Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(83)

We don’t need words. They wouldn’t do justice to something that feels like this anyway.

“You’re gonna come on my cock now, aren’t you, Rosie?” he growls roughly, breathlessly, against my ear. My body shudders in response. “I can tell. Your eyes give it away, even in the dark. Then every muscle on you goes all tight. You ride me so damn hard. So eager. So warm. So fucking tight.”

I’m so full of him. His words. His body. It’s too much, and right when I’m about to go barreling over that edge again, he pulls the key from my mouth and kisses me soundly, swallowing the sound of me screaming his name as I come.

With a fist full of my hair, he pumps into me hard. Spilling himself, filling me up thoroughly right my orgasm rocks me. Flays me. Leaves me slumped in his arms, desperately trying to catch my breath.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Me straddling his lap, his cock pulsing inside me, clinging to each other and kissing. Slow, languid, deliberate kisses that make my throat ache with their tenderness. Eventually they slow and Ford rolls me off him carefully.

Always carefully. Even when he’s rough with me, he’s so damn intentional. I feel nothing short of pampered with him. And when he gets up to retrieve a warm washcloth, the point is only driven further home.

“What are you doing?” I breathe the words, trying to stay quiet as he comes to kneel between my splayed legs.

“Taking care of you.”

The warm cloth swipes over my swollen core and I let out a soft moan. “You don’t need to do that.”

He continues wiping me gently. “But I want to.”

I’m struck silent by such a simple sentence.

I lie in Ford’s bed, letting him take care of me. And when he’s finished, he lifts the covers, crawls in behind me, and holds my body against his all night long.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


ROSIE





I wake up alone.

I reach for Ford before my eyes have even opened but find his side of the bed cool. I tell myself there’s a good reason for him being gone already.

Namely, that his daughter is at the other end of the hallway.

I let my hands trail over my deliciously sore body as I recall last night. My skin hums and I know I could get myself there just by recalling the feel of him and all the things he does to me—says to me.

I take a quick peek out the window to see the morning looks just as beautiful as I thought it would, based on last night’s sunset. A sunny morning always invigorates me. So I roll myself out of bed, feet landing on cold floorboards, and eyes finding the overnight bag that I thought I’d left in the guest room.

At the end of the bed, ripped jeans and a plain white tee with my long, caramel-colored cardigan are laid out—Ford clearly went to the guest room so I wouldn’t have to walk through the house wearing only his oversized T-shirt.

I get dressed and do a quick finger comb through my slightly wavy tresses and then head downstairs, ready to start my mission of finding Ford. I can smell bacon, and I decide that if Ford is making a full fried breakfast on a regular week day morning, I’ll definitely take up residence in that spare room.

Except I draw up short when I hear voices. Plural.

And when I peek into the updated farmhouse kitchen, I pause. Cora is still in her pajamas—black, of course—at the island with a sketchpad splayed out in front of her. Gemma is seated beside her, looking through it eagerly as she explains each page. And Senior is cooking up a breakfast that has me concerned about his future cholesterol levels.

It’s charming as hell. It makes my heart swell and my stomach growl.

“Good morning,” I singsong as I enter the kitchen. “Rosie!” Cora shoots up and runs to me, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug that knocks the wind from me.

It’s not that I don’t like big hugs—I just wasn’t expecting it. Gemma smiles with a subtle warmth toward me, a look I return before dropping my gaze to Cora’s head. Where I’m taken aback once again. By a high ponytail wrapped up in my hot-pink scrunchie. No low braid. Just my hair tie and my go-to lazy style.

It makes my chest feel all warm, and I bend over to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Good morning, my little storm cloud.”

“Morning, Rosalie,” Ford Senior says from over his shoulder. “Cup of coffee?”

“Oh, babe, don’t pretend.” Gemma scoffs as she sips from her own mug.

My eyes dart between them. “Pretend what?”

“Ford already went to the office to bring back your favorite tea. It’s right there.” His mom points at a pink travel mug that I’ve never seen before.

I decide it’s mine instantly. I also decide to play this off super casually in front of Ford’s parents because… awkward.

I can’t believe he nailed me like he did last night and took off before I woke up and left me in a house full of his family to do the walk of shame. But I bite down on my annoyance and put on a faux-happy face to maintain the fa?ade.

“Cool, thanks.” I saunter across the kitchen, wearing a carefree smile, and pick up the mug. One flip of the stopper and the aromatic scent of sweet rose petals drifts up. I know exactly where Tabitha harvests them. On the other side of the mountain, there’s a stretch of wild rosebushes, and when they bloom, the perfume wafts throughout the valley.