Page 134 of Lost Then Found
It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative.
It’s pure possession.
His mouth crashes into mine like he’s making up for all the time we lost—like he’s trying to erase the space we put between us with teeth and tongue and desperation. My hands fist in his shirt as he drags me tighter against him, like he can’t stand the thought of a single inch between us.
His hands are already under my sweatshirt, warm palms coasting over bare skin, grounding me in the kind of touch that feels like a lifeline. He explores slowly, thoroughly—as if he’s trying to memorize me all over again. Like he’s afraid he’ll forget what this feels like if he doesn’t learn it by heart.
I shift in his lap, chasing more of him—more heat, more contact, more of the only person who’s ever made me feel like this.
And Jesus, he’s hard.
Thick and heavy beneath me, the heat of him pressing right where I need him most. His hands clamp down on my hips, keeping me there, dragging me forward so I feel all of him, so I don’t forget exactly what I do to him.
I gasp into his mouth. He groans into mine.
He tilts his head, tongue sliding against mine with the kind of confidence that says he knows me—knows every sound, every shiver, every soft, broken breath that slips out between kisses.
Because this? This is him.
Boone doesn’t just kiss like he wants me.
He kisses like I’m the only thing that’s ever felt right.
Like he’s been walking through hell and just found his way home.
Like he’s starving—and I’m the only thing that’s ever satisfied him.
A shiver rolls through me, and he feels it—of course he does. His hands slide under my sweatshirt, dragging it up inch by inch. He doesn’t bother taking it off. Just pushes it out of his way, giving himself full access.
One hand settles at the small of my back, fingers splayed wide, pulling me flush against him until there’s no space left to think. The other is already in my hair, threading through the strands and giving a slow, deliberate tug that has my breath catching in my throat.
His mouth finds my jaw, rough and warm and completely focused. Then lower.
His lips brush that spot beneath my ear—the one that short-circuits every coherent thought in my head.
“I missed this.”
It hits me in the chest and slides lower.
My breath stutters. His grip tightens like he hears it—like he needs it.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe one day I’ll have to let him back in fully. Let him earn this. Let him show me he’s not leaving again. That this time, the love we build doesn’t come with a timer.
But today? Right now?
All I want is to feel him. To get lost in the way he holds me like I’m something precious. To forget about everything else for just a little while. The Bluebell. The bills. The exhaustion. The aching, hollow place in me that’s been running on empty for years.
Right now, it’s just this.
Him. Me. The way we fit.
I lean in until my mouth brushes his, barely a breath between us. “I missed you,” I whisper. The words sound small, as if they’ve been hiding somewhere in my chest for too long.
Boone freezes.
Just for a second.
Then his hands slide up my spine, pulling me tighter like he’s trying to anchor himself. His mouth ghosts over mine, slower this time. His voice drops, rough and wrecked and too full of everything. “I missed you more than you could possibly understand.”
