Page 101 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"This isn't like the times before," he said, voice low and rough. "For me it's different this time."

She straddled him, locking her ankles behind the chair, heat flaring between them like a lit match. "For me too."

Maybe it was the fire in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she trusted him without making him ask for it. Either way—he couldn't stop himself. He gripped her hips, yanked her forward, and filled her completely.

He went absolutely still.

Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing.

"Boone," she whispered, and he could hear the uncertainty in it—that soft, unguarded edge she only let out when her walls were all the way down.

"Me too, Boots." His voice came out rough. "Me too."

She squeezed her core around him—hard—and his brain went white. All nerve endings and heat. She did it again, and he looked up at her with a raised brow.

"You want to play?" he growled. "Let's play."

Zero to a hundred—no warm-up, no warning, just long, deep thrusts, shallow withdraws—all of it at once. She shifted her legs, locked them around his waist, then let them fall open.

Perfect leverage.

Every push hit exactly where it should, and she didn't make a sound, but bit that bottom lip until it went purple. He lifted her by the hips, and when he pushed her down he thrusted up, hitting the top of her core and making them both gasp for air.

"Do it again," she moaned.

So he did. Over and over, driving her tighter, harder, feeling her coil around him in the best possible way. It wasn't just lust anymore—it was something rawer than that, fuller, the kind of connection that left him breathless and wanting more than he'd known how to want.

She was trembling, legs shaking, locking around him and pulling him closer, and he slid his hands under her to lift her—to bring them together until there was no space left between them. Their bodies slapped and slicked together, and every sound she made, every shiver, drove him harder.

"Just like that," she growled, teeth clenched, voice low and sharp.

His legs were screaming, his arms were burning, but he didn't care, because she was worth every second of it—every pulse of heat, every last shred of control he'd handed over.

And just like that, Boone understood with absolute certainty that this was going to change everything.

He'd never done the whole cliché roll-in-the-hay thing.

Yet there he was, spooning the woman who he was pretty damn sure owned his heart, on a blanket in a pile of hay, both still breathing hard and coming down from round two while his body was already making a case for round three. Maybe this time they'd actually reach the bedroom.

Hell, he wanted his hands on her now. At least that’s what his dick was telling him, but his heart already had them feathering up and down her bare back—from the top of her spine to the curve of her backside—like they'd found their natural habitat and intended to stay.

She leaned up, rested her cheek on his chest, and looked him in the eye. Her lips were swollen, her eyes two sex-hazed slits, and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.

"I have something to tell you. I quit my job."

He went still. "You what?"

"Yup." The pride in her voice was so pure and unguarded that his first instinct was to pull her closer—but the second instinct, the quieter and more honest one, told him not to read into what this might mean for him. For them.

Just because she quit doesn't mean she's staying, idiot.

"What happened?"

"The same as always. Peter took credit for my work, and the promotion went to him." A small, shy smile lifted the corner of her mouth. "So, I quit and I'm going to become my own boss. I've spent seven years doing this work and making other people rich. I figured, why not do it for myself?"

"Why not," he repeated, helpless against the grin taking over his face.

"I already hired a web designer, a backend engineer, and I have a name." She looked up at him. "Want to hear it?"