Page 50 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

He took a deeper inhale and closed his eyes. Did that make him a pervert?

Hell yea it did, but he didn't give two-shits. Boone had been lusting over this woman for weeks. He'd take what he could get.

He placed the red thong back on the shower door, something uncomfortably possessive about the idea of her surrounding him while he was stripped bare. He hadn't expected it could be such a turn-on, but suddenly the idea was more erotic than watching a woman strip—oh, not Vivi, but any other woman from his past.

He'd give his left testicle to watch her strip down, letting those lush breasts on display. Letting that city peach breathe so that he could see just how she liked it trimmed.

Stripping down naked, he ran the water and stepped in. The heat hit his shoulders first, then his chest, then his legs, and he leaned into it, letting it carry away the grime of the day. But no matter how hot the water got his thoughts wouldn't stay in the pipes.

Vivi.

Her laugh echoed in his head. The way she'd nudged him when she teased him about the dating profile. The way she'd moved through the fundraiser, unstoppable and so fucking radiant the image alone was enough to get his blood flowing south.

He clenched his fists under the spray, fighting the pull of an attraction he'd sworn he didn't want. She embodied everything that was bright and good—and she was leaving, meaning she was wrong for him in every way that mattered.

She was a tornado of trouble blowing through his carefully ordered world, leaving a trail of sunshine and mayhem in her wake. Every thought he had and every plan he'd made seemed to tilt on its axis the moment she stepped into a room. He wanted to resist, needed to keep his distance, but even when she wasn’t there, images of her were impossible to ignore.

Which was why he couldn’t stop picturing her. Standing under the shower, long hair plastered to her skin, eyes dazed, water slicing down her neck, then her tits, her stomach, and finally the V where her things come together.

Fuck.

He could smell her shampoo. That crisp citrus scent, which followed her everywhere. It lingered in the barn and the hallway, even in the damn the family room—suffocating him. Calling to him.

He couldn't escape her. She was everywhere.

He pictured her the way she'd looked that first morning in the pink robe—worn like armor when in reality it covered very little, showing off her luscious curves. Through the silky material he could make out every curve and shadow of her body, the faint outline where fabric met skin. It was enough to short-circuit his better judgment and make him want things he shouldn't—imagine things he sure as hell shouldn't be imagining in the shower.

The water ran over him, but it couldn't rinse away the tug in his chest or the ache of wanting someone he had no business wanting. Ten more days. Ten more days to keep his dick in his pants and act like a man who didn't care. And yet, with every drop splashing from the showerhead, Boone realized just how spectacularly he was failing.

He wrapped his hand around his growing length; the heat blurring the line between exhaustion and need. He pressed his forehead to the tile—head bent low, breathing through the sharp pulse that came with thinking of her. The sound of her laugh. The way she smiled like she had no idea what she did to him.

But she was doing lots to him right now. His body was tightening painfully so he gave a slow stroke, then another, his grip drawing taut.

Still not enough.

He glanced up at the row of color on the shower door and like a pervert he grabbed the red lace, clenching it in his other hand. He brought it to his nose and breathed her all the way in.

The scent hit him like a freight train, making his dick jump and push against his palm. It still wasn’t enough. His grip tightened then pumped harder—faster—a frantic pace that was equal parts pain and pleasure, the kind that blurred everything else out. He moved the thong to his other hand and kept stroking, deep and relentless, the lace adding just enough friction to make his jaw clench.

"Fuck," he groaned.

He pictured her on her knees, with her mouth wrapped around his dick, sucking him in until her eyes were watering and her cheeks were about to explode.

He pumped harder.

Vivi, on her knees, that round ass in his face, while looking over her shoulder and giving him that stubborn and sassy look of hers that always did him in.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned louder.

Vivi sitting above him, with her thighs around his face while she rode him as he pleasured her. Her tits bouncing, her ass jiggling.

“Vivi,” he groaned while thrusting hard into his hand. He grew so impossibly tight he thought he’d cry from the pressure. Then he pictured Vivi smiling up at him and then he heard her voice.

"Boone?"

"Yeah, baby?" he rasped through clenched teeth, his orgasm cresting⁠—

He heard it again. Only this time it wasn't in his head.