Page 35 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

And just like that, my heart does another flip. Because for all his fire there’s tenderness beneath it. Longing. A man who doesn’t just want to take—but to keep .

And I might just let him.

Rip grips the hem of my sundress and slowly lifts it, knuckles grazing my skin like he’s unwrapping something precious. I raise my arms, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, eager for the dress to vanish entirely.

The moment it hits the floor, his mouth finds that sweet, secret spot at the crook of my neck, the heat of his breath making me arch into him. His cock presses hard against the aching place between my thighs, and I let out a throaty groan, my hips instinctively seeking more friction.

His lips move lower, tracing a slow, wet path over the swell of my breasts.

With practiced, devastating ease, he slides his hand behind me, unhooks my bra, and lets it fall.

But this time… his hands aren’t rushed. There’s no frenzied, frantic tugging.

Every movement feels intentional—like he wants to memorize each inch of me.

He pulls back just a little, eyes dark with need, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying not to explode on the spot.

“Lose the panties,” he says, voice low and soft, but commanding. A lazy grin curves his lips. “Slowly.”

I bite my lip, just to tease him. His nostrils flare.

Good. Sliding my fingers into the waistband, I shimmy my hips, making the removal a whole event.

He growls, a deep, primal sound that makes my insides tighten, and watches with rapt attention as I lower them, inch by delicious inch, until they hit the floor.

I kick them away with a flick, and they vanish somewhere behind me.

I gesture toward him, smirking. “I believe you might be a bit overdressed, Mr. Hart.”

In that casually sexy way only men like him can pull off, he reaches over his shoulder and yanks off his T-shirt in one fluid motion. His shorts and boxers follow, landing in a crumpled heap. Then he offers me his hand.

My heart pounds. “What about the mess we made?” I ask, eyes drifting toward the trail of clothing and chaos behind us.

He growls, tugging me closer. “Leave it.”

I raise a brow. “What happened to my little neat freak?”

He shrugs. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Funny. I was just thinking I’d like to be rubbing offonyou.”

That earns me another growl—and a wicked smile. “As long as we’re rubbing.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I swear my whole body short-circuits. My heart pounds as emotions crash over me, wave after wave, I down want to swim out of. I want to drown in this man. Let him pull me under. Because with Rip, I feel safe.

And more than that, I trust him. Deep down in a way I didn’t think was possible anymore. Not after what my ex put me through. But this? This came easy. Natural. Right. My head should be spinning, but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s not . It’s clear. Thisis right.

I don’t know exactly what the future looks like yet—but I know who I want in it.

“Yes,” I murmur as we walk into the bedroom and he casts a hungry glance my way.

He freezes.

His eyes go from me… to the bed… back to me, panic creeping into his expression. “I—I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

I glance at the bed and laugh softly. “As you should. Because the answer to this?” I point at the mattress. “With you? It’s always a yes, Rip.”

Then I pause. Because something flickers in his eyes, a quick blink, a hesitation. Did I surprise him? Or… did I catch him off guard in a way that means he’s reconsidering his offer?

Before I can ask, he closes the space between us, capturing my mouth in a kiss that shuts down every overthinking cell in my body. His hands roam, his lips devour, and whatever he might have said is completely lost in the storm he’s stirring inside me.

I let myself focus on his touch. On the way he worships every inch of me. Honestly, a man can’t touch a woman like this unless he feels something more. Right? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Wounded from the past. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, because that’s what happens when you’ve been betrayed.

But Rip?

He’s not that kind of man. He doesn’t manipulate. He doesn’t deceive. He’s steady. Solid. Real. He leads me to the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. I spread my legs, but I’m not just offering my body…I’m offering my heart.

He falls over me, slides lower, his breath hot on my skin, and I gasp as his tongue finds my center—slow, teasing, devastating. My whole body trembles as he traces torturously playful shapes. Letters, one by one, like he’s writing a love letter only I can read.

“Rip, that is so good.”

His voice rumbles against me. “Yeah, baby… it’s so good.”

I can’t help but laugh softly, breathlessly. It always surprises me how much he loves this. How much pleasure he gets from giving it. But that’s Rip. Passionate. Focused. All in.

And right now, I need him .

As soon as those three words leave my lips before he’s moving, climbing up my body, his mouth claiming mine in a hungry kiss, his big, beautiful body settling between my thighs. And then?—

He’s inside me.

With one perfect stroke, he fills me completely. My body tightens around him, and we both groan, raw and unfiltered. I wrap myself around him, and he does the same, holding me like letting go isn’t an option. And in that moment, I feel it…this is different. Not just the sex. The connection.

We move together slowly, unhurried, exploring and savoring, like there’s nowhere else in the world we need to be.

In no time at all he makes me come with practiced ease, my body pulsing around him, and I bury my face in his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline.

His own release follows, a deep, shuddering surrender.

“I love feeling you inside me like this,” I whisper, breath still shaky against his lips.

For a long time, we stay tangled, unmoving, letting the silence settle around us like a second skin. Eventually, he gently slips out of me and rolls to his back, pulling me with him. I drape myself across his chest, lulled by the steady beat of his heart under my cheek.

The next thing I know I’m opening my eyes to morning sunlight spilling across the room. I stretch, smiling, and reach for Rip. But the bed is empty. My heart skips.

I sit up, expecting to hear the clatter of dishes or the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen, but the cottage is still.

Too still. Then I hear it—his voice. Outside.

I step into the kitchen and move to the window.

There he is, sitting in a chair, phone to his ear. My heart clenches.What’s going on?

My mind spins, racing back to last night. What we said. What I said. I’ll go back to Boston with you.

Did I scare him? Did he change his mind? And then I see the phone in his hand. He’s talking to someone. Is it her ? A chill creeps over my skin.

Was last night’s soft lovemaking not about a future, and more about a goodbye?