Margot
I feel his muscles of steel through my thick shirt. My fingers just want to trace the outlines of those pecs, and my mouth wants to feel how soft those lips are.
Instead, I take his hand and give it a little squeeze.
“Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.” I whisper.
Boone coughs.
It’s a stalling tactic if ever I’ve seen one.
But I’m not going to put pressure on him. The last thing a man like Boone needs is pressure from me.
If I start asking and prodding and probing, he’ll think I’m nagging and shut down even more, I’m sure of it. A man like Boone needs to stay in control. It needs to be his decision to tell me what happened.
So, I resist the urge to say anything else, and instead, I just sit beside him, holding his hand and sipping on my hot chocolate. It’s hard, though.
To take my mind of what’s going on, I try to focus on something else. I stare into my mug.
It’s a pretty good brew, I have to say. Nothing beats a real hot chocolate. It’s rich, it’s smooth, and it’s oh-so-delicious.
Briefly, I close my eyes. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. It’s hard to get my head around it all.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, it was only Amelia and I. Sure, I’ve known she’s Boone’s daughter, but heck, he didn’t, and I never thought I’d see him again.
And here I am now, sitting right next to him.
My insides are on fire, and my nerve endings are tingling in anticipation.
“It was late one night,” Boone begins.
His voice brings me back to the here and now.
I look up at him. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes. There’s a certain kind of sadness in them.
An internal wrestle match ensues. Should I say something or just wait for him to keep going?
“It’s so long ago now,” he goes on. “Like you said. Barely matters, really.”
There he goes again. Stalling.
I decide to stay silent for as long as possible in response. Maybe just being here, sitting beside him is going to be enough.
“I don’t know, Margot,” he says, shaking his head.
He’s hurting. I can tell he’s hurting real bad. Bottling stuff up isn’t healthy. I’ve bottled stuff up, and it hasn’t helped me at all.
In fact, it usually has the opposite effect. Once he tells me about this nightmare, he’ll feel better. He’ll see.
“It started like any other day. The worst ones always do. I mean, if we knew things weren’t going to go well beforehand, we’d avoid them completely, wouldn’t we?”
The way he stops and starts nearly breaks my heart. I want to lean into him, kiss him, caress him, and take the pain away. If only it was that easy.
I sigh.
“I guess that’s life,” I say softly, giving his hand another squeeze.
It’s as if he’s not heard me.
“The siren went off, and we were called in. A fire. None of us knew then…”
The last few words are barely audible.
His lips are, by now, drawn into a thin line. The sorrow I saw earlier in his eyes is replaced by something else.
I try and make sense of the change. Is it anger, sadness, or something else? Of course, it could also be a combination of emotions. I know we’re complex beings and often don’t understand our own feelings or reactions to stuff.
“Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”
Even though I know the answer, I still have to ask the question.
Boone doesn’t answer. Either he didn’t hear me, or he’s trying to ignore me, or a bit of both.
Action is what is needed now. I need to draw him out and get him to talk. Once he starts talking and letting it all out, he’ll be so much better.
Without thinking, I let go of his hand.
He barely seems to notice.
“It took less than five minutes to get into our gear, get the fire truck ready, and head out. A record, even for us. But it wasn’t enough.”
Boone stops again. I watch him put his mug down.
“End of story,” he mumbles.
I scowl.
Liar.
Even though I’m not going to say that to him, I know.
But I’ve got a plan. A different plan.
Before Boone can stop me, I stand up. I move to face him, and then I move on top of him.
I’ve got my legs on either side of his athletic god-like body. The thin material of my panties brushes against the rough denim of his jeans.
It’s comfortable.
It’s exhilarating.
The wetness between my legs doesn’t escape me. I’ve gone from the frying pan into the fire. This could lead anywhere.
But right now, I just want to lead him home.
Away from the nightmares. Away from the pains of his past.
Back into my arms.
All I want to do is wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead on his. I need to look right into those deep dark eyes of his.
To my surprise, he doesn’t stop me. A strange sound escapes his lips. Could be a groan, a moan, or a pleasurable murmur.
When his bear-like hands wrap around my hips, I half-expect him to lift me off him and put me back in my place—namely, next to him.
I look him right in the eyes and lean my forehead against his. Our noses are only inches apart. My breathing is short and shallow.
Holy shit.
It feels as if I’ve come home. I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing.
My fingers interlace behind his head, on his neck.
With my hands on his bare skin, I feel the tension ooze out of him. And then he sighs.
At the same time, his fingers increase their pressure where they’re resting. His index finger draws tiny circles on the edge of my abdomen.
My hips start move back and forth on him, my butt grinding against his thighs.
I open my eyes again. It looks as if he’s holding his breath. My lips curl into a smile, and I lean toward him, slowly.
When our mouths meet, fireworks erupt, and my hormone production goes into overdrive, sending my sexual appetite sky high.
It’s been a long time—too long.
With our lips melting into one another and his tongue coming to find mine, I know I’ve come home.
Multiple images race through my mind.
In some of them, I’m naked, and so is Boone. We’re together on a bed. It’s difficult to work out where he starts and I end.
It was a mistake to leave him.
I can’t fix it now, but at least I know.
I fucked up.
I fucked up big time.
And now that I have him here with me again…
I don’t know if he pulls away first, or if it’s me.
What I know is when his lips leave mine I’m left with an ache. I want more. I want all of him, and I want it now.
Fuck the consequences. Let’s just do it.
“Boone,” my voice sounds all strange and husky to my ears. Must be all that sexual desire pumping through me.
It’s been a long time—too long.
“I don’t think we should…” he starts, and I put my index finger across his lips.
“Boone,” I whisper. “Let me make this better. Please.”
Actions speak louder than words, right? And right now, I need more action and less words.
“I need you,” I whisper in that same husky voice of before. “Boone…”
Now he’s smiling at me and using the fingers of his right hand to trace along an invisible line on my lips before following my jawline and then caressing my neck. The gestures is full of sensitivity and passion.
“Not tonight, babe.” He’s also whispering. “You’ve had a big day.”
I swallow.
Rejection is hard to take at the best of times, and it’s worse when you’re desperate.
I’m desperate for his touch, his cock, and his body.
Tears threaten to spill. I bite my lower lip, feeling like a toddler whose favorite candy has just been taken from her.
“It’s not that I don’t want you.” Both his hands now cup my face. “I want you more than you can imagine. But you’re not thinking straight.”
The lump in my throat refuses to go away.
Of course, deep down, I know he’s right. It’s not the right time.
“Well…” I whisper and swallow. “Good night then, I guess.”
His hand brushes the side of my face. “Good night, Margot.”
And then his lips are on mine again. This time, there’s more force behind them. I return his kiss and feel like a drowning swimmer clutching onto a life raft.
When we finally pull apart, the world is out of focus. I stumble back to the bedroom, blinking a few times to try and refocus.
Without looking back, I open and shut the door, leaning against it with my back, before collapsing silently onto the floor.