Page 138 of The Boyfriend Goal

I feel wild as I tug hard on the next button, then the next, till one pops, then lands on the floor in a plink.

The sound sends a rush of heat between my thighs. I rip his shirt open the rest of the way, spreading my hands across his chest.

He shudders, closing his eyes for a few seconds, savoring my touch.

This thrills me—his reaction. The way he melts, too, when I touch him. How I light him up the way he does me.

I’ve never experienced a connection like this before. He wants what I have to give, and that’s so rare and so wondrous.

And he wants it desperately. He jerks at the zipper of my jeans, then I grab at his. Soon my pants and underwear are on the floor, and he’s carrying me to the couch. He sits, then unzips his jeans the rest of the way, freeing his cock.

My mouth waters. “I’ve missed you too,” I say.

“Show me. Get on my dick and show me how much,” he says, gripping the base of his cock and offering it to me.

“So bossy,” I say as I straddle him and sink down. A tremble races through my whole body as I take him deep. “Oh god,” I gasp.

“Fuck,“ he groans, letting his head fall back on the couch.

It’s too much and never enough. It’s hot and passionate. We’re fast and frenzied. He thrusts up into me, and I grind down on him, and I can’t get enough of this man.

This man who’s shown up for me over and over again.

Who’s come to my rescue so many times, then who let me help myself when I needed that most only so he could find me again tonight.

He’s found me, and I don’t ever want to lose him again.

His hands curl tight around my hips as he lifts his face and smashes his lips to mine. It’s a sloppy kiss, full of so much passion as his fingers trace my jaw, and his tongue tangles with mine.

And we come back together.

It’s needy and frantic, and when I come, he’s right there after me, arms wrapped tight around me, lips whispering across mine, back where we belong.

A little later, after we straighten up and change, we’re on the couch again. This time, though, we have a different mission. The list is spread out on the coffee table, like it was the night Wes discovered it.

“Your turn to check this off,” I say, handing him a pen.

But he doesn’t look away or turn toward the paper. His soulful brown eyes hold mine with reverence. “I really wanted to finish it with you.”

Warmth floods my body. “We’re almost done.”

He takes the pen and slashes off number eight. Then he stares at the list, humming. Seems deep in thought.

“What is it?” I ask, eager to know what’s on his mind.

“Do you think you’ve been doing number nine all along? Celebrating your goodbyes?”

My heart seizes, a tight fist. But then I breathe through it. The grief doesn’t last long anymore. Just a pang here or there. A dull ache now and then. Mostly, I feel the love. I felt it tonight before Wes showed up, then it carried on with him, changing shape, changing size into a new kind of feeling.

I look down at the list. “Maybe we have. Maybe that’s what this list was all about after all.”

I take the pen from him and draw a line through number nine.

Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.

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