Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out

by Walker, Shiloh

  “Don’t.”

  At the sound of his voice, his daughter started and then blinked, gazing up at him with what looked like fascination. He couldn’t help but smile at her and stroke her cheek. She cooed and waved her fists—including the one that held his finger—in the air.

  “Don’t,” he said again, keeping his voice soft. He looked up at him. “I get it.”

  “Do you?” Tyler stalked closer, moving to stare out the window. “Well, that’s just great. Explain it to me. I mean, I don’t get it. Damn it, Boone, she knew you.”

  He laughed. “Did she?” He shook his head. “I don’t think she did. Nah, she didn’t know me. We wrote each other a few times and when we…” He stopped and then tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment before looking back at Tyler. “We met at the bar in town—Huley’s? Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t know who she was, she didn’t know who I was.”

  Tyler’s eyes went wide. “You met…” Then he breathed out a soft curse. “Son of a bitch. You’re the big guy Huley saw leaving with her.”

  It didn’t surprise Boone that Tyler had done some nosing around. Even if he claimed he was trying to respect her privacy, Tyler cared too much about his sister to just let it go as easy as that.

  “That’s me,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “We…um…well, we didn’t figure out who the other person was until you introduced us

  the next morning.”

  “At my wedding.” Tyler looked away, a muscle starting to pulse in his cheek. “Son of a bitch.”

  “You’ve said that.” Dani started to squirm and he lifted her up to his shoulder, patting her bottom the way he’d seen Sloane doing. “We didn’t know each other. If we had…” Boone shrugged. “I guess I would have figured out I was handling it wrong—or I would have known the right way to handle it. And maybe…”

  He lapsed into silence.

  Tyler moved closer and settled on the low-lying coffee table across from Boone. He watched Boone closely as he said, “This is about your father.”

  Boone looked away. “I don’t want to do a post-mortem on this. If I was her and I knew jackshit about me, I’d run screaming in the other direction.”

  Tyler glanced out the window. “She’s not screaming.” Then he met Boone’s gaze dead-on. “And here’s the deal, man. You know how much I love her, how protective I am. If I had any question about the kind of man you were, I never would have invited you to my wedding, to my house. You’re a good man, Boone. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

  Boone knew better than to believe those words. Hours later, they echoed mockingly in his head.

  He stood at the window, staring out over the sprawl of the Redding farm. It was so peaceful here. Quiet and easy, everything he’d never really known, not even as an adult.

  He’d slept easily in the silence over the past few weeks but right now, the quiet felt stifling.

  And then it seemed to disappear entirely when he looked up at the soft click.

  Sloane slipped inside his room.

  His mouth went dry. Blood started to roar in his ears.

  There were no lights on in his room, just the silvery rays of the moon streaming in through the wide window on the southern wall.

  She came to stop in front of him and that put the window at her back.

  His heart slammed against his ribcage with enough force that it practically knocked the breath out of him.

  The nightgown was thin and white.

  He could see every elegant line of her body, the slope of her hips, the curved length of her legs.

  His hands itched. He wanted to reach out and catch her waist, pull her to him.

  He forced himself to look away, but it didn’t do much good. That image of her body was imprinted on the very fabric of his memory.

  “I thought maybe we should talk,” she said softly.

  Talk.

  He fought the need to hunch his shoulders at the very idea of it. He didn’t want to talk to her. He wanted to hold her, kiss her…pretend he was a different man than who he was. A different man than who she must think he was.

  “What’s there to talk about?” he asked, voice gruff. “I’ll…I’ll help you take care of her. Send money. I’d…I think I’d like to be a part of her life, if you’d let me.”

  When she made no response, he dared a quick look at her.

  There was an expression of dismay on her face and it set his stomach to rolling. But even as he struggled to figure out how to make her understand, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Do you honestly think I’d keep her from you?”

  Then her hand fell away and she laughed bitterly. “Well, of course you do. I did just that, didn’t I?” She turned to the window, mirroring his pose, right down to the way she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I’d love for you to be part of her life, Boone. I…I never had a real dad. Shoot, for that matter, my mom was absent most of the time—too busy trying to handle this place on her own after my dad skipped out. I don’t want that for my baby.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell—” He snapped his jaw shut and closed his eyes.

  “Would you have been there?”

  At the soft question, he opened his eyes and looked at Sloane. “Been there?”

  She angled her head to the side, her eyes mysterious and dark in the dim room. “Yes. Would you have been there? For me? For her? Would you have been there…because you wanted to be or because you felt obligated?”

  “I…” He floundered and then went with his gut.

  “Both. She is my responsibility as much as she is yours. But I…”

  The words left him as he thought of that tiny little girl—so much more than a responsibility. So much of a promise, so much of a miracle. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about being a dad—no, that’s not right. I specifically thought about not being a dad. What with my dad and all…”

  He went to turn away.

  Sloane stopped him with the simple touch of her hand on his arm.

