He helps me ease the dress up and over my head, and when it falls away, his gaze sears into me. His hands follow with purpose, caressing every inch. A single finger traces my collarbone, then glides over the peak of my breast, circling my nipple before trailing down the curve of my stomach. He moves lower, over the soft curls between my thighs, until his fingers find me, wet, aching, and ready.
He slides two fingers inside, curling them just right, and my back arches in response, a cry escaping my lips.
“Ford …” I pant. My hands grip the bed sheets, and pleasure crests like a wave I can’t hold back.
“You’re so damn perfect like this,” he murmurs, his thumb gliding over my clit in slow, deliberate circles. “I love how you fall apart for me.”
Then he pulls his hand away like it costs him as he sits back on his heels.
I look at him, flushed and breathless, aching for more.
He meets my gaze, eyes dark and steady.
“You got protection?” he asks.
I nod toward the bedside table.
And he leans over me to reach the drawer.
I hadn’t planned to meet anyone, so protection wasn’t on my list of things I needed at home.
But earlier, Missy had handed me the condoms with a raised brow and a smirk, like she knew something I didn’t.
“Just in case,” she’d said casually, but pointedly. I’d rolled my eyes, tucked them away and told her she was ridiculous.
Now I’m grateful.
It’s weird, his sister giving me them. But also … so perfectly Missy.
I blink, pulling myself back into the moment, and Ford kneels between my legs, the foil wrapper glinting in his hand.
He glances at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
“I’ve got some next door,” he says quietly, “but I’d rather not leave you.”
He tears the wrapper open with his teeth, eyes never leaving mine.
Then he lowers his gaze, guiding the condom onto himself with slow, practised care.
But as he shifts closer, I feel it, just a flicker. A tightness in my chest. It hits fast, like a suction stealing the breath from my lungs. Memories I didn’t invite. Hands that didn’t ask. Words that made me small. The way I used to brace myself, pretending it didn’t hurt.
I blink, trying to stay here. In this moment. Because this is different. Ford is different. I want this. I want him. But my body doesn’t know the difference right away.
Ford pauses, and his eyes search mine.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to spook whatever’s rising in me.
I nod, then shake my head. A shrug, really.
“It’s just … been a while,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “And the last person I was with ….”
His expression doesn’t change much, but something in him goes still. I don’t have to say it; he knows. Then he reaches out, slowly and gently, and strokes his thumb over my knee.
“You’re safe with me, Stormy,” he says quietly. “We can stop at any time. Okay?”
I nod again, this time with more certainty. Because I believe him, and something about him is easy to trust.
“I trust you,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the thrum in my chest.
