Page 97 of Bone’s Choice

My shirt disappeared somewhere in the hallway. I wasn’t sure who took it off. Maybe me. Maybe Bone.

My shoes went next.

We finally stumbled through my bedroom doorway.

No lights, only moonlight coming through the window.

Bone’s hands closed around my waist.

“What are you—” He lifted me, and I let out a squeal. “Bone!”

He tossed me onto the mattress and I bounced once, then twice. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”

He stood at the foot of my bed. “Problem?”

“No.” Definitely no problem.

Bone bent and pulled off one boot. Then the other.

I stopped laughing.

His hands went to his belt.

I shoved myself up and quickly worked my jeans and underwear down my legs, kicking them toward the floor. Then I wiggled out of my bra. There was no need for any clothes. By the time I settled back on my elbows, Bone had his belt undone.

His chest and arms were covered in tattoos, the ink wrapping over thick muscle and disappearing around his shoulders. His beard made the hard lines of his face look even rougher in the low light.

Then his jeans and underwear dropped. My mouth went dry.

Bone stepped out of them.

He looked exactly like what he was. A man who worked with his hands. Rode motorcycles, built coffins, ran a motorcycle club, and clearly knew exactly what he was doing to me because his eyes tracked over my face and that damn smirk appeared.

“What?” he asked.

I slowly shook my head. “Nothing.”

Bone dropped onto the bed with a heavy exhale that rattled the lamp on my nightstand. He propped himself up on an elbow, running a hand along the edge of my jaw, his thumb tracing the place where my skin had flushed so red I felt like I might combust. I stared at the veins in his forearm, thick ropes running under ink.

He was silent, eyes glinting in dim light, and I waited, not sure if he expected me to move first. I didn’t need to wait long.

Bone wrapped his hand around my throat. Not tight, but enough that my breath caught. Then his mouth was on mine again, his beard scraping my skin as I grabbed onto him.

He rolled, pulling me with him so I landed straddling his hips. The comforter bunched under my knees. He was already hard, pressing up hot against me where my thighs bracketed him. I slid my fingers through the scruff on his face. He caught my wrists, pushed them up above my head, and just held me there.

A shiver ran through me when he held my wrists over my head, and Bone watched me under his heavy lids. He didn’t say anything, just studied me.

He rolled his hips beneath me and I sucked in a breath, as my thighs tightened around him. Bone’s mouth curled at the edges, and he let go of one of my wrists to drag his callused palm down between my breasts, lingering at my ribs.

His lips moved over my throat before his tongue traced my collarbone and I ground down against him. I needed him now.

He flipped me, manhandling me so I was face down on the bed. I gasped at the sudden stretch of empty space under me, but Bone’s hand was already flattening into the small of my back, and his other hand urging me up onto my knees.

I pressed my face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of clean cotton. Bone’s hand stayed firm against my back, not pushing, just there. “Okay?” he asked, and I loved that he asked, loved that his voice had gone rough but not cruel.

“Yeah,” I whispered, and I was surprised by how true it felt. “I’m okay.”

His hand moved slowly down my spine before settling on my hip. I felt the shift of the mattress as he moved behind me, felt the heat of him radiating close, closer. My heart hammered against my ribs, but it wasn’t fear.