by Meghan March
As always, Ma knew better.
When I slide under the covers and turn on my side, Ripley’s sleeping form snuggles into my body so that my chest presses against her back. I wrap my arm around her, and the tension in my body releases.
Before I can think about why that is, I’m out too.
The sun beats down on me, and I toss the covers off, trying to escape the heat. The heat.
I jerk awake, expecting to see a dark-haired wildcat in bed beside me, but she’s gone.
Did I dream all that?
I catch sight of the sweatpants I’d offered her last night still folded up on the foot of the bed.
No. Definitely not a dream.
Which means that my wildcat is somewhere limping around my house when she’s supposed to be staying off her ankle so it can heal.
I bolt out of bed and head for the door. Normally I’d stop to grab some clothes because I usually sleep buck-ass naked, but last night, out of courtesy for Ripley, I put on some gym shorts. I follow my nose into the kitchen, but I can’t place the scent.
Ripley lifts a basket out of the fryer and drops fresh golden lumps onto a paper-towel-covered plate.
Holy shit. Is she making donuts?
My morning wood turns into a full hard-on, and not only because she’s wearing just my shirt, which skims the top of her thighs when she reaches up into the cupboard.
Sweet Lord, I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I promise I’m gonna do it again real soon.
Ripley turns and startles when she sees me, dropping a bag of powdered sugar on the counter. A puff of white escapes from the bag as she slaps a hand over her chest.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. A man your size shouldn’t be able to move that quietly.”
“Did you seriously make donuts? From scratch?”
“Yeah.”
I take a step closer. “I should have brought you home a long time ago.”
I stop less than a foot in front of her, and fuck, she smells amazing. If women wore donut-scented perfume, I guarantee they’d have to beat men off.
“I need to drop these last three in so I can finish up and make the icing.”
Lowering my head to bring my lips an inch away from her temple, I tell her, “As sexy as you look right now, wearing nothing but my T-shirt and making one of my favorite foods, you need to get out of the kitchen and off that ankle.”
Her breath ghosts across my skin, which doesn’t help my hard-on.
“I’ve been sitting while they fry.” She jerks her head toward the bar stool behind her.
I pick her up and put her on the stool. “I’ll finish them.”
She lifts her head, and I can’t resist leaning forward to close my teeth over her perfect bottom lip and tug. Ripley freezes. I release her, but my tongue darts out to taste where I nipped.
“You’re so fucking sexy. You taste like you’ve already gotten into the donuts,” I tell her, not wanting to back away yet. “I want you, Ripley. Really fucking bad. If you’d still been in my bed when I woke up, you’d have my cock buried inside you right now, and I’d be making you scream.”
Her breathing quickens, and I lift my hand to trail it along the skin of her leg, inching the shirt up as I go higher.
“You like that?”
Her nod barely registers as a movement.
“If I reach between these gorgeous legs, am I gonna find a wet pussy?”
She doesn’t answer, instead swallows audibly.
“No answer? I guess I’m gonna have to find out for myself.”
I curve my hand around the top of her luscious naked ass, squeezing a handful and releasing a groan. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you’re never wearing any panties? Jesus.”
“I . . .”
Whatever she’s going to say trails off when I slide a hand between her thighs and cup her hot, wet center.
“Sweet fucking Christ, woman.” I push the tips of two fingers inside, and Ripley arches toward me.
“Screw the donuts. This can’t wait.”
40
Ripley
Oh. My. God.
Boone’s fingering me in his kitchen—and it’s amazing.
My hips jerk, seeking more contact, deeper, harder, faster. I don’t care what he does, but I need him to do more of it.
“Please,” I whisper, even though I hate to beg.
“You could ask me for anything right now, and I’d give it to you.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and my nipples peak against the T-shirt.
“I need . . . more.”
Boone’s blue eyes search my face. “Sugar, I’m gonna give you everything.”
He pulls his fingers away and palms my ass with both hands, lifting me off the bar stool. He carries me to the huge farmhouse-style table six feet from the kitchen, and sets me on the cool wood.
“This is the kind of breakfast I could get used to.” He lowers his head, closes his mouth around the hard bud through the cotton, and sucks.
Electricity pulses and shoots through my body, lighting up my senses, my injured ankle all but forgotten.
With his other hand, Boone shoves the T-shirt up and slides a finger inside me.
One long, thick finger.
I arch, leaning back on my elbows as Boone plays my body with as much skill as his guitar onstage. His teeth nip, tugging at my nipple the same way he did my lip, and a moan escapes my throat.
He releases it before whipping the shirt up and over my head. “So much better.”
Back to his ministrations, he sucks at the other peak, hardening them both into tight buds.
It’s not going to happen. Not yet. That’s impossible.
And yet the rush of an impending orgasm builds in my veins, threatening to take me under.
“More.” It comes out sounding like a plea and a demand, and is met by a growl from Boone’s lips as his finger plunges inside harder and faster, his thumb finding my clit.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” My entire body goes taut, and my vision turns fuzzy as my eyes roll back in my head. The release washes over me, and my entire body turns languid.
