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Boone remained standing. He pulled his shirt over his head.

I never became sensible about him.

Six-five. Built from lifting feed, setting posts, pulling calves, carrying everything until he learned he did not have to. Dark hair. Broad chest. Scars I knew with my mouth. Hands large enough to span my waist.

He undid his belt.

My thighs opened.

His gaze dropped. "Look at you," he said.

I trembled.

Not fear.

Nothing close.

He pushed his jeans down. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already hard. The first time I had seen him, I had honestly thought my body might not manage him.

Now I knew exactly how it did. Slowly. With care. With me begging by the end.

Boone climbed onto the bed and settled between my knees. His shoulders pushed my thighs wide. He looked at my pussy without shame or hurry. "Wet already."

"Yes."

"From a bath?"

I narrowed my eyes.

His mouth touched my inner thigh. "Answer."

"No, Daddy."

"From what?"

"You."

Another kiss. Closer.

"What about me?"

"Your hands. Your voice. The way you take care of me."

He licked once over my folds.

My hips jerked.

Boone put one forearm across them, pinning me gently to the bed. "And?"

"Your size."

His tongue circled my clitoris.

I grabbed the sheet.

"And?"

"You make me feel little."