Page 59

REMI

Sleep clings to me with peaceful, dissolving fingers, and a delicate veil softens the world as awareness ebbs in.

The room is heavy and quiet. It is shaped only by the blurred outlines behind my closed eyelids and the languid burst of my own breath.

Each inhalation brings me further out of sleep, unraveling the cocoon that’s cradled me.

A bubble that resists before it gives way.

Sounds filter through, indistinct at first. A distant murmur, the soft creak of floorboards, and the hush of someone shifting nearby.

Pressure and heat are against my front and back.

My mind floats in the space between dreaming and waking, thoughts assembling themselves with care.

The weight of fatigue lingers, but it’s lighter now, lifting inch by inch as the world sharpens.

I blink my eyes open, slow and uncertain, as if peeling back a layer of fog. The sheets cocooning around my body are warm with the memory of sleep. Everything feels softer at the edges, less threatening, as if I’ve washed up on the distant shores of my own life.

For a brief moment, I let myself drift there, suspended between what was and what comes next, savoring the gentle unraveling of the haze as I come back to myself.

As the world around me comes into focus, the sight before me gives me pause.

Boone is in front of me, lying on his side, facing me.

His hand cups his cheek in slumber, and his mouth is open as he takes deep, relaxed breaths.

I can’t help but look at him, seeing the way his lashes ghost along the top of his cheek.

They’re so long, thick, and dark. Any woman would kill to have natural lashes like he does.

My eyes drift to the top of his shirt, seeing a hint of tribal lingering around the base of his throat.

I look closer, blinking more sleep from my eyes, as I see the twists and twirls of the artwork.

His skin seems so unblemished, untouched.

Yet, with the sight of that tattoo, it does something to me.

Makes me feel warm and funny, a heat pooling between my thighs.

It’s impossible not to notice just how handsome Boone is, even in the soft vulnerability of sleep.

His strong jawline is a sculpted promise, defined and unyielding, the kind that draws the eye and invites the hand.

The lightest dusting of scruff traces along his jaw, almost imperceptible, but enough to give him an edge—something reckless and gentle all at once.

When he stirs, his lashes flutter and reveal those gorgeous brown eyes, warm and deep, flecked with hidden green.

They’re eyes that hold stories, that spark with something wild and steady when they meet mine.

In this quiet, with his soft features by the darkness of night, I see all the ways Boone is striking—his beauty both obvious and understated, masculine and inviting, like a secret meant just for me.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at me as if I’m his reason for breathing. His gaze searches my face, lingering on my lips and flicking back up to my eyes. He has a softness about him that he usually doesn’t carry. It’s surreal thinking of this alpha as anything other than dominant.

Without saying a word, his head moves forward. He stops. His eyes lift to meet mine, asking a question without voicing it. What he sees in my eyes has him closing the distance, eyes closing even as his lips press lightly against mine.

His lips are soft yet unyielding, the perfect balance of tenderness and command.

There’s a warmth to his mouth, a heat that seeps into me and draws out every last shred of sleep.

Boone’s kiss is unhurried, exploratory—a gentle sweep at first, his lips molding to mine as if he’s memorizing the feel of me.

They’re full, plush against my own, but with an underlying firmness that reminds me of his strength, steady and sure.

He presses a little closer, deepening the kiss with a subtle insistence as he wraps his arm around my back, and I feel the world tilt around the axis of that simple touch.

The press and retreat of his mouth sends shivers along my skin, coaxing me further into the present, into him.

Boone’s lips move over mine with a precision that’s both soft and thorough, leaving no doubt that this moment belongs to us—quiet, smoldering, and impossibly intimate.

His hand slides down onto my butt, gripping it firmly as he pulls my body closer to his. I wrap my arm over the side of his neck and delve my fingers into his nearly-onyx locks. He pulls me impossibly closer, pulling my leg up and over his hip. He gasps into my mouth as he rocks against my core.

