Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Boone, Boone, oh God…” she convulses, thighs quaking as she splinters around my cock.
The pulse of her orgasm squeezes around me and has me hissing with need. I’m barely hanging on, every nerve in my body wants to empty my cum into her searing hot pussy.
My erection throbs, my release building in a slow, steady rhythm.
She tears at my flannel shirt.
“Fuck, I dream of tasting you every morning when the sun comes up, planting my seed inside this greedy little pussy every night,” I pant, biting at her neck. “You’re more delicious than anything I’ve imagined.”
Her legs buckle. I catch her before she crumples against me. “Another one down and still you haven’t had nearly enough orgasms yet.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she arches into me, moans growing ragged. I could devour her all night and die happy.
“I want the scent of your pussy all over me so every man knows you’re mine.”
She pulls my hair. I press my thumb into her tight back entrance; she squeals as her hips roll. One hand kneads her breast while the other drags through my hair, and I fuck her back entrance with my thumb.
“Cum for me again,” I command, “I know you like it when I tell you what to do.” Her thighs clamp around my hips, and she crashes around me in another high-voltage release. I savor the feel of her around me, whispering filthy praise until her breaths slow.
I lift her, carry her down the hallway to her bed. Still sticky with her juices.
I cage her in my arms, tugging her hair, and guide my shaft between her dripping lips. “This pussy craves me, doesn’t it?”
“Always.” Her folds swallow my length, and I ache to push deeper. My breath hitches.
I trail a thumb down her throat, kiss her perfect lips. “New rule: you’re all mine.”
She grips my hair, nails digging hot tracks, and I ease inside her inch by inch, doing my best to take my time. Her body welcomes me, soft and yielding.
“You’re always so fucking turned on. Do you know what that does to me?” I rasp, driving in deeper until our bodies collide.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me in as she moans my name. My heart hammers, and I nearly lose it.
“God, Ember,” I groan, planting kisses down her neck, one hand stroking her slickness at the base of my shaft.
“You feel so good,” she breathes. “I want more—deeper, please Boone.”
I pause, overwhelmed by how she melts around me. Then I slam forward, thrusting harder, deeper, burying myself in her. Her hands claw at my back, her body rocking into mine as we find a savage rhythm.
“You feel like heaven,” I pant, sweat slicking our skin. She moans, arches, and I press my thumb into her clit with each thrust.
Our bodies collide, every muscle on fire. She screams my name when I suck her nipple into my mouth, slamming into her over and over.
“Goddamn, gorgeous,” I groan, release building. “You drive me to distraction every moment of every day.”
She crushes her lips to mine in a desperate kiss.
“You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.” I lift her to sit on top of me, angling to pound her g-spot. She shudders and cums, hot nectar flooding around my cock.
“I want all your orgasms. You’re mine, Ember,” I grunt, gripping her hips as waves of cum crash through me. “Promise me.”
Her breaths come in ragged gasps. “You’re… you’re crazy.”
I trail a thumb over her nipple, drawing her to my mouth. “Then welcome to crazy, baby. Now say it.”
“Yours. I’ll always be yours.”
And I feel it, I feel every dream I never thought was mine to dream. I see it all unfolding before my eyes with this woman by my side.
Ember is my love. My life. My everything.
Second Epilogue
Three years later
Ember
The firehouse sounds different when it’s full of children.
Not quieter—never quieter—but warmer. Softer around the edges. Laughter doesn’t ricochet the way it used to; it settles, sinks into the concrete, lingers like it belongs there now. Balloons bob against steel beams. Streamers loop around poles that once held turnout gear. Someone—Ash, probably—has rigged the old station speakers to play a playlist that swings wildly between classic rock and children’s songs, because apparently no one was put in charge of quality control.
Boone stands near the bay doors with our son perched on his hip, one big hand splayed protectively across a small back that’s currently vibrating with excitement.
“Daddy,” Theo announces loudly, pointing at Engine One like it might sprout wings and fly away without him, “horn!”
Boone huffs, amused. “You don’t say.”
Theo squirms, impatient, curls bouncing. “Horn, Daddy. Please.”
I lean against the table where Savannah and Lucy are arguing about whether cupcakes count as cake, watching Boone with the soft ache that still surprises me three years in. He’s broader now, stronger in a way that has nothing to do with muscle. The limp is still there on cold days, but it doesn’t define him. Nothing does anymore.