Page 15

“Can we stop at my room?” Payton asked, voice subdued. “I want to get some of my own clothes.”

Boone nodded. After much arguing and a call from Thomas Mulvaney himself, the board had—reluctantly—agreed that Payton could stay in Boone’s room as long as there were guards posted outside for the night. It seemed a small price to pay to have Payton sleeping beside him…where he could watch over him—to make sure he was safe—if only for his own sanity.

Without that patch behind his ear, Payton’s physical recovery seemed almost miraculous. His dizziness had all but evaporated, and he didn’t look nearly as groggy or confused. Dr. Kim had said his test scores had indicated a mild concussion, but that it was best he take the test again in a few days after they could be relatively sure the drug had left his system. Boone had no idea if the drug was scopolamine or something more lethal, but it had clearly been taking its toll on Payton. Maybe Dr. Kim would have more answers after analyzing it in the lab.

If he could be trusted.

Only time would tell, but Boone had to trust someone or paranoia would drive him insane. He couldn’t do his job as headmaster effectively if he couldn’t trust his staff. He was used to having to work with shady types to get things done, but that was back when his job had been far more dangerous. While being an operative was a solitary lifestyle, it required a network. Some in that network were trustworthy, others just trustworthy enough. Some were nothing more than enemies forging a temporary ceasefire to fight a common adversary.

Boone could only trust his instincts, and, right now, his instincts told him that Dr. Kim might be the only other staff member in the building he could trust other than the four currently already in the know. It seemed unlikely that Kim had been on campus enough to pull off something like this. Unless he’d had help…say from Brogan. But Brogan seemed more like someone nursing a crush than someone bribing an accomplice. Boone imagined a decorated war vet like Kim needed something more substantial than Brogan’s pretty eyes and a cup of day-old coffee to betray his country, but men had been turned for less.

It didn’t really matter. They had no other options. Lucy had blown up their lab. Again. He really needed to look into that more closely. Though, if he did, he might have to reconcile with kicking the first student out of the program. Payton was right. She was a liability.

If Boone had wanted to be extra cautious, he could have sent the sample Dr. Kim took from the patch to Thomas’s people, but that would have taken far more time than sending it with Kim, who had seemed equally curious about the substance on it. And Boone wanted to get answers quickly.

While they waited to find out what the killer had used to dose Payton, Boone planned on making sure Payton rested and recovered. While he seemed better physically, mentally, he appeared…off somehow. Distracted? Quiet? Two actions he hadn’t thought Payton even capable of.

He glanced over at the boy walking quietly beside him, still deep in thought. His little monster had lost his teeth and claws, letting Boone take the lead without complaint. Two days ago, Payton would have never asked permission to go to his room. He simply would have told Boone he was going. End of story. He already missed that Payton.

It was a whole new level of ironic. He’d brought the boy into the Watch thinking he could tame him, yet seeing him so subdued left a gnawing worry deep in the pit of his stomach. He missed the pushy Payton. The cocky, overbearing, overly flirtatious brat who did whatever he liked when it came to Boone.

As if he sensed Boone’s thoughts, Payton looked at him, giving him a weary smile. Maybe he was just tired. His color was better now, but he still had deep purple bruises beneath his bloodshot eyes. Boone probably didn’t look much better, but he’d actively avoided anything with a reflective surface.

Once they reached Payton’s door, he put a hand on Boone’s chest. “Wait here…please?”

Please?

Fuck, maybe Payton wasn’t okay. When was the last time Payton had said please when he wasn’t trying to seduce him? Had he ever said please without a sexual motive? Boone sighed, then nodded. He stood just outside the doorway, facing the hallway, thumping the back of his head painfully on the door frame as he tried to stop over-analyzing everything about Payton.

He could hear the boy moving around behind him, gathering whatever it was he needed for the next few days. Something quickened deep in Boone’s chest. What would it be like to have Payton in his space every day and night? Where he could hold him and touch him anytime he wanted? Where he could fall asleep with the scent of him in his nose and the heat of his skin pressed against him?

He shook the thought away, focusing on the silence. It was weird seeing the halls so empty this early in the evening. It hadn’t been empty like this since before the school opened. This time of night was when the place was most active. Students leaving the cafeteria to head to the gym or the common rooms. Students gathering in groups in dorm rooms or sneaking off together to find a place to be alone. Students heading out to the bar down the road.

