Page 61 of Hungry As Her Python

At some point between the sex and the scrambled eggs he made me afterward, it hit me—Conrad Boman wasn’t just in my bed.

He was my boyfriend.

Or maybe my mate.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which idea scared me more.

No. Not my mate.

Not yet.

And that was my choice.

I could almost feel the word hovering in the air between us—mate—a promise and a prison all in one, depending on how you looked at it.

Conrad believed it with every fiber of his being, but I wasn’t ready to step over that line, not when my heart had only just started to believe it might be safe in someone’s hands again.

Still he was special.

Not just in the sweet-talks-you-out-of-your-panties kind of way—though, trust me, he excelled at that—but in the way he looked at me like I was worth the effort.

Like my curves, my sass, my magic, my me were not just tolerable but treasured.

Even if he only stayed a little while, I knew I would never regret what we’d just shared.

The way his hands had roamed over my body like he was mapping constellations.

The way his voice had gone rough and low when he whispered my name like a prayer.

Fear tried to sneak in—sharp and cold, whispering that things this good don’t last, that people leave, that bonds break—but I shoved it back down where it belonged.

I refused to let it ruin this.

I didn’t know how long this thing between us would last, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe the beauty of it was in not knowing.

So I made a silent vow right then, as he lay beside me, still warm and breathing steady, one arm draped possessively across my waist.

I would enjoy my time with Conrad Boman.

Every heated look.

Every stolen kiss.

Every lazy morning tangled in sheets and limbs.

Every. Last. Second.

Because if the day came when he walked away, I wanted my memories so full they’d leave no room for regret.

Chapter Eighteen-Bella

I was fast asleep on something hard and warm when my phone started ringing.

At first, I thought maybe I’d passed out on a sack of flour again—hey, it had happened before, don’t judge—but no.

Flour didn’t usually have a steady heartbeat or smell like pine needles, sunshine, and trouble.