But what I want is Boone.
Not his human form. Not the careful compromises.
I want the real him.
At this point, I’m done holding back. The plug is my pièce de résistance, and I fully intend to show it off the moment he steps back into our cozy cave.
Because when Boone sees just how loose and ready I am—how perfectly sized I’ve made myself for his girthy cock—he’s finally going to agree.
I’m ready.
And I’m going to take him like a champ.
Our bedroom—if you can call it that—is carved deeper into the cave than the rest of our living space, where the stone walls curve inward protectively and the air always holds a faint warmth. Boone smoothed the floor here himself, layered it with furs and blankets (that was before I convinced him to organize a human mattress). The space smells like him—clean earth, pine resin, and the quiet comfort I’ve come to think of as home. Soft light filters in from a narrow fissure above, catching on crystals embedded in the rock and scattering gold across the walls.
It’s private and feels very much like ours.
I’m pacing when I hear him.
Not footsteps exactly—Boone moves too quietly for that—but the subtle shift of air, the familiar weight of his presence rolling through the cave like a pressure change. My heart kicks hard, pulse racing as anticipation tightens low in my belly.
He’s back.
I don’t overthink it. I don’t give myself time to second-guess.
I drop.
All fours, palms pressing into the furs, knees sinking into the soft layers beneath me. The position feels instinctive, honest in a way standing never could be. My breath comes shallowly as I angle myself just slightly, acutely aware of how exposed I am, how deliberate this looks.
Behind me, Boone freezes.
I don’t need to look to know. I canfeelit—the way the air stills, the way his attention slams into me like a physical force.
“Elias,” he says, voice low, roughened, my name dragged out like it’s being pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
I glance back over my shoulder, catching him framed in the entrance, broad and solid and utterly undone. His eyes are dark, blown wide with want. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move at all, like his body has short-circuited while his brain scrambles to catch up.
His hands flex at his sides.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s not a question so much as a plea.
My smile is slow and unapologetic. “Waiting.”
A feral hunger flashes across his face, along with desire and awe. That and barely restrained hunger. He swallows hard, taking a step forward, then stopping himself like it physically pains him to do so.
“You’re testing my restraint,” he murmurs.
“Good,” I say lightly, even as my voice wobbles just a little. “I was hoping you’d notice.”
His answering sound is deep and dangerous, a rumble that vibrates through the stone beneath us. He drags a hand down his face, eyes never leaving me, like looking away might shatter whatever fragile control he’s still clinging to.
“You have no idea,” he says hoarsely, “what you’re doing to me.”
I hold his gaze, steady and sure. “Oh, I think I do.”
The air between us tightens. It’s charged, electric, and right on the edge of everything we’re about to do.
Boone takes another step forward, slower this time, like he’s approaching something wild that might spook if he moves too fast. The cave seems to contract around us, the air thick withheat and awareness. Every sound feels amplified—the soft shift of fur beneath my knees, the steady thud of my own heartbeat, the faint scrape of Boone’s claws against stone as his hands curl and uncurl.