Now, it was eerily silent. Boone grimaced, the acid in his stomach attempting to slosh back up his esophagus. It wouldn’t stay quiet for long. Thomas’s one caveat to Payton staying in Boone’s room had been Boone holding an assembly of sorts to explain to the students exactly what was happening. Which would have been fine if Boone had any idea exactly what the fuck was happening. But he didn’t. He wasn’t looking forward to that clusterfuck, but that was tomorrow Boone’s problem.

His breath hitched as Payton’s hand landed on his shoulder, throwing him from his thoughts.

Payton laughed softly. “You’re awfully jumpy for a cold-blooded killer.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m not a killer anymore—I’m a glorified babysitter with a government pension. Which, to be fair, is a far better retirement option than the bullet most of my colleagues got as a retirement gift. But my days of killing are long past. Even the thought of it makes me tired.”

Payton wrapped his arms around Boone’s neck from behind. “You talk like you’re ancient,” he all but shouted in his ear.

“Killing people is like sports,” he said, then grunted as Payton jumped, wrapping his long legs around his waist.

Boone caught him under the thighs without thought, then readjusted his weight with another grunt. It was on the tip of his tongue to grumble about Payton being too old for a piggyback ride. But then he dropped his chin to Boone’s shoulder, sighing happily, and Boone lost whatever fight he had left in him.

Again.

“Are you calling killing a game?” Payton asked as Boone started walking towards his apartment. “That doesn’t sound like the Booney I know.”

Boone rolled his eyes even though Payton couldn’t see it. “No. Playing sports is a young person’s game. So is running around the globe offing people for my country. That’s why people retire from sports in their twenties—because their bodies feel like they’re eighty.”

Boone hissed as Payton bit his earlobe. “You seem pretty fit to me.”

“Tell that to my back…and my knees,” Boone muttered. “Especially when I’m forced to carry around lazy brats who don’t feel like walking.”

Payton pretended to wither on his shoulder like a dying flower, his voice growing weak and pouty. “I’m injured. So dizzy. The room is spinning. Everything’s fading to black… You wouldn’t want me to faint, would you, Daddy?”

Boone snorted. “Dramatic ass…”

“You have no idea,” Payton said, perking up immediately, latching his lips to Boone’s throat, alternating between biting and licking at him like a cat.

Boone huffed out an exasperated breath but it was—as always—lost on Payton. He didn’t care that Boone’s pants hid nothing of his growing hard-on or that Payton should be resting and recovering. He didn’t care that when they rounded that corner, there would be two armed guards outside his room who would very much notice said hard-on.

“If you don’t stop that, things are gonna get real awkward with the two officers outside my door, little monster.”

He winced as Payton readjusted his legs so his ankles were now crossed right over Boone’s painfully hard dick. It wouldn’t have been Boone’s first solution to the problem, but he supposed it would have to do. He vaguely recognized the two CID members standing outside his door. One was a woman with her red hair slicked back in a bun so tight it looked painful. The other a man with dark hair and a tan. They both wore khakis and a polo shirt as well as the blue jacket with CID emblazoned in bright yellow on the breast. They had guns on their belts and badges hanging from lanyards around their necks.

If they were surprised to see the headmaster with a student on his back, they didn’t express it outwardly, just stepped aside. Boone tried to set Payton down to access the key card in his pocket, but Payton tightened his limbs stubbornly, then fished around in Boone’s pocket himself, taking far longer than necessary just so he could grope him.

Boone was going to kill him.

He saw the female officer’s lips twitch as Payton finally yanked the card free, giving a triumphant shout as if he’d just pulled Excalibur from the stone and not just a set of keys.

“I’ll get that for you, sir,” the other officer said, taking the key card and swiping it, opening the door and letting it swing wide before returning to his post.

“Thank you,” Boone muttered.

He’d never hear the end of this.

Once inside—with the guards safely outside—Boone set Payton on his feet. “I’m going to find something for us to eat and then we’re going to bed.”

Payton wiggled his brows in a way that had Boone huffing out a laugh. “That sounds promising.”

“To sleep,” Boone said, narrowing his eyes at Payton. “You need to rest.”

Payton huffed. “You’re no fun at all.” He let his bag fall from his shoulder to his hand, shaking it in Boone’s direction. “I’m gonna go get more comfortable.”

