Page 18 of Boomer (SEAL Team Tier 1, #7)

The room was dim except for the under-cabinet lighting above the stovetop.

Steam rose from two mugs, one hers, one his, black coffee, strong and steady, the German kind she grew up on, full to bursting with their meal.

Boomer leaned back against the counter, broad arms crossed, watching the emotions play across her face.

Ten minutes later, she served the dessert, and they sipped coffee and savored it. She finally said it, soft, but certain, “You stepped in front of a bullet for me.”

Across the table, he didn’t react at first. Then he shook his head, voice low. “Wasn’t a bullet. Just a guy with bad aim.”

She looked at him. “Still. You didn’t think. You just...”

Boomer met her eyes. “We train to hit what we target. We put them down. Unless we’ve got a capture order, we clear the room.

When we clear...they stay down.” His voice was measured.

“We call it violence of action.” He looked at her for a long beat.

“You were in my stack. That makes you mine to cover. I don’t think twice about that. ”

She leaned into his shoulder, the warmth of him generating more than fire in her. She slicked her bottom lip with her tongue, unable to catch her breath.

“We should get some sleep,” Boomer said, voice thick with restraint.

She nodded, and after a quick cleanup, they left the kitchen slowly, reluctantly, like stepping out of a dream still warm and sweet around the edges.

The quiet of the compound stretched around them, dim corridor lights casting long shadows as they walked side by side, footsteps soft against the cool tile.

He said it so simply. So matter-of-fact.

You’re mine to cover. His words slid right into her spine and settled. Her body...betrayed her. Her mind twisted it sideways, deeper. She knew what he meant. Knew it wasn’t sexual. But her chest tightened anyway. Her skin flushed. Her heart ached.

She wanted it to mean more. Not just covering her six, but seeing her through. Standing between her and anything that tried to break her. Her reaction was visceral . She ached now. Not just in her body, but in the quiet hollows of her soul. The ache was slow, molten, terrifying.

Yes, she wanted him. The body, the weight, the strength of him, of course she did.

She wanted what he carried beneath it more. That soul-deep steadiness. That gentleness wrapped in power. That devastating restraint.

She knew, without question, that Boomer would treat her like something fragile.

Not because she was ...but because she’d matter.

Her mouth went dry. She could almost feel those hands, big, calloused, made for destruction.

But she knew they’d hold her like a secret he couldn’t afford to break.

The ache sharpened. The hunger spread, and it had nothing to do with orgasms. It had everything to do with Boomer being just freaking Boomer.

He was a serious complication, and it was clear that exploring something with him was inevitable.

The ache didn’t fade. It deepened, rooted in her, swirling, demanding she not be a fool and miss out on this man.

She glanced at him, lips still tingling from laughter.

“Your Iceman isn’t very forgiving, yes.”

Boomer grinned, that slow, Southern smirk that did things to her pulse.

“He’s a hard tyrant-master.”

The laugh that burst from him was genuine, a full-bodied sound that rolled from his chest in waves and filled the empty hallway like the echo of something sacred.

Gott , he was beautiful when he laughed. Not the careful smile he gave in briefing rooms or the grin he flashed in banter, but this…unguarded joy. His eyes glinted, dark and deep and alive, and for a single, wrecking second she forgot to breathe.

Verklempt didn’t even begin to cover it.

He exhaled the last of the laughter in a huff, brushing a hand over his hair. “No, he isn’t. But it’s tough taskmaster.” Another laugh, softer now. “Though I like yours so much better.”

He took a steadying breath. “Let’s go before he sticks me with log PT for a month.”

They walked on, close enough that her arm brushed his. Her fingers itched. Her whole body hummed. She knew what she was doing, knew , but she did it anyway. She let her hand drift, just barely grazing his knuckles.

The jolt that followed was pure voltage. His stride hitched. He turned to her slowly, eyes unreadable, but burning. “Darlin’,” he said, voice rough. “We’re playing with fire here.”

She stopped at her door. Her heart hammered, wild and loud. Something inside her screamed for caution, for distance, for anything that would keep this from scaring her away.

But that ache, that deep, twisting ache, had taken root. This wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t a fleeting crush. It was hunger, yes, but something more. Longing . Like he filled a space inside her she hadn’t realized was hollow.

She turned. Her hand reached for him before her thoughts could catch up.

Fire was about getting burned, but he’d already scorched her down to ashes, and now she wanted to reassemble so he could do it again.

This man didn't have to try to seduce her, he did it just by being him. Never any pressure. Never any subterfuge. Just pure unadulterated Carter. Boom . Boom . Her heart beat in tandem with those words. She pressed him to the wall with her body, slowly, deliberately, every inch of her trembling. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch. Just let her.

