My heart thumps harder. We’re talking about sex, but we’re also talking about us.
“Let me keep doing it,” I plead. “Want to taste you coming down my throat.”
It’s not the first time I’ve blown him. But it’s the first time I’ve felt this…desperate to touch him like this. To give just to him. I lean into the mood, the athlete on a victory lap after a win. The athlete enjoying his spoils. “You know you were thinking about it at the game,” I tease. “And you deserve it for that assist.”
But Ford’s expression is stony. He holds my face, cups my cheeks, and shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
I freeze, my mind racing with worry.
He reassures me quickly with a deep, rumbly answer. “I was thinking about how fucking badly I want you to sit on my face.”
My neck flushes. “I really better finish you fast then,” I say, then point to the bed, since, well, a very curious dog is staring too closely at us from the floor, with all these naked parts on display.
In no time we’re on the bed, and I’m between his legs, sucking him deep again, with loud slurps.
Ford’s noisy too. Grunting, groaning, biting out a long string offuck yesesandjust like thats.
He’s reckless and uninhibited, and the sound of his pleasure sends sharp, hot waves of pleasure cascading through me. I love how he lets go in the bedroom.
He’s gripping my head, thrusting into me, and I’m this close to gagging.This close.But when Ford unleashes a low, feral moan like a warning, I hold the hell on even though I’m on the verge of coughing. He shakes. Grips me tighter. Roars my name in a deep rumble. He comes, the warm salty taste like TNT to my own desire.
I’m dying for his touch. Aching everywhere.
When he eases out, he makes good on his promise. He yanks off my panties and gives me an order. “Fuck my face now, Skylar. That’s what I really want.”
“I better not deny you,” I say, breathless and wild as I comply.
Briefly, as I straddle his face, I’m struck by the easiness of our intimacy. Sex can be awkward and weird, complicated and lopsided. But when it comes to Ford and me—we just fit.
It doesn’t take me long at all. Soon, I’m gripping the headboard, shouting his name, and falling apart.
When I open my eyes in a haze of pleasure, Cleo’s slinking off the bed like she’s had enough.
Ford hasn’t though. Gently, he moves me off his face, tucking me close to him. He wraps an arm around me. Kisses my shoulder. Runs a hand over my hair. “Yeah, I was definitely thinking about eating you out at the game,” he says, then takes a weighty beat. “Among other things.”
He sounds serious as he says those three words—among other things.
“What sort of things?” I ask.
He inhales. Stares at the ceiling thoughtfully. Then at me as he shrugs and speaks with such vulnerability that it feels like something’s cracking—in him. “How much I like spending time with you, Skylar.”
My heart glows, warm and bright in my chest. “It’s the same for me. With you,” I say, an admission for an admission.
He dusts another kiss to my forehead, then hums—a happy but wistful sound. “Good. That’s really good.”
“It is,” I say softly, snuggling against him, feeling safe, and feeling like there’s no place he’d rather be.
That’s how Ford makes me feel. Like I’m his priority. It’s a new feeling. A welcome one.
But then he glances down at his clothes. “I should…”
The way he trails off makes me think he’s going to say leave. Instead, he says, “Change. Make some food. Then tell you about the next date we’re going on. Everly asked us to come to family night.”
I smother a full-blown smile. He didn’t use the wordfake. He just called it a date.
I’m not surprised Ford can cook. He’s a competent man. A man who gets shit done.
What surprises me is that he’s stashing fake bacon.
