Page 81 of Boomer
“Women are always assessing men for their potential, sex, conversation, fun factor, but there’s a big one for any woman with a biological clock ticking…daddyville.”
Something unexpectedly warm filled his chest. Ansel as a…son? He immediately wanted to dismiss it. He had so much shit to deal with. How could he father a boy well? He wouldn’t settle for anything less. He wasn’t even sure he was enough for Taylor, but Ansel. He’d lost his foundations, and he would need new ones. Damn. It hurt how much he wanted to be that man who could show Ansel that the world was scary, but it was so worth living. He wasn’t quite sure where that all came from, but he wanted to punch Break in the mouth for bringing it up. “I’d rather focus on my dick ache.”
“Come on, man. You’ve been a mentor to me…I kind of grew up without a dad, and…you know…don’t make me say it.”
“Oh, no, you’re saying it, Kelly. If you want my baggage, you can damn well give me yours.”
“You’re being a jerk because you’ve got a hard-on.” Boomer’s expression didn’t waver. Breakneck sighed. “You’ve been like a father to me. You…and Ice. He’s tougher than you are, but I fucking love it.”
That warmth grew, radiating out to every part of him. He didn’t have a clue, and Break’s caretaking was not a result of thinking Boomer was inadequate, it was because he was being there for him in the only way he knew how. This admission, and the fact that Taylor couldn’t wait to get back here for him, made him think that he might not be the sum of what he’d survived. Maybe he was just plain worthy just as he was. Broken pieces and all.
“That humbles me, Kelly. It truly does. I have held back. I have. Losing people…fuck me…losing Mike broke me. I spiraled, and I was responsible for the loss of my marriage. These are things that haunt me every day, give me nightmares.”
“So that fear you have is all about telling her these things, and hoping she sees you just for who you are.”
Boomer’s jaw clenched. That was exactly it. That kid was perceptive, and Boomer was fucked because he was in love with Taylor. His heart was in play, hell, everything was, and he knew if he didn’t come clean, she wouldn’t ever get a chance to really see who he was. Would she turn away? Or even more scary, would she embrace him, and could he take a second chance or have it all blow up in his face?
13
Boomer’s bodywas still damp from the shower, towel slung low around his hips, steam clinging to his skin like the residue of every unspoken need. He moved through the hallway on autopilot, barefoot, heat-stung, and raw.
The cold water had been a joke. Nothing could cool him now but Taylor Hoffman, badass operator, woman of more than his dreams, and an aunt doing her damnedest to fight for her nephew.
Now…he was invested in the kid. There was no pretending otherwise. He was rooting for him. Hell, heachedfor updates on his progress. Somewhere between Saturday and now, that boy had carved out a space in his chest Boomer didn’t even know was empty.
His whole body throbbed, every muscle still buzzing from the heat she’d left behind. He’d been hard since the second she touched him, since that low, wrecking need in her voice curled into his skin like a live wire, since she stripped him bare without taking a single piece of clothing off. Her scent still clung to him, linden blossom and steel, like summer air after a storm. Soft. Charged. Impossible to forget, like voltage, hitting straightthrough his chest to the place he was trying like hell to keep under control.
Lust was a faint echo of what he felt for her. This was deeper. Darker. A hunger coiled low in his gut and anchored in something far more dangerous, wanting a future, not just an act. Honest. Brutal. The kind of need a man didn’t say out loud unless he was ready to be broken open by it…and never put back together the same.
He’d lost himself in absence. In distance. In the bottom of a bottle. In the steady erosion of his own failings. He’d never believed there was a way out, no relief, no reprieve. Just the ache. The guilt. The weight he carried was like a beloved burden. He used to pray for escape. For numbness. For silence. Now, he prayed for courage.
She was the kind of risk that demanded a different kind of strength.
He was taking a big step with Taylor, and it wasn’t just his body that was primed for her. His heart, aching and ready to be exposed, was thick with just as much want.
He didn’t make it three steps before the door to Taylor’s quarters flew open and her hand shot out. “How damn long do you need in the shower?” she snapped, voice sharp, chastising, and hot with irritation. God, he loved it. “I’ve been stalking you since I got here. I’d take you dirty and sweaty and straight from battle right now.”
She grabbed his wrist and without a word, yanked him inside.
The door slammed. No dimmed lights. No music. Just reality and the rush of her scent, musk and arousal, sharp and intoxicating, and the woman who already had him strung out past breaking.
She didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. She reached down, gripped his towel, and yanked it off like it had personally offended her.He barely had time to draw breath before she filled his vision, hair loose flame, a deep blue robe clinging to every goddamned curve, her eyes lit with something wild.
Her breath caught. “Oh,Gott.” Her gaze dropped. Traced the length of him, jutting, ready, already thick for her. What was in those eyes? Heat. Hunger. It almost made him come, and now he understood why she’d left the lights on.
Sheplannedthis. Shewantedtoseehim. All of him. It wasn’t just his body she was after. It was in those deep pools that took him under, drowned him in sensation, and the promise of what she wanted to do to him shadowing those depthless eyes. But this Nordic blue, deep, glacial, impossible, burned hot enough to melt the polar ice caps.
“I guessed you were this magnificent beneath your tacticals, those tight jeans and those indecent UDT Navy-issued my ass shorts,” she said, voice low and wrecking. “But this?” She stepped in and wrapped her hand around his cock. Her palm slid slowly up the thick length, thumb brushing the swollen head. “This is masculine perfection.”
His whole body jerked, the pleasure so deep it knocked sound from his throat. His head fell back, lips parting, pulse roaring. Then her hand was on his chest, and she shoved him.
Hard.
His back hit the wall. He blinked, breath catching.
“I don’t know where to start,” she growled. “You’re the sexiest, most maddening, goddamned bastard. But I know one thing.” She reached for the belt at her waist. Loosened it. Let the robe fall. “I’m taking my time.”
She dropped the robe, and air left his lungs like a detonation.
