“I want to mark you up from the inside out,” he groans.
He drags my hips closer and drives in deep, hitting that spot that makes my eyes roll back.
“Right there,” I cry out. “Right fucking there—”
He locks onto me like he’s chasing that exact reaction, and I lose it. Each thrust is so deep it steals my breath, and there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s all hunger and need and that edge of desperation that feels like lovewith the volume turned up too high.
The stretch is almost too much, the pressure blinding. There’s no space between us—none. He’s everywhere, all heat and skin and sweat and this intensity in his eyes that makes me feel seen in a way that’s not fair.
Then his hand’s on my face, gripping gently but firm, turning me toward him.
“No,” he pants. “Eyes on me, Lark.”
I blink, dazed and dizzy, and find him already looking at me—like he never stopped. Like he’s been holding on by that thread of eye contact.
“Don’t look away,” he whispers, desperate now. “I need to see you when we come together.”
My heart stutters.
The air’s thick—sweat, sex, the creak of rope and wood and flesh. The sound of his body hitting mine again and again, every slap sharp and perfect. My back scrapes the floor, my thighs tremble, and every inch of me is too much.
Too full. Too close.
Each thrust forces a moan out of me, raw and messy. My breasts bounce, friction sparking like fire across my skin. Boone’s hands dig into my hips like he’s barely holding himself back—using me to survive this.
My vision tunnels. The pressure builds and builds and then—
I snap.
My whole body locks up. My back arches. I scream—loud, cracked, no holding back—and I come around him hard. Harder than before. Maybe harder than ever. It tears through me, one sharp wave after another, and I grip him tight, shaking, shaking, shaking.
Boone groans, full-body, like the sound gets dragged out of his soul. His thrusts stutter, and then he slams into me one last time, deep, and lets go.
“Fuck—Lark—”
His body jerks, hips locked to mine, and I feel him. Heat floods me, thick and hot, and I moan at the pressure, at the stretch, at the way it feels like he’s giving me all of him.
I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him there. I want him to stay.Want him to live in this moment with me.
Boone’s breathing is shallow against my neck, and he doesn’t move, still buried deep, his body flush to mine. Like if he lets go, it all disappears. His lips drag over my skin, slow and soft, but then his teeth scrape over my throat. He sucks hard, like his body wasn’t enough. He wants to mark me in every way he can.
My body’s still fluttering around him, still reacting, and Boone hums against my skin, low and satisfied. His hands slide up my sides, anchoring him, grounding both of us.
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move to leave me empty. His hips roll forward slightly, the shift subtle but felt, the weight of him pressing deep, my breath catching in my throat.
“You’re mine, Lark,” he murmurs, the words pressing into my skin, like he needs me to feel them as much as hear them. “Always have been.”
A shiver runs through me, my body still wrecked, still pulsing around him, and I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. His face is flushed, his lips swollen, his dark eyes drinking me in like he can’t get enough.
It’s not about the sex, it never has been with us. It isn’t just about bodies or heat or the way he makes me come undone. It’s the way we reach for each other when everything else falls away. The way, in moments like this, we’re not just touching—we’re choosing. Over and over. Falling into each other because we don’t know how not to.
His lips crash into mine, hungry and all-consuming, stealing my breath, making my head spin. His tongue sweeps against mine, coaxing me open, claiming me all over again. The heat of him, the taste of him, it’s too much and somehow not enough all at once. His hands slide down my body, gripping my waist, holding me in place as he takes his time, as he kisses me like he’s trying to fuse us together.
I barely register the sensation at first, the warmth trickling down my thighs, the evidence of him inside me spilling out. But Boone does. His grip tightens, his fingers trailing lower, and then he’s there, gathering it up, pushing it back inside of me with slow, deliberate strokes.
A sharp gasp rips from my throat, my whole body jolting at the sensation.Boone swallows the sound with his kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as his fingers press deeper, making sure I take every bit of him.
“Not wasting a fucking drop,” he murmurs against my lips. “It belongs to you.”
