Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(76)

I nod, my forehead resting against the damp base of his throat while I guide his length back into me. “I missed you too.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath as he fills me. My shaking legs take their place around his waist this time as he clears off what’s left on top of his desk. It all goes flying as he lays me back and slides in to the hilt.

He moves, slow and achingly tender. I feel every inch, every ridge, every vein. He fills me so completely I almost can’t stand it.

My hips move with him, and my skin breaks out in a light sweat.

We don’t talk—we don’t need to. We both know. We understand each other so damn well.

“Rosie. Rosie.” When I sit up to hold him, he chants my name against my neck, and I shiver. He sounds so undone. All for me. My nails rake down his back. “This is…”

My legs clamp him more tightly as he fucks me with increasing abandon, and I whisper against his skin, “Perfect.”

Our eyes catch and something passes between us. Understanding. Agreement. We both know this is perfect. Him. Me. Us. Nothing has ever felt more right.

His jaw flexes as he pumps slowly into me, searching my eyes. He’s always watching my eyes so closely. I usually find it unnerving, but right now it does nothing but make me want more from him.

So I lie back on the desk, let my legs fall open, and start to play with myself while Ford takes me in. That expression of reverence—borderline disbelief—back on his face in full blinding force. But then I bite my lip and pinch my clit and his expression turns downright wicked.

It’s that cocky grin and slow bob of his Adam’s apple that tips me off. He pulls out and then slams in hard. Again. And again. Steady, even, powerful strokes that shake my entire body.

Ford fucks me senseless on the top of his desk. Scattered office supplies and a shattered computer surround us. But all I see is him. He looks like some sort of avenging god working me into a frenzy. Flushed cheeks, disheveled hair flopped over his forehead, veins bulging on his forearms while his abs flex with every thrust.

I think I could come just from savoring the view I get by lying with spread legs beneath his hard, heavy body.

His hands hold me open wide, and his eyes stay locked on mine. And when I fall apart again, he watches me like he’s committing another moment to memory.

He’s always staring at me like this. Like he worships me.

Then he drapes himself over me, fusing his lips to mine, and pumps into me until I feel him finish. I feel everything.

Every pulse. Every kiss. Every touch.

If this is how it feels to be fucked like Ford Grant loves you, I want him to love me forever.

I hold him close. Hugging him to me even he’s still inside me.

I can feel his heartbeat on my chest and his harsh breaths against my neck.

“You know what I hate the most about you, Ford?” I ask.

“What’s that, Rosie?” He pants my name, runs his nose up the line of my neck, and tightens his hold on me. “That hating you is downright impossible.”

My voice cracks on impossible, and with that, we both know that I don’t hate Ford at all.

In fact, it might just be the opposite.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


FORD





Hating you is downright impossible.

The sentence plays on repeat in my mind as I carefully replace every single piece of Rosie’s clothing. Putting them back on her is almost as erotic as taking them off.

My cum drips from her as I slide her panties back into place, and I take a base sort of satisfaction in swiping it up over her clit. Making her gasp.

Then comes the skirt.

The gentle hum of the hidden zipper that seals the tight, plum-colored fabric around her waist.

The way she holds my stare as I tuck her blouse back into the waistline.

The graze of my knuckles over the swells of her breasts as I rebutton her blazer.

She tries to toe her shoe back on, but I crouch and gently slap her foot away. Sliding the soft leather over each foot myself. Running a hand up the back of her calf and pressing a kiss to her knee before looking back up at her.

Her hand reaches for me, the tips of her nails trailing through the lock of hair that has fallen over my forehead.

“I’m sorry about your computer,” she says softly, with a little twist to her mouth, like she’s not sorry at all.

My eyes slice to the floor where my Mac lies, its screen hopelessly shattered. I grin back up at her. “Worth it.”

Her cheeks flush pink, and she turns her head away, almost shy. “You’re the first person I’ve ever had sex with without using a condom, so I should be all clear in that department. I’ll get checked to be sure.”

I suppose someone as allegedly intelligent as me should have been concerned about that. But she’s turned me into a caveman, because all I hear in that sentence is that I’m the first man to fuck her bare.

“Same,” I grit out, feeling my cock go hard for her all over again.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you with a baby, so I should also tell you I have an IUD.” Her brow wrinkles. “Probably should have told you that before too.”

I stare back at her. “I wouldn’t feel trapped with you.”

Her cheeks go even darker, and a heavy silence descends between us.