever I thought of seeing the girls. Of casting a shadow over what sounded like idyllic lives in Bear Mountain with my mess.
The bad thoughts stayed away when I kept myself grounded in the present.
But the thought of seeing my daughters, who’d be even more upset with me because I’d missed the birth of Noelle’s twins, flooded me with panic.
Though, there was one thing that wasn’t quite as scary as the weeks progressed. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Boone and I underwent more training.
We discovered pretty early that the best position was what Boone called stick shift: me on top, guiding his heavy log into my channel, pushing back as far as I could without it being painful. Then Boone would put a hand between us and work my nub while I got slicker, sliding a little farther down the more turned on I became, until we both came in that not-so-common position.
It was a surprisingly powerful orgasm. And it made me think about what a disservice only highlighting guy-on-top vaginal penetration sex did to women. Over those weeks of training on top of Boone I learned that there were multiple ways to achieve pleasure, and they were all equally great.
As Boone put it, “Figuring it out is fun as hell.”
But the day I finally slid all the way down to the hilt was special. Heat spread low in my belly, heavy and sure, like my body finally understood and accepted that as large as this invasion was, it was safe, and I wanted it inside of me. Tears immediately pricked my eyes, and this time they had nothing to do with frustration—or strain.
“Sugar, you okay?” He sat up beneath me, massive hands framing my face to wipe away my tears.
“I’m so good,” I choked out. He was in so deep, I could feel him in my stomach, compressing my breath. Still, I managed to tell him, “I’m so, so good.”
“Bravest girl I know.” He kissed me then, deep and claiming, and I felt it everywhere.
No more stick shift. Boone wrapped his huge arms around me. “See? We figured it out,” he said with a grin before we bothstarted moving in a position that felt more like a hug than anything.
It quickly shot to the top of the list as our favorite for reasons that had nothing to do with the level of orgasm it brought.
The honor of most earth-shattering orgasm would go to both him and Ravik, who said, “Now that you’ve been claimed by Boone, we can try other things.”
Other things were also on my “Never Have I Ever” list and also involved a copious amount of lube and me lying on my side with Boone impaling me from the front, calling me his brave girl, while Ravik’s fingers did wicked things behind me while he encouraged me to breathe.
Turned out, I was braver than I’d ever given myself credit for.
Somewhere in those weeks, I told them they didn’t have to keep asking for my permission to touch me—“Especially when we’re naked.”
I’ll admit, by that point I felt like a bit of a hypocrite because, contrary to what that “change of life” pamphlet I got from my primary care physician said, I had not lost interest in sex.
In fact, I was discovering that I was quite horny. And a little mischievous.
I loved crawling underneath the kitchen table, putting a pillow on the ground at Zion’s feet when he tried to work there, then sing-songing, “Nothing…” when he asked what I was doing, then getting called his “undoing” when my nothing made him spill down my throat.
Jacobi Baerlow will never know it, but that first and only “A” he ever got from Zion on his essay about howThe Odysseywas justa bunch of guys dying because Julius Caesar decided to simp out over the wrong girl… All me.
If Boone slept in too late, he became used to hearing, “Wake up, Boomer” before I crash-landed on top of him.
And heaven forbid Ravik try to do something as mundane as the dishes. He quickly learned that if I caught him doing it, that earned him a hug from behind and a hand job outside what he called “our designated intimacy schedule.”