  “If people made decisions in life based solely on who or what kind of parents they had, the world would be in a very strange place. Plenty of good people have come from absolutely terrible parents, and plenty of terrible people had very good parents.” She squeezed his arm gently.

  He reached up and covered her hand with his.

  And that was his mistake.

  It was already a strain on his willpower to stand this close without touching her, to smell her skin and not taste.

  But when he covered her hand, her lashes fluttered and he remembered how she’d do that when he’d kissed her, when he’d trailed his mouth down her body and sought her out with his mouth.

  “I missed you,” he said, the words surprising both of them.

  Her mouth parted.

  He reached up and pressed his thumb to her lower lip.

  “After I’d gotten hurt and woke up with my head a blank slate, I knew I was missing something and not just memories. I was missing something vital.”

  Sloane’s throat worked as she swallowed.

  “I remember everything now—well, except for the first few hours after some thug tried to cave my skull in. But I’d been in a cantina…working. Got to thinking about you and thought maybe I needed to talk to you.” The look in her eyes made his heart beat a little faster and he dared to take a step closer.

  When she didn’t back away, he reached down and covered her belly with his palm. “And when I left, after you told me….” He had to stop and swallow. “When you told me there was no problem, I was…disappointed.”

  Sloane drew in a deep breath.

  He didn’t cover her mouth with his, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I would have been there, Sloane. Yes, I should have been. I try to be the kind of man who lives up to his responsibilities, but more…I wanted to be there. I didn’t let myself admit it, but I wanted there to be a reason for me to be there.”

  Chapter Eighteen


  Sloane didn’t know if she’d ever had this many emotions flooding through her—not all at once like this.

  Joy.

  Hope.

  Fear.

  Need.

  Excitement.

  Lust.

  Hunger.

  Guilt.

  Regret.

  Unable to focus on any one thing, she felt frozen, but when he reached out and touched her cheek, she turned her face into his hand.

  The near-panic gripping her cracked at the soft intake of his breath as she skimmed her lips across his palm.

  He made the same noise again, and then there was another noise—almost a growl, deep and low in his throat.

  Daring to hope, she moved closer and brought up her hands, resting them on his waist.

  He slid his hand down to her nape and she felt the convulsive clench of his fingers before he dipped his head and brushed his lips against her brow.

  That faint touch made her shiver and sway closer.

  The hand on the back of her neck tightened.

  She lifted her head to his when he pulled away and stared, for a moment, at his mouth.

  Her heart skipped what felt like a dozen beats when she looked up and realized he had been doing the same thing—his gaze locked on her mouth.

  She licked her lips instinctively.

  His groan was a low rumble in the quiet around them and she

  rose up on her toes to kiss him before he could pull away.

  He’d said he missed her.

  She had spent nearly a year feeling like she’d lost some vital piece of herself. She was tired of it.

  Nerves chattered in her as she brushed her mouth to his, once, twice, then a third time. When she would have done it yet again, he caught her chin and swept his tongue across her lips in a bold demand for entrance.

  She yielded to that demanded with avid hunger and shuddered as his tongue stroked deep into her mouth. His kiss was impatient—greedy—and it made her knees go weak. She ended up swaying and he caught her with one arm around her waist, steadying her.

  Her legs started to tremble as their bodies came closer together. She felt the heavy length of his cock —a brand against her belly. His chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm, echoing her own, erratic breathing.

  And his mouth…

  His kiss was hungry and deep, like he’d been starving for her and had just now been given free rein to indulge that hunger. He fed from her mouth while his free hand tangled in her hair and tugged her head back.

  Sloane whimpered.

  He swallowed the sound down and answered it with a rough growl.

  She tightened her hands on his hips and instinctively arched against him.

  The room spun as he turned them, bracing her back against the wall. She shivered as he brought his hands to her waist and then slowly dragged them up. The material of her nightgown rose with his palms, the brush of cotton over her flesh a near torturous sensation.

  He broke away and pulled back, allowing a few inches between them.

  “If you want me to stop, now’s the time to tell me,” he said, his voice raw.

  She said nothing.

  “Sloane?”

  “I don’t want you stopping anything.”

  He shuddered.

  Some slow curl of delight, of amazement curled through her—she could make him feel that way. The hunger he rose in her, she seemed to cause to rise within him as well. It was a powerful, heady knowledge and it gave her the courage to trail her hands down and grip his hips, tug him in closer.

  “Your breasts are larger,” he murmured.

  She felt blood rush to her cheeks as she realized he was staring at her—specifically, at her breasts. She was wearing her nursing bra. It was one of the sleep bras and it was pretty enough, but still, it was designed for convenience and support and comfort, not sex appeal.

  He reached up and flicked at the button at the top of her nightgown, watching her the entire time.

  When he reached the last one, she closed her eyes and forced herself to speak. “I’m…um…I put weight on. From Dani.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Boone said, his voice thick. “You were beautiful last year, but now…you take my breath away.”

