Page 258 of Lost Then Found
His eyes lock on mine as he comes back between my legs, dark and full of hunger. He grips my hips, dragging me down the bed like he owns me—like I’m his to move, to position, to ruin.
One of my legs is lifted and draped over his shoulder, the other bent so far back it’s nearly flush with my own shoulder. The stretch pulls a moan straight from my chest, and I’m breathless just from how open I am—how deep I know he’s going to be like this.
His eyes flick down to where I’m soaked and waiting for him.
“Shit, look at this.” His voice is low, rough. “You’re fucking dripping. This perfect little cunt knew what was coming.”
His hand wraps around the base of his cock, and he slides the head through me once, then twice. Teasing. Torturing.
“You ready for it?” he murmurs, gaze locked on mine. His hand tightens on my thigh. “’Cause once I’m in, I’m not letting you up until I’ve made a mess of you.”
I nod, and then he pushes in.
He’s thick and unrelenting, stretching me wide in one slow, claiming thrust. The angle—God—it’s brutal. My leg is bent so far back I can feelthe strain in my hip, my ribs pressing into my own thigh. I’m twisted open for him, pinned down and powerless in the best fucking way.
He sinks in deeper than I knew was possible—past the point of stretch, past pressure. It’s overwhelming, this fullness. Like my body’s barely holding on, molded around every inch of him. My walls grip tight, fluttering and desperate to adjust. He rocks into me, steady and controlled, letting me feel it all.
Every thick drag of him punches a gasp out of me. He’s not fucking me fast this time, he’s fucking me deep. Measured. Possessive. Like he’s trying to reach the parts of me no one else has. Like he wants to stay buried there.
My nails sink into the thick muscle of his shoulders—hard and tense beneath my hands. He moves like he’s built for this, every controlled thrust pulling his skin tight across his back. He leans in, folding me even tighter beneath him, and I swear I feel him press right up against my cervix—like he’s made to fit inside me and nowhere else.
“You feel that?” he grits out, voice ragged now. “No one else gets this. Just me.”
I can’t even speak. All I can do is whimper, eyes rolling back, every nerve in my body lit up. His hand slides up my thigh, slow and firm, until it’s resting low on my stomach, holding me down while he drives into me with a more punishing rhythm than before. His breath is warm and shallow against my cheek.
“Touch yourself.”
It’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. And I obey.
My hand slips between us, fingers finding the slick mess he’s made of me. The second I start rubbing slow, tight circles around my clit, it all hits at once. The stretch. The pressure. The feeling of him inside me, deep, like he’s trying to fuck the breath from my lungs.
It’s too much. It’s perfect.
The pleasure builds fast and sharp, my body tightening, curling around the edge of something I can’t hold back. I press harder, chasing it, needing it. My eyes squeeze shut, vision going white behind my lids.
Stars. Sparks. Static. I can’t tell what’s real anymore.
But then his hand comes up, wrapping around my jaw, tilting my face toward his.
“Eyes up here,” he says, his voice rough and desperate.
I force my eyes open, and he’s there—hovering above me, gaze locked on mine. His eyes are softer now, tender in a way that undoes me more than the way he’s moving inside me.
There’s heat, sure. Possession. But underneath it, something quieter. Something that feels like awe. Like watching me fall apart under him is breaking him open, too.
My whole body seizes, pleasure tightening low in my belly before it rips through me in waves—hot and unrelenting. I cry out, my breath caught between a gasp and a moan, my hand still working between us as the world tilts and narrows and disappears.
It’s blinding. My thighs shake. My back arches. I swear I stop breathing altogether.
It’s too much, and I don’t want it to stop.
Boone swears under his breath, the sound rough and strained as he thrusts into me one last time, deep and jerky.
“Fuck, Lark—”
I feel it then. The heat. The sharp pulse of him inside me, filling me.
He drops my thigh from his shoulder and my body clenches around him like I can hold him there, keep him buried as deep as he can go.