If this is what I get for making donuts in the morning, I’m one hundred percent down with being Betty freaking Crocker.
“Your tight little cunt doesn’t want to let my finger go.”
Normally the C-word would put my back up, but on Boone’s lips right now, it’s hotter than I could have imagined.
My eyes fix on the outline of his massive erection against his gym shorts, and I want it.
Boone follows the direction of my gaze, and his lips tug into a sinful smile. He pulls his finger free of my pussy and lifts it to his mouth, sucking my juices clean. “You taste so damned good.”
It’s primitive, the feeling that’s gripping every cell in my body.
“Hurry.”
Boone shoves down his shorts and wraps a hand around his thick cock and squeezes. “Can you take it all? Everything I’ve got to give? As hard as I want?”
My hips lift, anxious to get closer. “Yes.”
He steps between my legs, levering them apart with his hips.
“You sure? Because the way you got my blood roaring right now, you’re gonna be feeling me tomorrow.” His lip quirks up on one side. “I like the thought of that. You, feeling me with every step you take. Remembering what it was like to take my cock hard and fast.”
As he speaks the words, he presses closer, rubbing the head through my slick heat.
“Yeah, I like that a hell of a lot. You’re gonna go wild for me, aren’t you, sugar?”
“I’ll give you whatever you want if you’ll just—”
At my declaration, his eyes blaze.
“You should be careful offering a man like me whatever I want. I’m not afraid to take it.”
With the head of his cock nudging against my opening, Boone grips my hips with both hands.
“So tell me, Ripley, you really mean that? Whatever I want?”
“Yes!” I y
ell, desperate to have him inside me, and probably willing to agree to anything right now.
“Heaven help you, because I’m not letting you go back on that.” With a jerk, Boone yanks my hips toward him and slams forward at the same time, driving his cock deep, almost to the point of discomfort. Since I’m already lit up from my last orgasm, the line between pain and pleasure blurs.
Boone’s expression takes on an intensity I’ve never seen before as he unleashes everything he’s been holding back.
He uses his grip on my hips to pull me back and forth until my body is fucking his cock as much as his cock is fucking me. Each pounding thrust takes my breath away, but I’ve never experienced anything more erotic in my life. My eyelids drift closed, but Boone releases one hip and slaps my thigh, demanding my attention.
“Eyes on me. I want you to know who’s fucking you. Whose name you’re gonna scream when you come.”
And then he becomes relentless, and I’m helpless to do anything but hang on tight and enjoy the ride. His gaze never leaves mine, almost daring me not to come. I hold back for as long as I can, but it’s a losing battle.
“Boone!” His name leaves my lips on a hoarse scream as a blinding orgasm rips through my body. I break our stare as my head rocks from side to side, unable to keep still as the pleasure owns every inch of me.
Boone doesn’t slow his pace. Sensation overwhelms me as he powers inside me over and over, seeking his own release. When his roar echoes through the room, his cock pulses and I’m filled with heat.
For long moments, the only sound in the room is our heaving breaths. As my brain flips on again, the first thought that rushes through my mind hits harder than a heavyweight.
Oh. Shit.
We didn’t use a condom.
41
Boone
Before this morning, I’ve never come so hard in my life. It was a near religious experience. Sweat drips from my forehead, and my fingers are still wrapped around Ripley’s hips.
I let go immediately when I realize how tight a hold I have on her.
“Crap, did I hurt you?”
A rusty laugh falls from her lips. “Are you joking?”
I shake my head as I inspect the red marks I’ve left on her skin. “I didn’t realize—”
She pushes up on her elbows. “It’s fine. But we have a bigger problem.”
My gaze cuts to hers. “What?”
She glances down to where I’m still buried balls deep. “No condom.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even think.”
“I didn’t either. Hell. I’m sorry, sugar. That’s all on me.”
Her eyebrows dive into a deep vee. “You don’t . . . have anything. Do you?”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s asking. “No. Fuck no. I’m clean. I always use a condom.”
I can tell she wants to ask a question by the way her mouth keeps opening and closing, and given her hesitation, I can guess what it is.
“Even with my ex. She didn’t want to take a chance that she’d get pregnant, so we’re good. I haven’t been with anyone else in two years.”
Now her eyebrows wing up in surprise.
“Really?” Her question comes out on a tone of disbelief.
“Yeah. I don’t screw around. That’s not my style.”
“But—I mean, I thought . . .”
This time I raise an eyebrow. “What? That just because I get more pussy thrown my way than a major-league catcher gets balls, I must’ve cheated on my girlfriend?”
Ripley bites down on her lip but doesn’t answer. Her lack of response is enough, though.
“Not a chance. I might be an asshole, but I’m not a cheating asshole.”
I pull out, pissed that we’re having this conversation while I’m still inside her, ready to get hard again and go for round two. Turning around to head to the kitchen, I snag a paper towel and bring it back to Ripley. It’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex without a condom, I forgot how much of a mess it is.
