Page 42 of Escorting the Bodyguard
I don’t rush to touch him. Instead, I let myself really look. Let him see that I’m seeing every inch and I’m still right here. When I finally reach out, it’s to press my palm against the center of his chest where his heart hammers against his ribs.
“You’re not hiding anymore,” I whisper.
He sounds wrecked. “No.”
“Good.”
Then I pull him closer and kiss him again. Hungrier this time. Less hesitant.
He undresses me with the same careful attention I showed him, hands reverent as they map every curve, every freckle scattered across my pale skin. There’s no urgency in his touch, no desperation. Just appreciation, like he’s cataloging every detail he missed while he was gone.
When his fingers trace the soft swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, the gentle roundness of my belly where our baby grows, I arch into his touch like I’m coming home.
We move to the bed slowly, every touch deliberate. When he lays me back against the pillows, the lamplight catches the silver in his gray eyes, and I can see everything he’s feeling written there. Love, regret, hope, fear. All of it laid bare.
Ford kneels beside me, his hands coasting over my hips, up my ribcage, across the underside of my breasts like he’s trying to memorize me by touch.
“Fuck, Gemma,” he murmurs. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. Every curve, every soft line of you.”
I shiver at the low rasp in his voice. At the way his gaze trails down my body like it’s something he’s been aching for.
He kisses my collarbone first. Then lower, mouth moving between my breasts, tongue teasing across my nipple until I gasp and arch into him. His hand cups the other, warm and firm, thumb circling until I can barely keep my hips still.
“I’ve missed this,” he says against my skin. “Missed the way you sound. The way you taste.”
He slides one hand between my thighs, parting me gently, fingers stroking through the slick heat of my pussy. My breath catches, hips rocking into his touch.
“Shit,” he groans. “You’re already so wet.”
“Because of you,” I breathe. “It’s always you.”
His fingers move slow and steady, one sliding inside, then two. Deep and curling. His thumb finds my clit and starts a rhythm that has me panting in seconds.
“Let go for me,” he whispers, kissing the side of my neck. “I want to feel you come on my hand.”
And fuck, I do.
It builds fast, heat coiling low in my belly, legs trembling around his wrist as he works me open and tightens the circles on my clit. My climax crashes through me, sharp and hot, my whole body shaking as I come with a cry.
Ford doesn’t move. Just keeps whispering in my ear.
“Good girl. That’s it. Fuck, I love how you fall apart.”
I’m still catching my breath when he eases his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. Sucks them clean.
“Could taste you all night.”
“Then do it,” I say, half-daring, half-pleading.
But he just smiles, slow and dangerous.
“Next time.”
He moves up over me, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress in the best way. I reach for him, palm dragging down the ridged muscle of his stomach until I find the thick line of his cock, hard and hot through his briefs.
“Off,” I whisper.
He shoves them down and kicks them away. And then he’s fully bare. Nothing hidden. His cock heavy and thick and flushed at the tip.
