Ford tossed me down on the bed as if I weighed nothing. I reached out my arms, wanting him to follow me, but he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. I was suddenly paranoid about my likely state of disarray: my ravaged hair, my streaked eyeliner, my—
“You’re beautiful,” he said, melting all my worries away.
I shivered from the pleasure of his words, the husky sound of his voice.
“So are you,” I said, taking in the familiar, perfect angles of his face, his broad shoulders, his tall, well-built body. Everything I wanted.
He laughed, and then his smile turned wicked.
“What are you wearing under that dress?” he asked. “Are you wearing good-girl panties, or a bad-girl thong?”
I looked up at him, my heart pounding. “Why don’t you look and find out?”
His grin grew even more wicked.
“I think I will,” he said, climbing up the bed, up my body, until his lips met mine again.
As he did, his hand found my thigh, and he began to push the hem of my dress up my leg, while his mouth moved to my ear, catching my earlobe between his teeth with exactly the right amount of pressure.
I felt his hand moving up, that confident slide of his hot palm. Finally he found what he was looking for, the roughness of his fingers brushing against my most intimate part.
Ford froze. “Are you wearing nothing underneath this dress?” he demanded.
I gave him a grin of my own.
“You naughty, naughty girl,” he said.
He shoved my knees apart, finding my already wet opening with astonishing speed. Then he stroked my outer lips first, circling with his thumb. I could feel my pleasure building even before he slipped a finger inside of me, and then another, stretching my body deliciously. This was how it had been in the back of the car and I responded in the same way, my hips jerking as he began fucking me with his fingers. God, he was good with his hands.
Bright lights started swimming in front of my eyes and I reached for his hand, gently easing his fingers aside. I wasn’t ready to come yet. Not like this.
“I want you,” I told him for the second time, meeting his gaze. “All of you.”
I hoped he understood what I was saying, but before I could clarify further, Ford was kissing me again, working my dress up my hips with one hand while unzipping me with the other. In seconds, the dress was over my head. I was naked beneath him, heart pounding anew. The look on his face made me glad I’d decided not to wear anything under the dress.
“Look at you,” he said, his eyes grazing my entire body. “You’re fucking perfect.”
I could feel myself blushing. I’d always been self-conscious about the size of my breasts, how big they were in proportion to the rest of me, especially in comparison to most of the women who modeled for Danica Rose. And I was definitely a lot curvier than Claudia.
But now, with Ford staring at me like a dessert he wanted to lap up, I felt sexy, powerful, and maybe—like he’d said—perfect for him. Propping myself up on my elbows and arching my back, I gave him an even better view.
“Fuck,” he said, filling his hands with my breasts.
I felt like I was on the verge of an orgasm again, just from the way his fingers grazed and tweaked my overly sensitive nipples. When he lowered his hot mouth to capture one between his teeth, I caught my breath. It felt so good, the way he lavished them with attention, sucking and teasing each one in turn, his straining cock pressing between my naked hips.
“Ford,” I moaned in a half whisper.
He was still fully dressed. Unacceptable. As he played with my nipples, I used my remaining strength to get his shirt off and then pressed my palms to his bare chest, relishing the feel of his firm pecs, the ridges of his six-pack, the fine dusting of hair below his belly button, until my fingers reached the edge of his waistband, his belt, his zipper. I paused, breathing hard.
This was it.
Taking my pause as an invitation, Ford lifted off the bed to shed the rest of his clothes.
I was grateful for the darkened room, hoping it hid the fact that my jaw nearly dropped to the floor. His cock wasn’t just big, it was…well, it was gorgeous. Perfectly proportioned. And perfectly hard. I had no idea how it was going to fit. Suddenly, I was nervous all over again.
“Wait,” I said.
Even though I had made my decision, I didn’t know what to do regarding the matter of my inexperience. It would probably be better if I told Ford that I was a virgin, but I was also worried that the knowledge would be too much for him—that he’d realize I had Feelings for him, and then decide we shouldn’t go through with it.