Boone frowned as he took in Payton’s oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. What constituted more comfortable in Payton’s eyes? Actually, it was better that Boone didn’t know. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. But if you decide to take another shower, you need to cover your staples.”

Payton hopped up on his tiptoes to kiss Boone’s cheek. “Okay, Daddy.”

Boone’s stomach swooped wildly at the casual honorific. It used to drive him crazy, but now, it made him feel like everything was normal, even if it wasn’t.

Once Payton disappeared into the bedroom, Boone started pulling ingredients from the fridge, trying to figure out if there was anything he could make with them. His dinners mostly consisted of frozen meals or things he’d taken from the dining hall. He frowned when his phone rang and his mother’s name appeared on the screen along with her smiling face.

He glanced at the time, contemplating ignoring the call. But what if it was an emergency? He sighed, then swiped to answer, bracing the phone on the counter so he had both hands free to make dinner.

“Hey, Mama,” he said, glancing up to take her in. “Everything okay?”

She sat in the large rocking chair on her front porch, her knees pulled up to her chest, palm trees and the ocean behind her, her long hair piled on her head with enough pieces free to catch the gentle breeze. She laughed at his question, shaking her head. “You forgot our weekly phone call? I thought those days were long gone.”

Fuck.

He winced apologetically. “Honestly, this whole week has been a total clusterfuck. I couldn’t even tell you what day it actually is.”

She smirked at him when Payton yelled, “Where’s your toothpaste?”

Boone closed his eyes and took a calming breath, then shouted back, “In the medicine cabinet.”

“Would that be the clusterfuck you speak of?” she drawled.

“He’s…just staying here so I can protect him,” Boone said, the excuse sounding ridiculous even to his own ears.

“What a hero,” his mom teased.

“Mama…”

“When’s dinner?” Payton shouted from the depths of his room once more. “I’m starving.”

Boone huffed out a sigh. “If you’re so hungry, you could help me cook,” he shot back.

“That’s your job…” Payton countered, voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “I’m too pretty for menial labor.”

“This fucking kid,” Boone muttered, tossing the chopped carrots into a bowl before grabbing another.

His mother snorted. “My troublemaker future son-in-law driving you crazy again?”

It wasn’t loud, but loud enough for Boone to jerk his head towards his bedroom door, relieved to see Payton was nowhere to be found. “Could you keep your voice down? And stop calling him that,” he all but hissed.

Her brows shot up. “Why you whispering, son?” A cat-like smile spread across her face. “Wait…is that actually him? Is Payton there? Did you finally pull the stick out of your ass and admit you have feelings for this boy?”

Boone regretted every time he’d caved and complained about Payton to his mother. As far as she knew, Boone was the headmaster at an international post-graduate think tank for future world leaders. She had no idea that the boy she was championing had a body count both in and out of the bedroom and was—in every sense of the word—a psychopath.

“Who did you think would be in my apartment?” he muttered.

She scoffed. “How am I supposed to know what you get up to in that school of yours. The way the teachers are all sleeping with the students, it sounds like one giant den of iniquity.”

“Mama…”

“Can I see him?” she asked, leaning forward like she could somehow stick her head out past the screen and look for him.

“He’s…freshening up.”

“Why’s he need to do that? And why are you eating so late?”

“Like I said…things have been kind of a clusterfuck today, Mama.”

“Because of the boy?” she asked. “Whatever it was, I’m sure you’re to blame. He’s probably tired of waiting for you to get your shit together.”

“You know, you’re supposed to be on my side, Mama. I’m your son. Why are you encouraging me to date a student?”

She rolled her eyes at him like he was being ridiculous. “You act like he’s a child. Isn’t he twenty-four years old? That is what you said, right? I want to meet him. I’m just dying to know what he looks like.”

That was the last thing he needed. Payton and his mama conspiring against him? They were too much alike. Both schemers to their core. Together, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What if I told you he was the spoiled brat son of an oil tycoon? Would you still be so eager to have him as your son-in-law?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Now, I know you’re in love. You’re grasping at straws, sugar britches?—”

“Please don’t call me that, Mama,” he begged, cutting her off. “If he hears that, I’ll never live it down.”

She shook her head. “Why would I care that his daddy is an oil tycoon? ‘Cause your daddy was killed on a rig? That’s the risk you take in that line of work. Besides, it’s hardly his fault his father’s rich, is it?”