Her palms found his. They were roughly calloused. Hands that defused bombs, breached doors, protected lives. Her breath hitched as her fingers slid up, over his forearms, wrapped in corded steel beneath warm skin.

Her hands climbed higher, molding over the swell of his biceps, the heat of him bleeding through the thin cotton of his shirt. Her breath caught.

So much strength. So much restraint .

His eyes burned in the shadows. He didn’t move, just let her maul him.

“So,” she whispered, fingers curling around his shoulders. “This log PT he threatens you with…that gave you these broad shoulders?”

His breath came out ragged. “Some,” he managed. “Mostly pullups. I have to—” He choked as her hands slid around, down, tracing the powerful arc of his triceps. “—lift my body weight… rope climbs… getting on docks… ships…”

She pushed under his shirt, fingertips skating over the devastating terrain of his abs, the carved ridges of his Adonis belt. German boys were broad and strong, yes, but Boomer was built like sin and salvation.

He sucked in a breath when her arms wrapped around his back. Muscle and heat. Velvet steel. She pressed her cheek to his chest, feeling the wild beat of his heart.

“You make me crazy without even trying,” she whispered. “Just being you.”

She leaned in, pressing her mouth to the strong column of his neck, lips trailing up his jaw in a soft, adoring slide of kisses.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, the rhythm of their breath mingling. Her hands slid around the back of his neck, brushing his soft hair.

His voice broke. “Taylor,” he whispered. “ Fuck. ”

She kissed him. Soft at first. Firm. Delicious .

She tasted heat and restraint and something dangerously sweet beneath it all.

She pulled back, eyes still closed. “Stop,” she whispered.

Another kiss, deeper, hungrier. “Being.” Her third kiss came like a claim.

Her tongue explored his mouth, her lips sealing over his with aching certainty. That was when his control broke.

He growled into her mouth, arms snapping tight around her, hands splayed over her spine as he pressed her against the hard heat between his legs. There was nothing careful now. Only need. Only her. “You,” she panted between kisses, hips arching against his.

He devoured her this time, his mouth crashing into hers with a hunger that had been building since the moment they met. His tongue stroked deep, his hands gripped hard, and for one glorious second, there was nothing but them.

The way he kissed wasn’t just with his mouth. It was with every part of him. Like he had to taste her, feel her, memorize her, and she let him. This was real. Raw. Unstoppable, and she wasn’t going to be a fool and miss it. Not this time. Not with him.

She kissed him again, mouth open, breathless, teeth catching his lip like she wanted to claim it.

“Seems...” she panted, her body pressed tight to his, “...impossible.” Her voice was hoarse with need. Her body was already deciding . “So I’m going to stop fighting it.” Boomer groaned into her mouth.

“Lights the fuck out.” The voice came through the corridor like a blade. Iceman . No one on this team would be foolish to screw with that man’s authority.

Taylor groaned against Boomer’s chest, dropping her forehead to the worn cotton of his T-shirt.

“I like tyrant-master better, too,” she mumbled.

Boomer choked on a laugh. She couldn’t help it either, her body still shaking, her heart still galloping. They lost it , both of them, unstoppable laughter bubbling out in the middle of their breathless collapse.

“There’s no laughing after lights.” Iceman’s voice was steel now, sharp enough to cut through bone. “Don’t make me come out there.”

That only made it worse. Boomer tried to stifle it. Failed. Taylor slapped a hand over her mouth and muttered against his chest, “We’re definitely getting log PT.”

“Worth it,” he whispered, eyes still molten, voice low, and that was the moment she knew this wasn’t a mistake . This was the beginning of something they were never going to be able to put back in the box.

Their laughter faded slowly, like a fire cracking low under the weight of night.

He was still so close, his body radiating heat. His mouth inches from hers. His hands had left her waist, but she could still feel the echo of their grip.

“You going to let me go, darlin’?” His eyes sparked with humor and a sensual light that made her lightheaded.

“Only because I don’t like splinters,” she murmured. He gave her another grin. “That’s not helping, Boomie.”

He chuckled as she allowed space between them, but barely. He chuckled again. “You’re killing me, angel,” he whispered as he slid his body sideways, brushing everything along the way, then took a step back, slow, like he had to force his legs to move. His eyes never left hers.

Taylor leaned against the wall, both palms pressed to the cool surface, trying to regulate her breathing. Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. There was too much, and not enough time.

He lingered a beat longer. Studied her like he wanted to memorize the way she looked in this light, her body still humming from him.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low. Rough around the edges.

She closed her eyes, turned her head. “Goodnight, Boomer.” It came out too soft. Too full.

He walked away backward, those eyes locked on hers, each step echoing down the corridor like thunder held in check.

She didn’t move for a full minute. Then she exhaled. Pressed her forehead to the wall, and whispered, so quiet only the silence could hear, “ Gott help me.”