Page 52 of One Merciful Moment

Ashley looked at him for a long moment, searching his face as if she were trying to read his thoughts. He wasn't hiding anything. He was terrified of losing her. He didn't want the veil to take her. He didn't want the storm to rip her away.

He cupped her face and pulled her mouth to his.

All he could do was show her how much he wanted her in his life. In Everstill.

Chapter 30

Ashley

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Boone backed her toward the bedroom. She put her hands on his chest and pulled at his shirt. His body went hard under her touch.

"Ash."

"No talking." She slid her hands under the material over the hard slab of muscle. "I need you. Now."

As she inhaled, she could still smell this morning's soap on him. She ran her hands over his chest.

He took her face, thumbs pressing under her jaw, and held her there. Then his mouth came down on hers. There was nothing about the kiss.

She moved closer, pulling her hands out from under his shirt to grab his head. Her fingers wove through his hair until she got a good grip and held on.

The sound he made went straight between her legs and sat there throbbing.

She slid her hands down to his neck, searching for the neck of his shirt. He pulled back, hauling the material over his head. She grabbed his forearms to steady herself as he slid his hands under her shirt. She lifted her arms. The cool air came over her skin, and her nipples pulled up hard and aching.

His mouth was on her breasts before she could get a breath.

Wet, hot, tongue flat, then teeth. She arched back, giving him more room, then dove her arm between them and found his buckle. After a few fumbles, she got it open and dragged the leather out of the loops. Once that was out of the way, she shoved the denim down his thighs while he stepped out of his jeans.

She closed her hand around his cock. He grunted, thrusting into her hand while he shoved her jeans over her hips and let them drop to her ankles.

Hard, thick, hot, his cock was already slick at the tip. She spread the drop over the head, then moved from root to head, once, twice, slow, watching his jaw lock and the tendon stand up in his neck. His hips came forward into her grip.

"Fuck," he said low and wrecked. "Ash."

"Not yet." She let go and he moaned.

She put both hands on his chest and pushed him back against the wall. Then, she went down.

The floorboards were hard and cold under her knees. She took him in her mouth and the salty taste of him hit the back of her throat.

She worked him with her hand at the base, tongue flat along the underside, cheeks hollowed, taking him as deep as she could and then deeper. Above her his hand came down on the back of her head, not pulling, just guiding her.

His thighs jumped under her other palm. A groan came out of him. She did it again, slower, wetter, until his hand fisted in her hair and his hips stuttered, and he pulled her up off him by the shoulders.

"My turn." He lifted her by the waist.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. He carried her to the bedroom.

He put her on the mattress before she could get her bearings. She refused to let go. Time seemed fragile.

He came down between her thighs, spreading them wider.

She was soaked. Wet enough that it was on her thighs, and the cold air moved over her pussy and made everything more apparent.

Boone dipped his head and took one long look down the length of her, from her mouth to the wetness between her legs. He crawled down her body and lowered his head.