His mother was disgustingly pragmatic when she wanted to be. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. At her core, his mother was a hedonist. She felt like people should do what they wanted, when they wanted, society and the world at large be damned. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a moral compass. She just had a very live and let live philosophy. What happened between two consenting adults was nobody’s business as long as it didn’t hurt the most vulnerable in the community. That went for everything from dating to political protests. She was all about punching up.

“That’s not what I meant. And…just…you don’t know how…frustrating…he can be.”

Her responding laugh was almost musical. “Oh, this boy’s got you fit to be tied. I am dying to meet him.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Meet who?”

Boone jumped as Payton’s voice came from just behind him. Before he could even think to reach for the phone, Payton was peering over his shoulder, making eye contact with Boone’s mother.

“Oh…mama Boone,” he said, his voice becoming breathless in his excitement. “Hi.”

“You know who I am?” she asked, delighted by this news. “You can just call me Mama.”

“You will call her Ms. Boone,” Boone snapped, aggressively cutting into a carrot.

He didn’t miss either of their eye rolls—his mama’s in front of him, Payton’s in the image mirrored on the screen—even while he concentrated on the task before him.

“You will call me whatever I decide you should call me,” his mother said, her jaw jutting forward as she glowered at him. “I’m a grown ass woman.”

“Mama…” Boone started, hating how whiny he sounded.

His mother was having none of it. “You don’t speak for me, Waylon James. I birthed you. I don’t care if you are taller than a building. I will fly to Vegas and climb a ladder to kick your ass before I let any man speak for me. You hear?”

The tips of Boone’s ears were crimson as he mumbled, “Yes, Mama.”

Payton giggled, his hand darting out to snag Boone’s phone before bolting with it and diving over the edge of the couch out of his line of sight. He contemplated chasing after him, but it was honestly just too humiliating at this point. Boone only had two weaknesses in his life and they’d both just joined forces to overpower him.

“Payton, I presume?” he heard her ask.

“Yes, ma’am. Payton Skinner.”

Boone rolled his eyes. Ma’am . Little kiss-ass.

“Skinner…that name sounds so familiar. Oh, wow. My son said your daddy is in Texas oil.” She said it like she was trying to solve a riddle. “Oh, my. Are you Roland Skinner’s boy?”

That seemed to trip Payton up. “You—You know my dad?” he asked, tone growing guarded.

She sucked her teeth. “Know him? God, no. Know of him, of course. Everyone in Texas knows of Roland Skinner. You don’t look a thing like him, thank gawd,” she said, dragging out the last word. “That man looks like a bulldog bred with a lizard, bless his heart. But you’re pretty…pretty like a girl. Is that offensive?” she tacked on at the end, almost like an afterthought.

Boone rolled his eyes, only then realizing that he’d mangled yet another carrot.

Payton laughed again. “I guess only to someone who doesn’t like girls. I know I’m pretty. Boone tells me all the time.”

Boone swiped at the sweat on his forehead with his forearm. Why was it so hot in here when he hadn’t even turned on the stove yet? Why were those two so comfortable with each other so quickly? Maybe that was just what happened when a social butterfly met a psychopath. Either way, Boone was cooked.

“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think my boy doesn’t know how to treat someone he’s dating.”

“Did I say we’re dating?” Boone barked.

He could practically hear her eyes roll as she said to Payton, “Don’t listen to him, Payton, honey. He’s all hat, no cattle.”

“I’d pay money to see Boone in a hat,” Payton confided, his tone conspiratorial.

“You don’t have to send money, just make sure you name your first born after me,” she teased. His phone blooped, indicating a notification. “There you go. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Boone closed his eyes and prayed for patience as Payton erupted in an evil cackle. “Oh. My. God. How old was he there?”

“Three, maybe?” she said, clearly delighted by Payton’s joy. “Not many people can pull off a ten gallon hat, cowboy boots, and Spiderman underoos, but I like to think he made it work, no?”

“He’s perfect,” Payton sighed wistfully. “He’s only three there? He looks like he’s seven.”

“Yeah, we grow ‘em big in Texas. He takes after my Daddy who was tall as a mountain. Taller than my Boone even.”

“Wow,” Payton said. “Kinda makes me glad I can’t accidentally get pregnant. I definitely don’t have the hips for it, especially if a baby got my head.”