“Please,” he whispers, breaking the kiss and languidly kissing along my cheek and neck. “Oh, god. Please. ”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hot breaths ghost along my neck as he nuzzles and nips at the skin of my throat. He continues to slowly rock against me, pulling me in even as his thrusts try to push me away.

His voice cracks with longing, thick with a need that borders on pleading.

Each breath he takes is ragged, catching in his throat as if words alone could never be enough to convey his desperation.

The syllables spill from him—barely more than a broken whisper—raw and tremulous, threaded with a hunger that shakes him to his core.

The way he murmurs “please,” like it’s the only word he knows, is a confession of his surrender; shaky, fevered, his tone trembling on the edge of unraveling.

Every gasp and moan is unrestrained, carried on currents of need so intense they fracture his composure, painting each sound with urgency and helpless yearning that pulses between us, echoing in the hush of the room.

A part of me wants to keep myself protected against these guys.

Another part of me wants to give in to them.

The part that wants to give in to them is steadily gaining the upper hand over the other.

They were there for me when I needed them the most. Yes, Knox played dirty tricks on me.

He made me question my self-worth by not coming to dates and then saying what he did the night he and Boone caught me and Tripp together.

Yet, aside from all those dirty tricks, all of these guys have been there for me. From the attack all the way to my house being broken into. They’ve been there, showing me that they’ll show up, instead of backing off and allowing me to believe they didn’t want me.

Tripp showed me by stalking me at the coffee shop, just to stare at me because I am his scent match.

He didn’t want to be out of my presence for long, and his business nearly suffered for it.

He thinks I don’t know, but I do. It’s not hard to search for someone who is as high-profile as Tripp Lancaster.

Knox showed up by getting on his knees and pleading his case in front of everyone.

He showed up by being there when I needed a safe haven after my attack.

He was there first when I walked in and found my home ransacked.

Every time I’m around him, he’s always apologizing for the things he did and how remorseful he is.

If a person didn’t care, they wouldn’t apologize or do any of the things Knox has done.

Boone is the middleman. He’s the one who holds these two together.

He’s the one who’s the strength in this pack.

He did nothing wrong to me. He wanted me from day one and didn’t so much as say one word cross toward me.

Even when we met, I could tell that Boone was as completely enamored with me as I was with him.

“What time is it?” I ask, moaning when he hits a particularly sensitive spot on my neck.

“It’s time for this,” he replies, peppering my skin with sucking kisses and long, languorous licks.

I don’t stop him when he pulls the front of my top down.

A shiver ripples down my spine as his lips trace a heated path across my chest—each kiss sending sparks that flicker beneath my skin.

My breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and instinctively, my back arches into his touch, offering him more.

It’s as if my body is answering him before my mind can catch up, drawn upward by the slow worship of his mouth, my bones curving in silent invitation.

Every gentle press of his lips pulls me taut, the sensation unraveling my composure and leaving me trembling, suspended in that electric space between surrender and longing.

Every part of me is lighting up inside. I feel free. Wanted. Even if they have to share me, I feel as if I'm the center of someone's universe. Boone's lips against my skin feel like the most delicious sin. It's euphoric in the way it has my body twisting closer to his.

Before I can get a word out, he rips my shirt right down the middle.

The tearing sound of the fabric is such a turn on, I can do nothing but rub my thighs together as slick saturates my panties.

He groans as he sucks a portion of the top of my breasts into his mouth, more than likely smelling the scent of my arousal.

The heat of his mouth on my skin is overwhelming, a sensation that sends shockwaves through my body and ignites every nerve ending.

Boone's lips linger at the curve of my breast, and each gentle suck and teasing flick of his tongue makes my breath catch in my throat.

My pulse thrums wildly, a desperate rhythm that echoes the need spiraling within me.

The world narrows to the point of contact, every other thought dissolves as pleasure blooms low in my belly and radiates outward in trembling waves.

I am utterly lost to his touch, trembling and feverish, entirely undone by the hunger in his gaze and the firm, worshipful press of his lips.

Boone's devotion in this moment leaves me flushed, achingly sensitive, and yearning for more—every caress making me feel cherished, desired, and so deliciously alive.