“Eyes on me. I want you to know who’s fucking you. Whose name you’re gonna scream when you come.”
And then he becomes relentless, and I’m helpless to do anything but hang on tight and enjoy the ride. His gaze never leaves mine, almost daring me not to come. I hold back for as long as I can, but it’s a losing battle.
“Boone!” His name leaves my lips on a hoarse scream as a blinding orgasm rips through my body. I break our stare as my head rocks from side to side, unable to keep still as the pleasure owns every inch of me.
Boone doesn’t slow his pace. Sensation overwhelms me as he powers inside me over and over, seeking his own release. When his roar echoes through the room, his cock pulses and I’m filled with heat.
For long moments, the only sound in the room is our heaving breaths. As my brain flips on again, the first thought that rushes through my mind hits harder than a heavyweight.
Oh. Shit.
We didn’t use a condom.
41
Boone
Before this morning, I’ve never come so hard in my life. It was a near religious experience. Sweat drips from my forehead, and my fingers are still wrapped around Ripley’s hips.
I let go immediately when I realize how tight a hold I have on her.
“Crap, did I hurt you?”
A rusty laugh falls from her lips. “Are you joking?”
I shake my head as I inspect the red marks I’ve left on her skin. “I didn’t realize—”
She pushes up on her elbows. “It’s fine. But we have a bigger problem.”
My gaze cuts to hers. “What?”
She glances down to where I’m still buried balls deep. “No condom.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even think.”
“I didn’t either. Hell. I’m sorry, sugar. That’s all on me.”
Her eyebrows dive into a deep vee. “You don’t ... have anything. Do you?”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s asking. “No. Fuck no. I’m clean. I always use a condom.”
I can tell she wants to ask a question by the way her mouth keeps opening and closing, and given her hesitation, I can guess what it is.
“Even with my ex. She didn’t want to take a chance that she’d get pregnant, so we’re good. I haven’t been with anyone else in two years.”
Now her eyebrows wing up in surprise.
“Really?” Her question comes out on a tone of disbelief.
“Yeah. I don’t screw around. That’s not my style.”
“But—I mean, I thought ...”
This time I raise an eyebrow. “What? That just because I get more pussy thrown my way than a major-league catcher gets balls, I must’ve cheated on my girlfriend?”
Ripley bites down on her lip but doesn’t answer. Her lack of response is enough, though.