Page 57 of Deal Breaker
He growls low in his throat as he pushes the straps of my dress over my shoulders with both hands. The fabric slides slowly over my hips and down my thighs, his knuckles brushing bare skin, igniting a trail of heat as he goes. His eyes drag over me slowly, like he’s seeing me for the first time and remembering everything all at once.
I’m left in nothing but a thin, black matching set. His gaze darkens.
“Black lace,” he says under his breath, voice hoarse. “Of course you’d still kill me with this. Fuck, Landyn…”
He stands here for a heartbeat with his chest rising and falling, then grabs the back of his neck like he’s trying to restrain himself.
Needing him badly, my hands move to his chest, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. My fingers tremble as I undo each one, then drag the fabric down his shoulders until it hits the ground, revealing the hard ridges of his chest and abs. Three columns of defined abs, pecs that have been sculpted in the gym, a light dusting of dark hair. He’s all firm muscle and strength, and when I run my hands downhis torso, he sucks in a breath like I just punched the air out of him.
“I used to dream about you like this,” he says, low and rough, his hand sliding around to cup my ass as he walks me backward toward the bed. “Wearing this. Looking at me like you needed me.”
“I do need you,” I whisper, and I mean it in ways I can’t even say out loud.
The back of my knees hit the bed, and I sink onto the mattress, heart racing so fast it’s almost dizzying. He nudges me, gentle but certain, and I fall back with a breathless laugh, one that dies the second he follows, crawling over me with that look that’s always undone me. His hands brace the mattress on either side of my shoulders, caging me in like he’s not giving me a chance to run.
I suck in a sharp breath when his knee presses between mine, spreading me open, making room for him until he’s right there, settled deep between my thighs, all heat and solid muscle. His bare chest brushes mine, warm and sure, like it belongs here. Like he belongs here.
When he grinds his cock into me, through the rough denim of his jeans and the flimsy scrap of my thong, I can’t hold back the moan that rips from me. It’s hard, hungry pressure against the aching center of me, the friction hitting all the right places until I can’t think past it. Past him. It’s perfect and blinding and a little bit dangerous because if I let myself feel all of it, I might never want to stop.
“Oh my god—” I gasp, arching up into him.
“Feel that?” he rasps against my neck, rocking his hips. “That’s what you do to me. Always have.”
His cock rubs right against me, thick and hard, dragging across the spot that makes me dizzy. The friction is too much and not enough. My hands claw at his back, pullinghim down so I can feel more—taste more—of the man I never stopped wanting. I arch beneath him, rolling my hips up to find his arousal, greedy for more.
“Please…”
His mouth moves over my collarbone, between my breasts, down to the curve of lace. “I want to tear this off you,” he growls. “I want my mouth everywhere. I want to see how wet you are for me.”
I moan, head falling back into the pillows. “Yes. Ford, yes.”
“God, June,” he groans, kissing me again, deeper this time like he wants to consume me. When his fingers slip beneath the band of my underwear, dipping between my folds, I can’t hold back the desperate sound that escapes me.
“You’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs as his fingers trail back up my body, just barely brushing over the waistband of my underwear. “You want me this bad?”
I can only nod, eyes glazed, lips parted as he leans in to kiss me again, deeper this time, hungrier.
We’re tangled, frantic, the room echoing with gasps and whispers and the soft rustle of sheets. I reach for the button of his jeans and?—
My phone rings.
Loud, sharp, coming from my purse across the room. It cuts through the moment like a blade. A chill skates down my spine when I hear the ringtone. The one I assigned to my mom, who is taking care of my daughter right now.
Ford groans, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Let it go to voicemail.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, suddenly cold even though my skin’s burning.
He leans back, confused, breath still ragged. “Why?”
“I just—” I sit up fast, heart in my throat. “I have to get it.”
Without looking at him, I climb off the bed in my bra and underwear. My legs are unsteady, shaking from the intensity of everything we were just wrapped up in. I find my purse near the door, dig through it, and grab the phone as guilt slams into me like a fist.
I shoot Ford a look I can’t explain and turn away, walking into the bathroom where I swipe to answer the call, trying to steady my breath.
“Hi,” I say, as calmly as I can manage.
In the other room, I can feel Ford’s presence. Quiet and waiting for an explanation that I don’t know if I can give to him. Without looking back, I shut the bathroom door behind me as gently as I can.
