Dream Chaser (Dream Team #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,56

their asses.”

I smiled up at him.

He smiled back.

Then I noted, “I think we did great with this going-slow thing. What is it? We waited a whole day and a half before going at it? We rock.”

He chuckled at that, it was ridiculously awesome to see it at the same time feel it, but it faded, and he let my wrists go so he could catch my face in both his hands.

“Don’t let me fuck this up,” he whispered, for some reason, his eyes directed to my mouth.

“Don’t let me fuck it up,” I whispered back.

His gaze rose to mine.

“Deal.”

Chapter Ten

Threat Neutralized

Ryn

I woke with a jerk, my breath catching.

I was on my back, on my couch, my laptop on my stomach.

I’d fallen asleep while researching alcoholism, post-traumatic stress disorder and the best tile grouting strategies.

Earlier, Boone had had to go to work.

But he didn’t go before we’d made plans.

Lots of plans.

These included the fact that Boone and I had things set for that day, ending with him spending the night at my place.

Where I hoped we had more sex.

The next day, with any luck after some decent sleep (and more sex), I was finally going to dig into the disaster at the house I wanted to flip while Boone was at work. And since I had that night off from Smithie’s, I was going to finish at the house, come home, shower, Boone was going to take me out to dinner, and after, we were going to spend the night at his place.

I was looking forward to seeing where he lived.

I was also looking forward to having sex there.

This was the zone we were going to occupy until the weekend when Boone was going to come over to the house and help me out, saying he’d ask his buds Mo, Mag, Axl and Auggie if they were in.

Boone tacked on to this, “We’ll decide whose pad we’ll crash at after, but it’d be cool if we could carve out some time to take in a movie.”

It wasn’t even up for discussion that we would crash at separate pads.

We’d be at mine.

Or we’d be at his.

All of this led me to believe we were turning out to be one of those new couples who couldn’t get enough of each other. Planned every second together. Left each other’s company reluctantly, making plans for when we’d see each other again, and connecting as soon as possible the minute we were out of each other’s space.

Case in point: the fifteen-minute makeout session we had at my door before he left and the fact I texted him probably before he drove to the end of my block.

And he’d texted me back when he was sitting at a stoplight.

By the by, after that, many further texts ensued.

I’d wanted to nab some sleep, but I couldn’t. Not while waiting for a text from the man who stayed at my house because I felt safer with him there, liked to splodge his onion ring in as much ketchup as he could get, was in to help me tear out carpet drenched in cat urine and managed the impossible feat of making love to me (rather than fucking me) on my bathroom sink.

Our first time.

Romantic and profound.

And on a bathroom sink.

There was something awesome about that, something that played to the people we were and the couple I was hoping we’d become.

Just going at it, at each other, the moment we felt it.

Furthermore, it was not often a Dom lost control.

But the sub I was, the woman I was, I liked that.

I liked that, from what we’d been sharing with each other, it meant so much to him, he wanted me so bad, he couldn’t hold it back.

So he took what he wanted.

Oh yeah.

I liked that.

And it was only on that thought that I fell into a doze.

What I didn’t like right then, was lying on my couch with my laptop on my stomach, the screen gone to sleep, and feeling something was wrong.

I couldn’t put my finger on it until…

I jerked up to sitting and just caught the laptop before it fell to the floor.

Shit.

It sounded like…

Carefully, I twisted, put my laptop on the coffee table and a foot to the floor. Using my foot to brace my weight, I leaned even deeper, keeping my body behind the wall between the living room and dining room, and peeking around the double-wide opening toward the back of my apartment.

There was a back door to my kitchen. I never used it.