Page 119 of Deal Breaker
We stay like that forever, or maybe just long enough for me to wonder how I ever survived without this. When he does speak, his voice is low, quiet and careful in a way that makes my heart ache. “Do you want more kids?”
My fingers drift along the surface of the water, tracing nothing. “Only with you.”
He stills behind me. I feel it in his breath, in the way his chest halts for half a second.
“You mean that?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.
I nod. “Yeah. I do.” Because I can’t imagine starting over with anyone else. Because the idea of building something—everything—with him doesn’t scare me the way it used to.
“What about you? Would you want another?”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tighter against his chest. His mouth brushes the edge of my shoulder. “You already gave me the best thing I’ve ever had,” he says. “If I got the chance to do it again—with you—I’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
“We’re not broken anymore,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees, his mouth soft against my skin. “We’re just getting started.”
And in the stillness of the bath, wrapped in candlelight and the arms of the only man who’s ever truly had me…I believe him.
His lips brush the side of my head, a quiet kiss against my damp hair, and I lean into it. The water is starting to cool, but his arms stay warm around me, his chest a steady, solid wall at my back.
When his hands slide over my stomach, I know it’s not just comfort he’s giving me. His palms move slowly, purposefully, skimming my ribs before drifting up, cupping one breast beneath the water. My breath catches, but I don’t pull away.
Ford’s mouth finds the curve of my shoulder, his teeth grazing it before his lips soothe the spot. “Come to bed,” he murmurs against my skin.
We rise together, water cascading from our bodies, pooling on the tile. He wraps me in a towel before I can reach for one, his thumb sweeping along my jaw, his eyes searching mine like he’s asking a question without words.
In his bedroom, the sheets are cool against my skin as he eases me back onto the bed. He kneels at the foot, and my breath stutters when his hands grip my knees, urging them apart.
“Ford…”
He slides his palms up my thighs, spreading me wider, lowering himself until the heat of his breath ghosts over me. The first stroke of his tongue through my folds is slow, deliberate, like he’s reacquainting himself with every inch of me.
I arch into him, a soft sound catching in my throat. His hands lock around my hips, holding me still as his tongue moves in lazy, devastating patterns, flicking over my clit before drawing it between his lips.
“God—” My head falls back, fingers clutching the sheets. He doesn’t let up, alternating between deep, languid licks and quick, precise flicks that have my thighs trembling. Every time I try to grind against him for more, his grip tightens, forcing me to take what he gives, exactly how he gives it. When he finally slips a finger inside me, curling just right, the pleasure spikes so sharply I nearly cry out. He adds a second, his tongue never leaving me,coaxing me higher, closer, until the tension inside me snaps.
I shatter against him, the release hot and blinding, my body shaking as his name spills from my lips in a high-pitched cry. He doesn’t pull away until I’ve ridden out every wave, until I’m limp against the mattress.
Ford crawls up over me, his mouth finding mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His hard cock is trapped between us, the weight of him pressing against my stomach. We kiss and kiss until I’m desperate to feel him inside me. Until I reach between us wrapping my fingers around the base of him, hot and heavy in my hand. The weigh of him makes my pulse tick. I guide him to where I need him, the blunt head of his cock sliding against me in a way that makes my whole-body shiver. The first push steals my breath, and when he slides into me slowly, like he wants to feel every second of it, every inch, my legs curl around him, pulling him deeper. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
This isn’t frantic like the car. It’s slower, heavier. It’s about claiming and keeping. His thumb strokes along my jaw, his eyes holding mine like he’s afraid to look away.
Then his hips start to move, slowly at first, then deeper, harder, until the rhythm sinks into my bones. My toes curl when he’s buried to the hilt, and a strangled sound slips from me every time he pulls almost all the way out.
Every thrust feels intentional and deliberate, like he’s crafting something out of me. His thick, solid length drags against every tender place inside me, hitting the one spot that makes my vision blur. He does it again and again, until I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t filling me like this until the only truth I know is that I’ll shatter if I don’t come soon. My hand starts to drift down between my legs,desperate for the friction I need, but he catches my wrist, pushing it back to the mattress. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says, his voice absolute, his pupils blown wide, near black in the dim light.
His hand comes between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing in slow, perfect circles that make me quiver. The moment he surges forward, the air leaves my lungs in a sharp, helpless sound. My body begins to unravel, and my muscles turn molten, every nerve lit up.
The heat swells so fast it steals my breath. There’s no time to brace, no space between the wave building and the moment it crashes. My body tightens, my thighs trembling around him, and then I’m falling apart—quaking, clenching, coming so hard it feels like pleasure and pain blurring into one sensation.
Seconds later, Ford’s rhythm falters, his breath hitching against my mouth. Then he’s driving into me with a desperate edge, a guttural sound ripping from his throat. For a few perfect seconds, the deep, primal roar of him spilling into me drowns out the broken sounds of my own release.
For a moment, neither of us move. When I look at him, there’s something different in his gaze that makes my throat tighten. My vision blurs as fresh tears slip down my face.
“I’m not sad,” I tell him softly.
Ford lifts a hand, and brushes my hair back from my face, cradling my cheek in his palm.
