Page 80 of Boulder's Weight

"I'll handle the front," Astra says quietly. "Take your time."

She pulls Oakleigh away, closing the door to give us privacy.

Boulder doesn't move, his hand still cradling my face, his eyes searching mine.

"What happened?" he asks.

"They're looking for me," I whisper. "Showing my picture around town. They've been watching me, Boulder. Maybe for weeks. For longer than I realized."

His jaw tightens, but his touch remains gentle. "They won't get near you. I promise."

"You can't promise that," I say, shaking my head. "You don't know Benji like I do. He won't stop until he gets what he wants."

"And I won't stop protecting what's mine," Boulder counters, the intensity in his voice making my heart skip. "You're not alone anymore, Kelsey. I don’t know what I need to say to drill that into your stubborn head, but you’re not alone."

Something in the way he says it—like it's a fundamental truth rather than a temporary arrangement—makes my throat tighten.

"I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me," I admit. "Especially not you."

Boulder's expression softens. "That's not your call to make, Montana."

Before I can respond, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss starts gentle, a comfort rather than a demand, but it quickly transforms into something else entirely.

My hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance.

I open to him willingly, a small moan escaping when his tongue slides against mine.

He tastes like coffee and mint, and something uniquely Boulder that I'm becoming dangerously addicted to.

His hands move to my waist, lifting me effortlessly and pressing me against the wall.

My legs wrap around him instinctively, and I feel his hardness press against my lower stomach, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.

"Boulder," I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. "God, yes."

His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as they move upward to cup my breasts through my bra.

I arch into his touch, desperate for more contact, more friction, more everything.

I rock against him, seeking relief for the ache building between my thighs.

He groans against my neck, his hips pushing forward in response, and for a moment, I think we might actually have sex right here in the café storage room.

Then suddenly, Boulder stills, his breathing ragged against my skin.

"Wait," he murmurs, pulling back slightly. "We need to stop."

The abrupt halt leaves me disoriented, my body still humming with need. "What? Why?"

Boulder carefully disentangles himself, setting me back on my feet but keeping his hands on my waist to steady me.

His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but there's conflict in his expression.

"Not here," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Not like this."

I try to ignore the sting of rejection, smoothing down my rumpled up clothes. "Is something wrong?"

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