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The moment he sees my expression, his entire face softens. Then he reaches for me. I love when he reaches for me.

I don’t think Boone understands what something that simple does to me. Months ago, he recoiled whenever my hand came near him. Now his palm finds my cheek without hesitation, and his thumb brushes slowly across my skin, the touch having become something natural between us.

He makes a determined effort to sit farther upright so he can reach my mouth, but I refuse to move my hand from between his legs. The attempt earns another breathless laugh from him before he catches the back of my neck and finally pulls me close enough to kiss.

His lips brush mine once before wandering along my jaw.

“I love when you smile,” he whispers against my throat.

My hand stills.

Boone seems to notice immediately because he draws back enough to look at me. I don’t know what to do with the admission. No one has ever told me they love anything about me.

Yet Boone looks at me, seemingly unaware that he’s just handed me something precious.

“So … about your mouth,” he presses wickedly, the corners of his mouth lifting as he looks at me. “Or perhaps … let me do it to you.”

He isn’t shy about the suggestion at all. There’s an eagerness in the way he watches me and waits for my answer, and the realization that he genuinely wants to please me makes something uncomfortable shift inside my chest. Instead of examining it too closely, I place my hand on his shoulder and guide him onto his back.

“No,” I say.

Confusion briefly crosses his face, but it disappears the moment I crawl between his legs and close my mouth over his length. His hips buck at the sudden sensation, and his hands clutch at the bedding before one of them finds its way into my hair.

“I love this,” he moans. His chest rises and falls sharply while his fingers tighten against my scalp. I continue until I can feel the tension gathering throughout his body. I bring him dangerously close to the edge before pulling away.

His mouth falls open in discomfort. His head lifts from the pillow. “Don’t stop!” he begs.

This time, I laugh as I crawl over him and weave my fingers between his, pressing his hands down into the mattress. His expression is almost offended when I lower my head, but I give him no opportunity to complain before covering his mouth with mine.

When I finally break the kiss, he’s breathless.

“That’s not nice,” he moans as he lifts his hips, sliding his cock along my stomach, searching shamelessly for the friction and release I deliberately denied him.

“Not nice?” I murmur as I nudge his head to the side and drag my tongue through the hollow of his throat. “I could tie you to the bed and keep you on the edge of release for hours.”

He gasps when I nip the side of his neck, and his fingers flex under mine. “That wouldn’t be nice either,” he groans.

I release one of his wrists long enough to reach for the oil, then slick my finger before carefully inserting it inside him. His body tenses briefly before relaxing around the intrusion.

“That’s nice,” he manages.

“Is it?”

I add a second finger, and his back lifts slightly from the mattress.

“Yes!” he cries. “Please let me come. I’m so close.”

I add a third.

“No.”

I work my fingers in and out of him while his breathing grows heavier, taking my time as I loosen him and open him until the remaining tension finally drains from his body. When I feel him completely relax, I withdraw my fingers, coat my cock with oil, and slowly inch my way inside him.

We both moan at the sensation.

Then I cover his mouth with mine and fuck him.

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