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If our relationship becomes serious—it already feels pretty serious to me—will he expect me to move? If he does, what does that mean for my business plans and for the small family I found in Ally and the girls? I don’t want to ask him to leave his family again, especially when their air is clearer than it has been in a long time. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to give up my dreams, and I don’t want him to give up the family that he’s just getting back.
We’re basically stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Jesus, Jem. Just stop. You guys just started seeing each other. Take it a day at a time and save the hard conversations for later.”
We’re going to be here all weekend. Surely my overactive brain can find a solution in the next two days.
The door creaks open and Boone steps in, closing it behind him. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I pull the covers that I’m under back and scoot to the other side of the bed, making room for him.
Once he shuts off the light, I snuggle into his side when he lifts his arm, the heat of his chest a perfect pillow for me.
I feel his lips against the crown of my head as he presses a kiss to my hair, and I feel cherished.
Please, brain, figure out a solution because I don’t want to lose whatever this is.
* * *
A hot hand moving between my legs wakes me. I groan at the pressure against my core and shiver at the way heat crawls up my back.
“Shh. You have to be quiet, Buttercup.”
I bite back the whimper that wants to work its way free of my throat. Boone’s front is to my back, the weight of him delicious as he traces his fingers down my slit.
Talk about a wake-up call.
I twist my head to look at him, and his eyes are bright, so I know he’s been awake for a few minutes. He presses his thumb to my entrance and I arch my back, wanting to get closer to him. It’s still dark in the room, with no light coming through the window, so I know it’s early.
Not too early for Boone, apparently.
“Baby,” I whisper with a whimper, shifting my lower half closer to him.
“Shhh. Just relax, let me make you feel good.” He punctuates the demand with a kiss to the back of my neck before nipping at the tendon along my shoulder.
His other hand snakes under my neck to wrap over my shoulder until he reaches his destination, the hard peak of my nipple. When he pinches the bud between his forefinger and thumb, I can’t quite suppress the gasp that emerges. Flexing my ass against him, the evidence of his own arousal presses against me until all I want is to roll over and have him fill me.
“Boone,” I whisper.
“Yeah, Buttercup?” I don’t know why that response is so sexy, but it is. The gruff way he grumbles the nickname against the nape of my neck pushes me closer to the edge of a cliff.
“Please?” I beg, unashamed in my need for him.
“What do you want? You want to come on my fingers? You want to drench my hand?” He punctuates the dirty questions with pinches to my nipples.
I nod, my hair scratching against the pillow.
“Then come all over my hand, baby. Soak my fingers.”
Like a rose opening, my orgasm unfurls from the very center of me. Waves of pleasure swamp me as I gasp and shake in his arms.
“That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His fingers slow their rhythm, and his other hand shifts so he’s just cupping my breast.
I push his hands away and roll toward him, finding his mouth with mine. My own hand drifts down his heavily muscled abdomen until the weight of his cock is in my hand and I squeeze, stroking him through his sweats.
But he stops me with a hand on my wrist and a shake of his head. “That was for you, baby.”
Confused, I ask, “What?”