They both laughed. Something warmed in Boone as he heard the two of them getting along so well. How could Payton just sit there casually talking about having babies with Boone? He was about to run off and become an assassin. It would be hard enough for Boone to be there, left behind running a school for psychopaths, knowing Payton was out there risking his life. But to have a baby? Would they make Boone retire to raise their baby, or would he allow a child to grow up surrounded by dangerous psychopaths?

It wasn’t like either of them could actually carry a child and Payton was still in his early twenties.

What the hell was he even talking about? He shook the thought away.

He absently listened as the two of them talked about nothing for another twenty minutes. Just long enough for Boone to decide that he’d already screwed up any food that would be deemed edible for human consumption. He tossed the remnants in the trash and walked to the door, opening it.

The two agents looked at him in surprise.

“I hate to ask, but is there any way one of you might be able to see about getting us something to eat from the kitchen? I seem to have mangled our dinner.”

The female CID agent—Agent Amanda Fields, per her badge—laughed and said she would see what she could do.

“Thank you.”

He closed the door, then turned around only to find Payton was now standing, leaning against the back of the sofa. “Your mom said she had to go but she would call us next week for our regular weekly phone call.”

Us. Our.

Boone heard what he said but couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was too locked in on Payton’s outfit. He hadn’t seen what Payton wore when he’d entered the kitchen, too focused on chopping vegetables. But he saw it now. All of it. But none of it looked “more comfortable.” He blinked, fighting the urge to adjust his raging hard-on.

It was the outfit.

The outfit.

The one from the magazine. The one Boone had jerked off to countless times. In person, it was somehow so much less and so, so much more. He didn’t know where to look first, so he started at the bottom and worked his way up. Even with clunky combat boots on his feet, Payton’s slender legs looked ten miles long in those black thigh-high fishnets.

The shorts he wore were so short that there were at least three inches between the top of his tights and the frayed edge of the denim. The black bands holding the fishnets in place were so tight they bit into Payton’s creamy thighs. Boone wanted to sink his teeth into the meat there. The urge to devour Payton had saliva pooling in his mouth.

Payton tugged at the hem of his sleeveless black-and-white striped sweater. It had such a deep vee that it fell off one of his slender shoulders, drawing the eye right to that knotted string of pearls that dangled almost to his belly button.

Boone wanted to say something…anything…but he’d lost his higher thought processes when all the blood had rushed from his brain to his dick. Payton caught his lower lip between his teeth, gazing up at Boone beneath sooty lashes and thick black liner, doing his best to look coy.

“What do you think, Daddy? Is it everything you hoped it would be?” Boone nodded, unable to stop himself from drinking in every single detail. Payton fingered the loop at the bottom of the necklace. “If you like this, wait until you see what’s under it.”

Boone did an about face, digging into his pocket to find his room keycard, even as he flung the door back open, startling the male agent. He shoved the card into his hand.

“Just put the food on the kitchen counter and leave the key card with it.”

He offered no further explanation, just slammed the door before crossing to Payton and tossing him over his shoulder, swatting his butt when Payton’s unhinged cackle filled the room. Boone needed to find out exactly what it was that Payton hid under those shorts.

“Put me down,” Payton cried around his gales of laughter. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Boone’s heart clutched violently as he righted the boy, then set him down on his feet gingerly, holding his face carefully, checking to see if his eyes focused and his pupils looked inappropriately dilated. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Payton grinned. “Yeah, I’m fine. You were just messing up my plan.”

“What plan?”

“This one.” He shoved Boone hard, causing the backs of his knees to hit the mattress, forcing him to sit. “Lie down.”

Boone blinked at him stupidly. “What?”

“I thought you wanted to see what’s under here?” he asked, teasing his fingertips up under the sweater, running his finger over the button on his shorts. “I promise it’s worth it. But only if you behave.”

Boone’s body lit-up like storm-tossed wires. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Are you sure you feel up to it?”

“I know my own body,” Payton said, giving Boone another shove, this one softer.

Why the fuck was he arguing? He climbed up onto the bed, settling onto the pile of pillows.

Payton gave him a heated once-over. “That’s it. Make yourself comfortable.”

Boone laid back, patiently waiting to see exactly what Payton would do next. He didn’t expect the boy to step up onto the bed and plant his booted feet on either side of Boone’s thighs. He let his gaze crawl up, up, up, biting back a groan as he saw the way Payton loomed over him, his calculated gaze making him feel like prey.

