Page 165 of Lost Then Found
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’m panting, sweating, straining against the rope like I might snap it in two.
And he’s loving it. Thriving on it.
My voice is raw when I speak. “Boone…someone could walk in. They’ll hear—”
He doesn’t even flinch. Just pulls back enough to rasp, “Let them.”
Then he’s right back on me, faster, harder, tongue ruthless, like that was the only breath he was willing to give me before dragging me to the edge again.
“Right there,” I gasp. “Don’t stop—Boone, don’t—”
But he already knows. His rhythm locks in, tongue flicking, sucking, licking in this filthy pattern that feels customized to destroy me. My thighs are shaking—hard—muscles locking, hips jerking, and I know I’m seconds away from falling apart.
He feels it. The way I tighten. The way I start to come undone in his hands. And he groans, mouth still wrecking me.
“Come on my tongue,” he growls. “Now, Lark.”
I shatter.
My whole body goes rigid, back arching so hard I think I might break in half, and then I’m screaming, loud and desperate, no air, no control, just noise. Just pleasure. Just Boone’s mouth dragging me through it like he wants to own every fucking second of my orgasm.
And he doesn’t stop.
He licks through it, slows it down, tongue moving lazy now, catching every pulse and twitch like he’s tasting the aftershocks. Like he wants it to last.
By the time he pulls back, I’m limp. Wrecked. Sweat-slick and breathless, my body useless and trembling.
He rises and before I can even catch a breath, he’s lining himself up and slamming into me with one deep, brutal thrust.
I scream again, the stretch sharp and overwhelming, but it’s real. It’s what I need. My hips jerk up, chasing the weight of him, and my legs lock around his waist.
“Shit,” Boone hisses, forehead pressed to mine, eyes wild. “You feel that? You’re squeezing the fuck out of me.”
I feel everything. Every thick, pulsing inch of him. Every drag. Every thrust. My wrists burn against the rope. My skin’s on fire. But I don’t care. I want to burn for this. I want to break for it.
Boone’s hands slide under my thighs and lifts—hard and high—spreading me wide open like he wants to see everything. Own everything. There’s nowhere to hide, and I don’t want to. Not when he’s fucking me like this—deep, filthy, possessive. Like he’s trying to reach someplace inside me no one’s ever touched.
And God, he does.
The new angle hits like a punch to the gut, sharp and perfect. My spine bows off the floor and I let out this broken gasp—half moan, half prayer.
“Yeah,” Boone murmurs, like I just gave him the answer to every question he’s ever had. “Right there. That’s where I want you.”
His rhythm shifts. Faster. Harder. His hips snap into mine, rough and relentless, and I swear I feel him in my throat. Sweat drips from his temple onto my chest. His breath is all over my mouth, hot and ragged.
“I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, jaw tight, losing it. “You’re too fucking tight. Too wet. You’re wringing me dry, baby.”
He drops his head to my shoulder and fucks me harder, pushing into me with thrusts that make me bite down a scream. The hay scratches my back, the rope bites my wrists, but it’s nothing compared to the burn between my legs.
“Tell me what you need,” he growls against my skin, teeth grazing my throat. “Tell me how to make you come again.”
“Talk to me,” I gasp. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
His breath catches. His hips stutter like I just knocked the air out of him. And then he’s at my ear, voice dark and wrecked, like it’s tearing out of his chest.
“I want to come inside you,” he says, deep and low. “I want to fill you up so good you’re leaking for hours. Want you walking around with me dripping out of you.”
My whole body tightens, a pulse tearing through me so fast it makes my toes curl. Boone feels it, feels me fluttering around him, and lets out a string of curses.
