Page 46 of Deal Breaker
He searches my face for hesitation, and when he doesn’t find it, he nods once and then he lifts me in one fluid motion and sets me gently on the kitchen counter, stepping between my legs like he belongs there.
Because he does and always has.
His hands slide under my thighs, pulling me flush against him. I gasp when I feel how hard he is through his jeans, and he growls softly at the sound.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, dragging his mouth down my neck, kissing and tasting until my head tipsback and my hands grip the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my sweater, slowly, reverently, dragging the fabric up my stomach. I raise my arms, and he peels it off me, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes move over me, hot and sharp, like he doesn’t know where to touch first.
But he does.
His hands slide up my sides, fingers grazing the edge of my bra. His thumbs sweep lightly over the swell of my breasts, and I whimper at the contact.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine, hips pressing forward until there’s nothing left between us but heat and memory and the ache of how much we still want this.
“God, Landyn,” he murmurs, breath ragged. “You feel the same. You taste the same. You still ruin me.”
I pull in a shaky breath, my fingers gripping his shoulders, nails digging slightly into his skin.
And all I can think—through the fog of want and heat and everything we’ve been holding back—is that I’ve never been kissed like this. Not before him. Not after.
Not like this.
He groans against my mouth, and the sound of it nearly undoes me. The way his hands move like he knows me. Like he still remembers what I like, where to touch, how to make me melt with just his thumbs brushing under the curve of my breasts.
“Jesus, June,” he murmurs against my neck, voice wrecked. “It’s so easy to get lost in you.”
I gasp when his hips press forward, grinding his erection slow against me. The friction shoots through me, and my fingers dig into the back of his shirt.
Every move, every sound, every breath feels like we’re falling deeper into something we may not be able to undo.
I want him. God, I want him.
But then—I see her.
Poppy. In the back of my mind, like a whisper. And it slams through me, like ice in my veins.
I freeze.
Ford feels it instantly. His mouth stills. His hands pause at my ribs. His forehead drops against mine, his breath still ragged.
“What is it?” he asks, voice low. “Where did you just go?”
I shake my head, chest tight. “I can’t.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t step away. Just breathes with me, forehead still pressed to mine.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. We don’t have to rush.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure it is okay.
His hands slowly fall away from my body, dragging longing and regret with them.
I slide off the counter and land on shaky legs, my bra strap slipping slightly down one shoulder. He reaches for my sweater—quietly, without a word—and hands it to me. I pull it on, swallowing hard.
“I’m sorry,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
“Don’t be.” His voice is calm, but there’s an ache underneath. “You don’t owe me anything.”