She takes the paper towel from me, but grabs the T-shirt and pulls it back on first. Her shields go up fast, but it’s good to know that I have at least one way I can get her to lower them.
I return to the kitchen, wanting to give her some privacy. And maybe also because the donuts are there. I’m already on my second when she speaks again.
“Crap. The fryer has been on this whole time.” She climbs off the table, probably intent on rushing forward, but I stop her with my shoulder against her belly as I lift her up.
Her screech, not nearly as sexy as the sound of her screaming my name, almost blows out my eardrum.
“You’re not walking on that ankle.” I carry her around to the bar stools pulled up on the other side of the island and settle her on one. “Sit your ass down and put your foot up. I’ll finish the donuts. It can’t be that hard.”
With a frustrated huff, Ripley follows my instructions, which surprises me.
“Easy? Really? Have you ever made donuts before?” Her gray eyes, no longer cloudy with that haze of lust, shoot me a look stamped with challenge.
“You can talk me through it so I don’t screw them up.”
“And the icing?”
I look at the bag of powdered sugar. “They can be powdered donuts. I’m not Martha frickin’ Stewart.”
At Ripley’s giggle, a smile breaks over my face, but it also reminds me that I didn’t ask a question I need an answer to. No point in waiting for later to satisfy my curiosity.
“You on the pill? Or do we need to start wondering if there’s gonna be a little Boone running around for my ma to spoil?”
This time, her eyebrows almost hit her hairline.
Surprised I’d want her to have the kid if she got pregnant? Either way, I decide to wait for her response before I attempt donut-making.
“We’re good. I’m on the shot.” She slaps her hip. “Part of the reason my ass is so damn big.”
I narrow my eyes on her. “You better leave your ass alone because I’m a pretty big fucking fan of it. In fact, I got some plans for it.”
Her cheeks turn red. “What kind of plans?”
I give her a wink. “I’ll let you wonder. Don’t want to give it all away.”
“I’ve never . . . done the butt stuff before.”
First donuts, then mind-blowing sex on my kitchen table, and now we’re diving into anal territory. One hell of a perfect morning, in my book.
A smile tugs on my lips even as I try to hold it back. “What do you mean, done the butt stuff?”
Ripley drops her gaze to my granite countertop, tracing a vein. Her response is a mumble. “You know . . . my back door has never been . . . open for business.”
Laughter starts deep in my gut and rolls through my body. Ripley grabs a pen off the counter and throws it at my head, but I bat it away.
“Don’t laugh at me. It’s not like I’m the only one in the world who has never—”
“Had your back door open for business?”
It’s not her inexperience that’s the reason for my laughter, it’s the way she describes it, which only goes to highlight just how genuine that inexperience is.
I lean forward and place both forearms on the counter. “Don’t worry, sugar. We’ll start with a soft opening.”
42
Ripley
Boone’s words repeat on a loop in the back of my mind as I sit in the passenger seat of his giant crew-cab pickup heading downtown to get Esteban.
“Don’t worry, sugar. We’ll start with a soft opening.”
Oh. My. God.
I shift in my seat, trying to pretend the idea isn’t physically affecting me.
Boone glances over, a smirk on his face, and I can tell I’m doing a terrible job. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know that we’re thinking about the same thing. When he stops at the red light on the exit ramp, he leans over and snakes a hand behind my neck to draw me closer before taking my l
ips in a hard kiss.
He pulls back when horns honk behind us because the light has turned green.
“They’re lucky we’ve got something to do. I could get lost in your lips for hours. Puttin’ that on my priority list real soon.”
And that sends a rush of heat that takes up residence between my legs.
Gah. What is it about this guy?
It’s not like he says all the right things, because he absolutely does not. But somehow, the things he does say affect me in a way that no one else has before.
He’s crass. Bold. Straightforward.
None of those things should be new to me because crass, bold, and straightforward are what you get when you grow up working in a bar. But there’s something else. Maybe it’s the no-bullshit factor. Boone shoots straight with me, and despite what he is, I trust him. That’s a big one for me. After my mama betrayed our family with Gil, and Pop constantly lied about drinking until he finally stopped giving a shit, and then I had to deal with my cousin’s endless tattling, trust isn’t something I find easy to give.
But with Boone, I don’t see any ulterior motives. Is that why I’m breaking my rule for him?
With Frisco, I wasn’t even tempted. Maybe because I could tell he was never serious, and me saying no to him was always more of a game. Plus, there was never the spark. But with Boone, it’s more than a spark—it’s an inferno threatening to burn down the entire town. And yet, there’s something else.
For the first time in my life, I made a completely selfish decision. This thing, whatever we have, is for me. To hell with Pop, Brandy, the bar, and everything else, because I’ve gone too long without doing something solely for myself.
On top of that, something about Boone has me letting my guard down in a way I never thought possible. He’s turned the stereotype I’ve held on to for so long on its head, and shown me that he’s more than an entitled asshole with a record deal and tour buses. He’s a guy who keeps showing me he actually gives a shit about me, and goes out of his way to prove it.