Last night, he showed me something I hadn’t let myself believe before—that maybe not all men are like the men I’ve known. Maybe there are some decent men out there. Men who mess up sometimes, say the wrong thing, and stumble. But they don’t intend to hurt you. They don’t twist your words or make you feel small. They own their mistakes. And they try to be better.
Ford shifts, releasing a deep sigh, and the arm resting across my waist slips beneath my jumper, resting against my bare skin. I freeze momentarily, but the warmth of his touch causes my stomach to tighten. A soft flutter rises in my chest, and a quiet ache settles deep inside me. His touch is gentle; unlike anything I’ve ever known. And I suddenly realise that I want more.
I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about this. The strength in his arms. The inked stories on his skin. The deep, rugged voice that resonates in my mind. Even with his grumpiness, there's no denying the attraction I feel towards him. I didn’t come here looking for anything, especially after the wreckage of my past. I told myself I was done, that I wouldn’t let another man take up space in my heart again. But here Ford is, unexpectantly gentle, caring, and owning his mistakes. Making me wonder if things with someone else could be different.
And this feeling right now with his body so close to mine … it’s impossible to ignore. I want to explore it, to see what it would feel like to be touched by someone who isn’t tainted by cruelty. To finally know what it feels like to be wanted in a way that doesn’t break me. I want to be closer to him, to press into his warmth, to let myself forget everything else, if only for this moment.
28
Ford
Sleep loosens its grip, and the scent of vanilla and coconut curls around me. There’s a quiet sound, a subtle shift, and then something stirs in my arms. I blink my eyes open, and that’s when I realise that I’m holding Stormy. Her back rests against my front, her body fitting effortlessly against mine. One of my arms tucked under her head, the other draped over her waist, nestled under her jumper with the warmth of her skin practically melting my hand like butter. She shifts again, pressing closer, and I feel the steady rise and fall of her chest. I like it—holding her like this and feeling her close, the quiet comfort of having her here.
Fuck, I like it a lot.
I know I shouldn’t. I know this complicates everything, everything I’ve built inside my head over the past few years. The walls I’ve reinforced, the promise I made to never let anyone in again. I told myself I wouldn’t open that door. That I wouldn’t risk the hurt, wouldn’t cross this line.
But this feeling, this undeniable pull. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this, since I’ve felt at home with someone in my arms. Like standing in the eye ofa storm, while the chaos rages all around, but in this moment, in this space, there is calm.
Her hand slips tentatively under her jumper, covering mine. And I let her. She applies light pressure and begins to push my hand south, and my breath hitches with understanding.
“Stormy?” I breathe, but the only answer I get is her shuffling closer against me.
I shouldn’t react. I shouldn’t encourage this. But, fuck, do I want it.
Every moment I’ve seen her, been around her. I’ve fought the urge, the need, to reach out, to touch, to pull her close and lose myself in her. Keeping my distance was the only way to keep my mind in check, the only way to stop myself from wanting what I knew I shouldn’t have.
But now, here she is. In my arms. And every ounce of restraint is slipping away.
She presses close, and suddenly, all I can know is her and everything she makes me feel. A soft sound escapes her as she discovers the full weight of what she does to me, how hard I am against her.
Her hand guides mine further until my palm rests on her hip and my fingers graze the waistband of her leggings. She sucks in a breath, and I feel her stomach pull in, creating a gap between the fabric and her skin. I toy with the elastic for a moment, the tips of my fingers moving slightly underneath. I want to touch her—need to touch her—but I don’t want topush her, don’t want her to feel pressured into anything. Not after what she told me last night. I need her to know that she’s safe with me.
I was angry and shocked when she told me about this ‘Sam’. I didn’t need the details to understand what kind of man he is. The fact that she has nightmares about him made my stomach turn. Someone like Stormy, someone so full of light and life and softness, should never have been made to feel like that. And knowing that someone had … yeah. I was furious.
But I didn’t tell her any of that. She didn’t need anger right then; she needed something else to fill the space in her mind. So, I listened. Let her talk about her books, about the worlds she loved escaping into.
I watched her expression shift from pale and shaken to lit up animation. Her hands moved wildly as she spoke, her voice filled with warmth. It was honestly kind of incredible seeing that joy take over, seeing her come back to herself in real time.
Eventually, she grew tired, her eyelids drooping mid-sentence, her words slowing until they tapered off entirely. And she fell asleep right there next to me.
I should’ve left, meant to, even. But as she slept, guilt surged through me.
Because I thought back to what she’d said about Sam. I’d made her feel small once, too. Not like him, not like that, but small, still. I’d raised my voice. Said things I didn’t mean. And I saw it in her eyes that day, the way she flinched. I’d added weight to a heart already carrying too much.
That’s what stayed with me.
Not just the regret.
But the shame of knowing I’d been careless with someone who’d already been broken open.
So, I just lay there for a while, listening to her breathing steady, watching her face soften in sleep. Promising myself I’d never make her feel that way again. And I must’ve gotten so caught up in that quiet, in how peaceful she looked, that I drifted off too. I didn’t mean to stay. But I haven't felt so content just being next to someone for such a long time.
Now here we are, caught in this tangle of want and need, and I don’t want to hold back anymore.
“Ford,” she breathes, rocking herself back further against me.
“What do you need sunshine?” I ask, my voice gruff, my lips grazing her ear.
