Free A Perfect Mistake by Zoe Dawson Page B

mouth over mine.
    I saw it
coming—coming like freight train, heavy, fast and unstoppable.
If I’d had an ounce of sense, I would have shut him down, but
no, I let the wreck happen, the whole thing in swift, heated rush—his
mouth hot and wet, his desire for me overwhelming any common sense I
might have possessed. He wanted me, and I wanted him—again.
    I swore in my head,
but still let his arms close around me, allowed his hands to slide
all over me and have his Boone way with me. He had good strong hands
and kind of fast. He was molding me to him, pulling me further
underneath him.
    I opened my mouth to
his, pushed my fingers up into his hair, and kissed him for all I was
worth. Because he wouldn’t remember—again. He was heaven
to kiss. Absolute heaven. Nothing in my imagination had ever come
close to the bone-deep thrill of actually having his mouth on me, his
tongue driving me to distraction and beyond. He was so intensely
male, more than my fantasies had ever conjured, the taste of him, the
feel of his skin along his jaw, the roughness of it, that uneven
beginnings of a beard.
    I trailed my hand
down his throat to his chest, his hard muscles. I moaned, an
inadvertent sound, touching him, and wishing I dared to touch him
even more. I’d seen him naked like this before and he’d
been totally out of it. Just like now.
    There were times
when I had watched him when he wasn’t aware of it, like at the
party that night. I had looked and lusted, and wanted him so badly it
was painful.
    He was just
heartbreakingly beautiful. There were no other words for him. I never
got Boone mixed up with Braxton or Booker. Never. Even when all three
of them were together, taking over the halls of the school with their
swagger and their bad boy vibe. I knew Boone. There was something
inherently him that set him apart from his look-alike brothers.
    He wasn’t
cocky like Braxton or confident like Booker. He was all rugged angles
and planes, with a lost quality that spoke to me without words. I
recognized it every time I saw him.
    But back then Boone
scared me a little, too. I knew he was my downfall. He was what
temptation looked like and breathed like, in a hard-muscled,
shaggy-haired, blue-eyed devil kind of a way.
    When girls looked at
him they couldn’t help wanting to get physical with
him, and I was no exception. You just wanted to crawl all over him
and take him down, and then just take him. He had a raw presence, all
of it sculpted into layers of muscle and sinew—the power of
long legs, corded arms, broad shoulders, and a back designed by God
and perfected by pumping iron. All of them, all of the Outlaws, had
acted so tough in school, cementing the reputation their ancestor had
earned for the family.
    I understood that. I
knew all about bullies and how they acted. The Outlaws didn’t
bully, they just intimidated to keep their own bullies at bay. Three
identical brothers who had each other’s backs, and it was
freaking impressive and drove you crazy hot.
    Yes, I was born and
raised to resist temptation, but Boone Outlaw was my fall from grace.
And I had fallen so hard. I never thought I would ever be this close
to him again. And I tried so desperately to fuse the warring sides of
me. The side with expectations and illusions about who I was, and the
real me that had human appetites and needs. The bold, unapologetic
part of me that wanted to join with Boone again. Even though he was
out of his head, the man knew how to kiss.
    He melted my bones.
    He broke the kiss
and wobbled on his forearms and I saw my opening. I pushed at him and
he toppled.
    I scrambled off the
bed just as he swiped out his arm to capture me.
    “Verity,”
he said, lying there looking at me with those hot blue eyes, that
clever, tempting mouth. He reached out his arm, his hand stretching
out towards me.
    “No, Boone,”
I said and turned away before I lost my resolve and curled against
him. I went to his fridge and loaded up on water. In the bathroom,