  She gasped as he ran the back of his knuckles of over the slope of her breast, undeterred by the cotton and lace of her bra.

  “Are you…” He brushed one thumb over her nipple.

  She caught his hand and guided it down as blood stained her cheeks red.

  “Are you sore?” he asked, his voice hushed.

  “Not anymore. I just…my milk…” She swallowed and looked away.

  He caught her cheek in his hand and guided her face back to his. “The sight of you feeding Dani is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen…I thought that even before I knew she was mine. You stole my breath away.”

  He kissed her then and it was soft and sweet and full of longing. It left her heart aching and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing as close as she could possibly get.

  Boone caught her hips in his hands and boosted her up, aiding

  her attempts to close any and all distance between them. She whimpered and arched against him. The rough material of his jeans abraded her through the thin fabric of her nightgown and then even that barrier was pushed away, nothing left but the denim over his jeans as he pumped against her.

  Sloane was already wet, she could feel it, and the hunger was a living, breathing thing inside her.

  She twisted against his hold, shoving until he put her down. He broke the kiss. “What…”

  His words broke off in a strangled groan as she tore at his jeans until she managed to free the button, then the zipper. He sprung free into her hand, hot and thick and silken and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroked up, down.

  He pumped into her hand when she repeated the caress

  Need made her bold and she said harshly, “I want you inside me.”

  He growled and lifted her, braced her once more against the wall.

  There was no more time to prepare and she gasped as he surged inside her. She was wet, but tight, and she could feel her own resistance to him.

  He paused, muttering something too low for her to hear and then he shifted, gathering her up and changing the angle of her body. He moved again and she gasped as he stroked in deeper. By the third stroke, she’d relaxed enough to take all over him and by the fourth, she had her legs wrapped around him, trying to urge him on.

  But Boone wouldn’t be hurried.

  He took his time, deep, slow thrusts that had her arching against him, her nails sinking into his skin to leave little half-crescents. His teeth raked down her neck, a line of sensation that buzzed and left her aching even more.

  “Please…” she gasped against his neck. She clenched down around him, tightening the muscles in her vagina in a desperate attempt to hold him inside her. He stiffened, a harsh noise leaving his throat. So she did it again, and again.

  Boone tensed. “Stop it,” he muttered. “Want this to last…”

  “I don’t care if it lasts.” She kept doing it, using her internal muscles to massage him and delighting in the way he started to shudder.

  Abruptly, he spun and she gasped as he strode across the room, still buried inside her. Without the wall to help brace her weight, she felt like she was impaled on him, his cock so deep, it caused a sweet, sweet pain.

  And then they were on the bed and he was thrusting deep, over and over.

  She rose up to meet up, scrambling against those deep, driving thrusts.

  The orgasm hit her hard.

  Fast.

  She cried out his name and flew apart.

  • • •

  Boone lay on his side with Sloane curled into the curve of his body.

  She was sleeping.

  He brushed a hand up her arm and she grumbled, snuggling deeper into the pillows.

  He smiled.

  He thought maybe he’d liked to r
oll her onto her back and kiss her into wakefulness so he could make love to her again.

  A low, distant noise caught his ears.

  Boone sat up, head cocked.

  It came again and he rose, moving swiftly to the door.

  It was the baby.

  My daughter, he thought.

  He almost went back to wake up Sloane, but then ducked out of the room, silently closing the door behind him.

  Another low cry drifted down the hall and he followed the sound to the nursery.

  He didn’t bother with the light—plenty of moonlight shone in

  through the large window, highlighting the squalling infant who shook

  small fists in the air.

  She caught sight of him and paused.

  He scooped her up just as she opened her mouth for another angry yowl.

  “Um…hey there,” he said, smiling.

  She blinked.

  He went to pat her bottom and then he grimaced. “Well, I guess I see why you’re mad. If you’ll be patient, I think I can figure this out.”

  Almost as if she understood him, the baby lapsed into silence as he looked around the room.

  Okay. That table. He knew what the table was for. And there were diapers stacked up underneath.

  He stripped her out of her little sleeper and put it to the side. It was damp. He’d have to find something else.

  Before he took the diaper off, he took a few seconds to study how it was worn and then he straightened, smiling down at his daughter. Just the thought filled him with a burst of pride so acute, it almost hurt.

  His daughter.

  “I think I can do this,” he told her.

  She grinned at him and then gurgled, a happy little noise that made him chuckle.

  It took a little bit of fumbling before he was satisfied with how he had the diaper on her, but he was pretty sure he’d done it right. Lifting her back up, he settled her against his chest.

  “Sloane…whoa. Dude. Come on, my wife sees you like that, she’s going to get ideas.”

  Boone scowled over his shoulder as Tyler came into the room.

  “What?”

  Tyler waved a hand at him. “Get some clothes on, would you?”

  Boone froze, abruptly realizing that he’d slid out of bed in the exact same condition he’d been in when he’d curled around Sloane a couple of hours ago. They’d made love a second time and then a third before she’d fallen asleep.