Page 99 of Lost Then Found
Hudson snickers, already catching on.
I start walking toward her, grinning. “Come on now, sweetheart. You wouldn’t leave a cowboy hangin’, would you?”
She throws her hands up, backpedaling. “Boone, I just ran six miles. I’m sweaty and I smell disgusting.”
“That’s just how I like my dance partners.”
She gapes at me. “Are you insane? Like seriously, are you well?”
I keep walking toward her as I pull my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through my playlist, and the second the first notes ofViennaby Billy Joel start playing, she glares at me.
Her glare is instant. “That is low. You know I’m a sucker for Billy.”
I smirk. “Figured I’d stock the odds in my favor.”
Her mouth opens—probably to tell me off—but before she can, I grab her wrist and yank her into me. Her body stumbles into mine, warm and flushed, her chest pressing against me for half a second before she huffs and sets her hands on my shoulders.
I settle my palms on her waist, pulling her in just enough that I can feel her against me. Just enough to make my heart rate kick up, to remind methat my hands have been all over this woman before, that I know exactly what she sounds like when I touch her the way I want to now.
She’s still shaking her head. “You’re such a caveman, you know that?”
I chuckle, leading us into an easy sway. “Never heard you complain about that before.”
Her eyes flick up, lashes golden against her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she looks down at our feet, like if she just ignores the fact that my hands are on her, that my fingers are pressing into her waist a little tighter than they probably need to be, she can pretend this isn’t happening.
I, however, am fully aware.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the music, on the slow sway of our bodies, but it’s a losing battle. Sweat glistens at the hollow of her throat, a single drop slipping down the curve of her collarbone, disappearing beneath the tight band of her sports bra. My mouth waters, aching to follow that trail with my tongue, to taste the salt of her skin, to remind myself of the way she used to whimper when I kissed her there.
Her nipples are peaked through the thin fabric, tight and tempting, and I have to bite back a groan because I know exactly how they feel pebbled against my tongue. Exactly how she arches when I take them in my mouth.
Fuck me.
She shifts in my arms, her body pressing closer. Just enough to remind me what it feels like to have her against me again.
Then her fingers move—soft and easy—right to the back of my neck. They slip into my hair like they’ve been waiting to do it this whole time. Like they remember.
And fuck, I feel it everywhere.
She used to do this without thinking. A reflex. Something casual and sweet that always hit me like a goddamn sucker punch. And now—after everything—it still does.
Her touch is light, almost lazy. But the second her nails drag against my skin, I have to lock my jaw to keep the sound inside. The low, wrecked groan that’s climbing up my throat.
I grip her a little tighter. My hand sliding lower on her waist, holding her in place. Because I know if she keeps touching me like that—if she keeps playing with my hair like it’s hers to touch—I won’t last.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does.
Maybe she knows exactly how to ruin me.
And maybe I want her to.
Because I’d dance with her all damn night if it meant her hands stayed on me like this.
And if she doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to kiss her. No hesitation. No taking it slow.
Just mine.
