Page 118 of Deal Breaker
Euphoria.
And then I’m gone. Heat explodes behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I slam deep and stay there, cock throbbing as I spill into her. Pleasure ripsthrough my cock and balls,hips jerking with each pulse. I shoot. I come hard. Pulse after pulse ripping through me, spilling everything I have into her.
My body locks up, shuddering, breath caught in my throat as I keep driving into her, every last spurt wrung from me with sharp, helpless groans.
It’s not just release. It’s flight. Like I’m finally taking off after being grounded for years. Only this time, I’m not crashing. I’m not spiralling. I’m in control, soaring, weightless, riding something so good, so fucking pure, I don’t know if I’ll ever touch the ground again.
FORTY-THREE
Landyn
So…
That was an orgasm.
I sit here for a moment, dazed and blinking, still straddling Ford’s lap, still full of him, still very much wrecked in the best, most unholy way possible.
Huh. Apparently, I have a thing for car sex, because holy shit—nothing I’ve ever felt even belongs in the same category as what just happened in this car.
I feel lit up and weightless. Liquid bones. Heart racing. Muscles quivering.
Ford’s hand rests on my thigh, warm and grounding, but his breathing’s still ragged—harsh, uneven gasps. He doesn’t speak.
“Ford?” I say softly, brushing my knuckles over his forehead. “Are you okay?”
No answer.
My chest tightens, worry creeping up my spine like a cold draft. “Ford,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Is everything okay?”
He finally lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. “I’m good,” he rasps. “I’m so good. I’m happy.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach twist in a sharp, sweet way. “I’m just… happy, Landyn,” he repeats. “Happier than I’ve been in a long fucking time. And I want to take care of you.”
Before I can respond—before I can even figure out what to say—his lips are on mine in a slow, lingering kiss. “That was me getting everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve ever wished for over the past seven years, June.” Then he’s helping me off his lap, his hands gentle, guiding.
He finds my dress crumpled in the footwell and eases it back over my head, pulling the soft fabric down my arms, smoothing it into place with a reverence that makes me ache. He reaches for his pants, tugging them up his hips. His breath is still ragged, but it’s quieter now. There’s no hesitation as he opens the door and takes my hand and then we’re walking into his house through, the front hall, and up the stairs.
My body’s still humming, my legs still shaky. I follow him, barefoot and wordless, something tight curling around my heart. He leads me into his bedroom and then through a second door that opens into a moody-toned ensuite. I watch, silently, as he walks to the tub.
“I’m going to run us a bath.” He turns on the tap. Adjusts the water. Dips his hand under the stream.
I don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not Ford Winters running me a bath. Not this quiet, stripped-down version of him. I just watch, heart thudding. I watch him move around the bathroom like this is normal. Like he didn’t’ just wreck me in the front seat of his car.
Ford disappears into the bedroom and comes back with a cluster of pillar candles. He sets them around the room—on the edge of the tub, the vanity, the back of the toilet—then strikes a match. One by one, they flicker to life. The scent of vanilla blooms almost instantly, sweet and warm.
Steam rises from the tub in curling ribbons, softening everything. It’s nearly full when he turns off the tap and looks at me. His voice is low. “Here, June, I’ve got you.”
It’s not a question. I blink, pulse ticking high again. He steps toward me, hands moving to the hem of my dress. He lifts it slowly, peeling it up and over my head like he’s unwrapping something fragile. He pulls it free and lets it fall to the floor. My bralette and underwear go next.
I don’t have time to feel shy or exposed before he steps back and starts removing his shirt, his shorts, his boxers. They’re all left on the floor exposing every hard line of him.
His chest is all thick muscle, broad and tapered, arms veined and flexing with every small movement. His abs catch the candlelight like a sculpture, cut deep and solid. And then there’s his cock, already thickening again.
My thighs clench without permission before I dip a toe into the water. Hot, but not scalding. I slide in slowly, easing under the surface inch by inch until the water cradles me, rising just beneath my collarbones. I exhale, my entire body unwinding into it, tension melting away only to be replaced by a similar sensation, this one tightening low in my belly because I can feel him watching me. Like a hunter waiting to pounce.
I slide lower, dipping under the surface until the tips of my shoulders are submerged and my skin is tingling. Ford gets in after me and I rise up so he can climb in behind me. Water sloshes over the edge and hits the tile with a soft slap as he sinks lower.
We settle. His chest presses to my back, his thighs bracket mine. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us movesexcept for Ford’s big, steady hand that dips into the water, cupping it and pouring it over my shoulders, my arms, the parts of me not fully submerged. Over and over. Patient. Careful. The only sound is our breathing and the trickle of water.
