Page 7 of Buttercup and the Beard

Whether it was from the exhaustion of being stranded or the comfort of knowing that I wasn’t going to freeze to death, I fairly passed out last night as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Which for me is unusual.

I’m a bedtime routine girly. If I don’t do everything—exactly right—it takes me half the night to fall into a fitful sleep.

But one second in Boone’s bed? I was a goner. The spicy masculine scent of whatever cologne he uses lulled me right into a stupor.

To be honest, I’m surprised that I’m not waking up to him sleeping on the floor by the fire in the living room, because he looked less than excited about the prospect of spending the night in bed with me.

But here I am, with my thighs wrapped around the most deliciously calloused hand, his rough fingers pressed to the softest parts of me, and I have to bite back a needy whimper when he breathes a little bit harder in his sleep.

Sweet Jesus. I’m going to come. I’m going to come all over his fingers while he’s still asleep. Heat ignites in my belly at the thought.

Maybe if I’m really quiet he won’t notice me orgasm?

I work at keeping my own breathing steady and try to think of unsexy things. Like filing my taxes. Or the smell of a wet dog on a hot summer day. There’s no sense in having him wake up with his hand between my legs and both of us being embarrassed and awkward with each other.

Especially since I can see that there was more snow during the night, and I suspect the chances of me getting back to town today are slim to none.

No. I’ll just lie here until he shifts positions again, and eventually his hand will move from my overheated pussy, right?

As the thought crosses my mind, he shifts, his hand sliding farther between my legs, the tips of his fingers playing against the folds that are concealed only by the tail of the shirt he lent me and the thin lace panties I slipped on before leaving the house yesterday. My eyes nearly roll back in my skull at the friction.

I should have kept his sweats on. I really should have. But pants and sleeping don’t get along with me. I run hot in my sleep, and there’s nothing worse than waking up covered in your own sweat to start the day off wrong. Normally I sleep nude, but I couldn’t exactly strip down to my birthday suit with the possibility of him sharing a bed, now could I?

But now I have Boone’s arm under my pillow. The other arm is slung over my middle as he plays big spoon to my little, and I fight for my life not to shift my hips against the fingers promising a very good time—at least for one of us.

A grumbling rumble comes from my back and I hold my breath, praying he isn’t waking up. I could always pretend to be asleep and have him deal with the impromptu naughty cuddle session on his own, but somehow that feels like a cop-out.

He gravitated to me during his sleep. Not the other way around. As a matter of fact, he’s damn near pushing me off the bed, which to be fair he did warn me of.

Boone’s breathing evens out again, and I’m damn sure he’s fallen back asleep before I feel him stiffen behind me.

“What the…” he whispers, and I have to bite back a snorting laugh, because yes, what the eff is the absolute best response I could come up with as well.

I shift, just enough for him to know that I’m “waking up” as well, and when his hand slowly eases from between my legs, I have to bite back a whimper and the urge to yank his hand right back to where it was.

It’s been a long time for me. Too long if I think about it too much, which I try not to do. But dating in a smaller town is hard, especially when everyone knows you and knows your business and has zero qualms about sharing that business with all and sundry.

My dating tends to take place farther afield, like Rexburg or Jackson Hole.

Even this little excursion of Boone playing the white knight is going to make the rounds once people get wind of it.

And I may not know much about Boone, but I do know that he tends to keep to himself when he can.

To speed Boone’s stealthy escape from my lady garden, I stretch my neck, rolling it across my shoulders and then shifting my hips to give his hand a little more space between my thighs.

Once his hand is free of my legs, and I feel him scoot back farther, I stretch more, hoping to avoid rubbing my ass along his dick before turning over to my back.

Keeping my eyes half-closed, I murmur, “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Lord knows I didn’t. I’m still hot and bothered from waking up horny as hell, and I renew my determination to get laid in the near future.

“You were awake before I moved my hand, weren’t you?” His scratchy voice is sleep-laced, and I wince. I guess I sounded more awake than I was pretending to be.

“Yes. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. What happens in your bed stays in your bed.” I slam my mouth shut before my rambling comes out sounding even dirtier.

A grunt is the only response that I get before the mattress shifts next to me and he disappears into the hallway, probably going to the bathroom.

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