Page 64 of Deal Breaker
Then I close my eyes and fall asleep in the arms of the only man who’s ever made me feel safe.
I wake slowly.
The morning light slips through the curtains, barely touching the edges of the bed. Ford’s arm is heavy around my waist, his chest pressed warm to my back, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.
I don’t want to move. I don’t want to ruin the rare peace of this moment, but then his arm tightens around me, his nose brushes the back of my neck, and his voice is soft in my ear.
“You always made me sleep like this,” he murmurs.
I smile against the pillow. “I don’t remember you complaining.”
“I liked it.” He pauses. “Still do.”
I shift just enough to turn toward him, our faces onlyinches apart. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still heavy from sleep. He looks like something I dreamed up.
“I missed this,” I whisper, my fingers lightly brushing his chest.
His eyes search mine. “Me too.”
His hand slides down my thigh, slow and sure, and then dips beneath the sheet, grazing over the top of my underwear. “I always loved waking up to you,” he says quietly, and I inhale sharply. “And I never forgot how you’d wake up to me.”
I let out a shaky breath. “You’re dangerous, Ford Winters.”
He kisses me once, soft and slow, then he pulls back.
“Shower?” he murmurs.
I nod, heart already racing.
He rises from the bed and crosses the room to the bathroom, pausing at the door to glance back. “Come on, June.”
The nickname, that voice. I’m already sliding out of bed, following him. He flicks the bathroom light on and turns the water to hot. Steam begins to build instantly, fogging the mirror. He turns back to me and starts to undress me slowly. First my T-shirt, peeling it off inch by inch. Then my underwear, which he slides down my legs, hands warm as they trace along my thighs.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice low. “You always were.”
I dip my fingers inside the waistband of his boxers brushing through the soft hair at his groin before sliding them lower and pushing the fabric down over his erection. He steps out of his boxers, and my breath catches.
He’s already hard.
His cock is thick and full, flushed at the tip, curving up toward his stomach and nearly touching hisnavel. And God—it’s perfect. Of course, it’s perfect. I remember what it felt like inside me.
His eyes darken as he sees the way I look at him. He cups my jaw and tilts my face to his again, kissing me slow and deep. Then he leads me into the shower, one hand resting on my lower back. The water is hot, cascading over our shoulders, steam curling between our bodies.
Ford reaches for the shampoo, lathering it between his palms, then gently begins to wash my hair. His fingers stroke my scalp in circles, massaging. After he rinses it out, he kisses the top of my head. “Turn around.”
I do.
His hand trails down my spine, resting low on my hip before slipping between my thighs from behind.
I gasp, my hands braced against the tile wall as his fingers slide along the slick center of me, his hard cock bobbing against my back.
“Can I touch you?” He asks, the question stealing air from my lungs.
“Please.”
His hand moves slowly down my stomach, attentively, like he’s relearning the shape of me. Heat rushes to my skin, my pulse fluttering in places I’d forgotten could ache like this. All I can do is stand here and let him touch me like he’s remembering every part of me that he used to know by heart.
His hand doesn’t stop. It trails lower as my body arches toward his hand, my thighs parting, and when his fingers slide between them, I swear my knees wobble.
