Page 80 of Found by the Pack
I gasp, turning to find Boone grinning, soap suds dripping from his fingers. “What the?—”
“Don’t overthink it,” he teases, still smiling. “It was a great night.”
My heart stutters. His words hit deeper than they should, echoing inside me like truth I don’t dare believe. My lips part, but I can’t find anything to say.
So I don’t.
Instead, I lean forward and kiss him.
For a second, he freezes. Then he exhales a low, rough sound—half curse, half prayer. “Fuck.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Sorry?—”
“Don’t be,” he cuts in, eyes dark.
I kiss him again, softer this time, testing, tasting. His mouth is warm, certain, and the world narrows to the press of his lips, the steady weight of his hand braced on the counter.
My chest feels like it might split open. Giddy. Breathless.
I don’t remember the last time I felt like this.
CHAPTER 20
Boone
Her lips are soft against mine, tentative, but they undo me. All the static that’s been buzzing in my head about Gabe’s quiet mood at dinner, Shepard’s sidelong looks, the questions that have been gnawing at me—they vanish the second she kisses me again.
It’s like every nerve in my body reorients toward her.
I wipe my damp hand on a dish towel and catch her waist, pulling her closer. She gasps softly, her fingers curling in my shirt like she’s not sure if she should hang on or push me away. That hesitation—that fragility—makes me hold her gentler, like she’s made of spun glass.
She leans back just enough to look up at me, eyes wide, breath shallow. “I… I don’t have a busy morning tomorrow,” she whispers, like it’s some kind of confession.
A slow heat crawls down my spine. “Is that so?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to, roughened by the need coiling tighter in my gut.
She nods, biting her lip.
That tiny flicker of bravery makes me want to curse out loud. Instead, I bend, sliding one arm under her thighs, the other steadying her back, and I lift her. She makes the softest sound—half laugh, half sigh—as I carry her into the living room and ease us onto the sofa.
Her hands find my shoulders, trembling slightly, and I cover them with mine, grounding her. I press my forehead to hers.
“Sadie. If we do this… you set the pace. Always.”
Her lashes flutter as she whispers, “Please… be gentle with me.”
Those words hit me like a knife. Not because they scare me off—hell no—but because they show me exactly how much she’s been denied that. How much she’s endured without anyone giving her softness.
My chest burns with the urge to promise her everything.
“Of course, baby,” I murmur. My thumb strokes her cheek as if I can seal the vow right into her skin. “I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”
Her answering smile is shaky, but it’s there. She leans in, kissing me again—deeper this time. I taste her need, her fear, her courage. It’s intoxicating.
I ease her back against the sofa cushions, kissing down her throat, lingering at the hollow just above her collarbone. She arches, a soft sound escaping, and I take it slow—slower than I’ve ever gone in my damn life—because this isn’t about chasing my own hunger.
It’s about coaxing hers out, showing her it’s safe here.
Her shirt slips up under my hands, revealing pale skin streaked with faint scars. My stomach knots, fury sparking hot, but I shove it down. This isn’t the moment to dwell on the men who marked her. She deserves to feel desired, not pitied. I let my lips trail over her ribs instead, every kiss a reverence.