“Can you see okay?” he asked, his long fingers skimming up the inside of his thighs.

Boone nodded once more, his mouth dry as a desert. The sight of Payton like that—posed, waiting, knowing—felt like a punch straight to the chest. He told himself this was just about touch, about want—but Payton had always known how to crawl under his skin.

Payton reached for the hem of his sweater, making a show out of peeling it off slowly, revealing his skin one tantalizing inch at a time before pulling it up. The fabric landed on Boone’s face, temporarily blinding him. Payton giggled, the sound slightly unbalanced, when Boone rushed to snatch the fabric away. He didn’t want to miss a single thing.

Payton planted the shiny boot right onto Boone’s chest. They were so unused, he could still smell the newness of the leather.

“Help me take this off.”

It wasn’t a request.

Boone’s fingers trembled as he reached for the laces, each one a small surrender. When he finally freed him, tossing the heavy shoe over the side, Payton lifted one slender foot. His skin peeked through the large holes of the fishnet as he pressed the arch to Boone’s lips, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

Boone didn’t hesitate. He kissed the skin there, then the ball of his foot, then bit down on his toes until Payton tossed his head back and moaned. Boone didn’t have a foot fetish, but there was no part of Payton he wouldn’t hesitate to worship if given the chance. He took his time. He kissed the top of his foot, then scraped his teeth along his ankle bone until Payton whined, pulling his foot back so Boone could do the same thing on the other side.

Once Payton deemed his tight-clad feet sufficiently worshipped, he turned away from Boone, giving him a perfect shot of the curve of his lower ass peeking out from beneath those denim shorts. Boone couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up Payton’s muscular calves, sitting up enough to run his lips along the backs of his knees, his thighs…

He was so caught up in the tang of Payton’s skin on his tongue that he had to bite back a groan when Payton slid the shorts down, revealing a pair of white cotton panties, the band emblazoned with the name of some fashion brand on them. The black band sat high on the curve of Payton’s narrow hips, accentuating his tiny waist and perfectly rounded ass.

“You like, Daddy?” he crooned, voice a low rasp.

Boone couldn’t stop himself from taking two handfuls of Payton’s ass, gripping it firmly as he sank his teeth into one meaty cheek. “I’ll like ‘em even better when they’re off.”

Payton caught the band under his thumbs, then snapped it, looking down at Boone over his shoulder. “So, take them off.”

Fuck.

Boone slid his hand between Payton’s legs, feeling the hard length trapped beneath the fabric, his own cock throbbing at the high-pitched whine Payton gave when Boone squeezed him. He took his time, kissing the backs of Payton’s thighs, the crease just below the curve of his ass…whatever other skin happened to be within his reach.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he dragged the fabric down the boy’s thighs until Payton stepped free and kicked them away. Boone bit back a growl at the sight of Payton’s miles-long legs and his bare ass. Fuck, he was perfection. “Best surprise ever.”

Payton scoffed. He didn’t turn around, just said, “Silly, Daddy. That wasn’t the surprise.”

Boone’s cock pulsed, leaving a wet spot on his sweatpants. “Oh, yeah?” he managed.

“Uh-huh. Wanna see?”

Boone slapped Payton’s ass hard enough to leave a solitary red hand print, satisfaction filling him as he watched the fat there jiggle. “Don’t be a tease. Show me.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Payton kept his legs straight, but bent sharply at the waist like an exotic dancer, grinning at Boone upside down from between his spread legs. For a moment, Boone couldn’t move. He couldn’t blink. He just stared at Payton’s soft brown eyes and his menacing expression.

Then he seemed to remember himself, his gaze traveling upwards, inhaling at the little blue gem in the shape of a cat that peeked out at him from between Payton’s cheeks. “Is that…” he started, only to choke a bit on his words, his throat painfully dry.

“I prepped myself while you were butchering our dinner,” he said, running both his hands over his ass as he stood back up, then spread himself open, giving Boone a better view.

“Jesus, you talked to my mother with that thing inside you the whole time, you little slut?” he said, voice fond.

Payton grinned at him. “Uh-huh.” He turned to give Boone an expectant look. “Are you going to take it out so I can ride you, or are you just going to sit there staring at it?”