Page 65 of Deal Breaker
“Still so fucking soft,” he mutters as his fingers slide through my folds, slow and deliberate, until he pushes one finger inside. My breath catches as my body clenches around the sudden fullness.
“Still so wet,” he murmurs, voice thick.
He slides two fingers into me next, curling them just right as his palm presses against that spot that makes my whole body jolt forward. “Ford?—”
“I’ve got you,” he breathes against my ear. “I’ve been dreaming about this. About touching you like this again. Making you fall apart for me.”
I arch back into him, the pressure building fast and wild.
His fingers move in that slow, deliberate rhythm that only he knows. That only he ever got right. My body tightens, legs shaking.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, one arm wrapped around my waist now, holding me up, guiding me through the release. “Come for me, baby.”
And I do. My body unravels under the heat and steam, remembering the way he knows exactly how to hold me together as I fall apart. Wrecked. And when it’s over, he presses his lips to the back of my neck and whispers my name like it means something again.
I’m still catching my breath—my hands pressed to the tile, his arm around my waist, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. My muscles are loose, my heart racing. I’ve never felt so undone and so safe at the same time.
I turn in his arms slowly, water running down my back, and press my hand to his chest. His heart pounds beneath it.
“My turn to touch you,” I whisper, glancing down, already reaching, but his hand catches mine gently.
“Not today,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with restraint. “This was about you.”
“But—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, soft and lingering. “You gave me what I wanted,” he says against my lips. “I just wanted to take care of you. I wanted to see you again.”
His words make my chest ache because I know what he means, and I know what I’m still hiding.
I nod slowly, resting my forehead against his.
We stay like that for another moment—bare skin, warm water, nothing between us but the truths we haven’t said yet. He turns off the shower and reaches for a towel, wrapping it around me before grabbing one for himself. Back in the room, I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter into my lap.
Ford leans against the dresser across from me, towel slung low on his hips, water glistening on his chest. His eyes stay on me, like he’s trying to memorize this version of me before it slips away again.
“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” I say softly, not quite looking at him.
“Like what?”
“Like I never left,” I admit. “Like you’re still…” I trail off, biting my bottom lip.
He walks toward me slowly and crouches in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I never stopped being yours,” he says quietly. “Even when you were gone.”
The words gut me because I want to say them back. I want to say,me too, but I’m still hiding so much. Instead, I reach for him, my fingers brushing his cheek. “Thank you for last night.”
He doesn’t move. He just nods once and says, “Anytime, June.”
And I swear he means it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ford
I’ve been apart from Landyn for less than 24 hours and already miss her. I pull into the lot behind Cove, memories from the weekend we just spent together still cycling through my mind. It was incredible. A turning point.
We didn’t talk about what it meant. Didn’t define it. Didn’t wake up with some earth-shattering revelation. But being with her again after so many years—reallywithher—it was something I hadn’t let myself believe could ever happen again.
The last day in Whistler was quieter. There were panels, a few final meetings, but the space between us felt different. Easier. She didn’t flinch when our hands brushed. Didn’t look away when she caught me watching her across a room. We grabbed takeout after the conference had wrapped up and ate it sitting cross-legged on her bed, laughing about the bad hotel wine and the even worse room service eggs from the morning before. She let me tuck her into my side, her head on my chest like she belonged there. And when I kissed her, it wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was slow. Certain.
