I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper.
“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?”
She releases my thumb slowly, lips parting with a soft pop. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Then, so softly I almost miss it, she whispers, “Only if you ruin me too.”
For a second, I just stare at her. At those flushed cheeks, those steady eyes, and that beautiful mouth.
I brush her hair back from her face and cradle her jaw like she’s something sacred.
“Anything for you, baby,” I whisper. “I’ll ruin you sweet, I’ll ruin you slow, I’ll ruin you so good you’ll never want to be whole again.”
Her breath hitches, and I lean in, lips grazing hers.
“And I’ll love every second of it.”
And then, without missing a beat, she smirks and turns away, reaching for the shampoo like she hasn’t just shattered me with a whisper.
I watch her lather it into her hair, fingers working through the strands with practised ease. Her movements are calm and fluid.
But then she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. That smile—gentle and open—undoes me all over again.
I step closer, drawn in like gravity, and reach for her. My hands slide into her hair, warm and slick with suds, and she tilts her head back without hesitation.
Trusting me.
I work the shampoo through her golden waves, massaging her scalp with the kind of care I didn’t know I was capable of. Her breath deepens and her body softens under my touch.
This … this quiet, intimate moment … is its own kind of ruin.
47
Stormy
We stay in the shower with steam wrapping around us, and our hands continuously explore one another, tasting, kissing, teasing. I’d wanted him to feel good and to know how deeply I appreciate the way he has shown up for me … how much it means that he’s here.
And the way he felt on my tongue, filling my mouth, taking up all the space, God it felt good. So good.
The date at the lake was perfect, and I told him so. He just hummed, low and warm, his lips wrapped around my nipple as he murmured, “Perfect. Just like you.”
I blush when he says things like that. I’m not used to hearing them without an edge. But God, I love it. I’ve always carried a quiet self-consciousness about my body and the way I look. Sam used to make comments that chipped away at me.
But Ford? Ford can’t seem to stop complimenting me. It’s not just what he says, it’s how he says it. I know he means every word. He says them like I’m the only woman in the world. And with him, I want to be. And hisvulnerability tonight, the way he opened up and let me share that part of him—I want more of him like that. I want to really know him. Because he’s so much more than he believes he is.
Stepping out of the shower, my skin feels flushed and clean, and my body hums with warmth and satisfaction.
Ford wraps a towel around me gently, pressing a soft kiss to my temple before disappearing downstairs. I watch him go with his towel slung low on his hips and his back muscles shifting with each stride. Droplets of water still cling to his tanned skin like they’re reluctant to leave.
I let out a sigh.
How is this man … this godlike man, this grumpy rancher who’s somehow gone soft for me … now everything I want?
I ease into my bedroom and sit at my dressing table, towel still wrapped around me, hair damp and clinging to my shoulders.
I comb through my tangled hair and plug in the hairdryer, glancing at my reflection. My cheeks are pink, lips swollen, eyes soft in a way I barely recognise.
I look … happy. I feel like I’ve finally been chosen—and by someone who is actually worth trusting.
I start drying my hair, slowly and methodically, letting the hum of the dryer fill the quiet.
