“I didn’t ask if we should,” he said again.
“But we shouldn’t,” I insisted.
“Sugar, I didn’t ask if?—”
He didn’t finish that sentence.
Because I kissed him.
Or he kissed me.
I didn’t know who moved first, just that the clippers and scissors clattered to the floor, and suddenly, his mouth was on mine, and his hands were everywhere, and I was climbing into his lap like I’d caught whatever mind fever made him think that us two doing this was remotely a good idea.
Boone’s mouth devoured mine, but our tongues worked together, delving and tangling.
His hands weren’t just on my hips anymore. They were under my shirt, palming the breasts I never bothered to put in a bra these days, kneading my bottom through the leggings.
“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growled against my lips. “Let me help you. Let me touch you, sugar, please.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. He was already touching me.
But then he said, “Like you thought Zion was going to do before he told you he was better with his mouth.”
And that’s when I realized what he was offering.
I was so turned on, clit throbbing because I hadn’t been just touching him but rocking myself into the heavy log of the erection that I could feel behind his cargo shorts.
This was touching, touching, touching. But all my senses were zeroed in on that throbbing part of my body, so in need of relief.
And Boone knew it. Could smell my desires—even the ones I hid from myself.
But…
“I won’t go inside,” he vowed, as if sensing the reason behind my hesitation. “I’m just going to make you feel good. Let me. Please just let me touch you, sugar.”
There were no words… no words for how it felt to have a Herculean statue fervently beg you for the privilege of touching you.
I wish I could describe the rush that went straight to my head.
And made the “Okay” drop out of my mouth in an exhale of surrender.
His mouth captured mine again.
Then, suddenly, I wasn’t just grinding against his erection, I was grinding against his erection while his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my leggings.
Zion had been right. Boone was very capable with his hands.
One gripped my hip, kept me anchored against him, while the other rubbed circles over the top of my mound, grazing my throbbing button on each pass.
Fire… fire… fire.
He was supposed to rescue people from those.
But my skin was boiling from his touch, and the deep licks of his tongue into my mouth only made it worse.
I gasped into his lips, and he swallowed the sound, kissing me deeper, hungrier.
Now I was touching him, too.
