Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(95)
One stray teardrop rolls down my cheek when I blink, and Ford watches its slow descent with a sort of fury I’ve seen on his face before. One I’m realizing I’ve misplaced over the years.
I misread Ford’s expressions when I thought I infuriated him.
He was infuriated. But for me. Not with me.
“Do you understand?” He practically growls the words and I dip my chin in agreement, sniffling once.
“I think so.”
I spent a lot of time wondering why the boys in my life never felt an inclination to stand up for me, and now I’m face-to-face with a man who’s made it his mission to do it. Even in the throes of passionate argument he makes me feel more secure than I ever have before.
It’s… overwhelming. It’s heart-rending. It’s safety.
Our gazes collide, and with one hitched breath, I crash into him. Kissing him. Clutching at the lapels of his jacket with such intense need that it almost hurts.
My chest aches as his lips claim mine, his big hand cradling my head like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
We cling to each other, but it’s not enough. It’s not close enough. Raw enough. I don’t know what to say to him, can’t find the words. All I know is I want to be cocooned in him. In his protection.
It feels like after so many years of going it on my own, working so hard to make something of myself, to stay out of trouble, I have somewhere soft to land. Somewhere I can let the worst, bitchiest, most unlikable, sock-and-sandal-wearing version of myself show and still be loved.
It’s a kind of devotion I’ve never known.
It’s a refuge I never let myself dream of.
The sandalwood in Ford’s cologne is heady and intoxicating, the expert stroke of his tongue against mine a wildfire through my veins.
“Take this off. Now,” I bite out between kisses, unwilling to pull back enough to talk.
Ford groans into my mouth as I work at his shirt buttons while he shrugs off his jacket. I rip the last few, not caring. If he can spend millions playing games, he can buy a new shirt.
I’m struck dumb all over again when I see what’s around his neck. The silver chain and that goddamn key. Pale blue speckles of paint mar the metal. And all the air leaves my lungs.
“You fished that out of the paint?”
“Of course. I plan to wear it forever.”
Then my hands are on his bare skin. My fingertips memorize every ridge as I count every ab. I move up to his pecs, moaning as I flick a finger over his nipple and it hardens. Just like mine.
I pull back to admire him, the silvery light highlighting his toned body.
“Fuck. I’m going to keep pushing you into that lake for years to come just so you keep swimming.” He breathes out a soft laugh. “Lose the pants.”
He keeps his eyes on me while he undoes his belt casually, making me wet in the process. His slacks fall and I swiftly remove his boxers and wrap my hand around his steely length.
Ford hisses through his teeth as I twist my palm around his girth and dust the pads of my fingers over the straight line of his collarbone. I marvel at how angular everything on this man’s body is. His nose. His jaw. His brow.
He’s a painful sort of handsome. Not pretty or soft. There’s no boy-next-door appeal with Ford. There’s a wickedness to him. Sharp jaw, wide shapely lips, cunning eyes.
“I’m sorry I never noticed,” I murmur, thinking back to all those summers we spent at each other’s throats. How different it all must have looked through his eyes.
He was just my brother’s dickish best friend who always had some snide remark to make. But he was there for me at every turn.
I was oblivious.
“I’m sorry I never told you,” he murmurs, reaching between us with deft fingers to pull away the sash at my waist. Once loose, all it takes is a simple shrug of my shoulders for the plunging neckline to give way and the stunning silk garment to tumble into a soft pool of dreamy pink fabric at my feet.
The rush of cool air has every fine hair on my body rising. Like every fiber of me is reaching for him.
“Ford, I?—”
“Rosie,” he cuts me off, but his voice is gentle. It holds a tremor as his gaze sizzles over my skin, and he delicately removes the daisy-shaped pasties that cover my nipples. “I think we should take a break from talking with our mouths. There are more important things I’d like to do with mine.”
His head drops to my chest, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth with a guttural groan. My head tips back, my hair tickling my spine, as I’m plunged into the sensation of being worshiped by Ford Grant.
The tug of the sticker on my right breast sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to my groin as he continues to work the opposite nipple.
When his dark mahogany hair moves over to the other one, I stumble, my heels tipping me back until I’m pressed against the wall.
I grip his strong shoulders as his lips drag torturously over my body Then he drops to his knees before me. With his hands splayed over my rib cage, he trails his tongue between my breasts, skims his teeth over my stomach, and nips at the soft spot just beneath my hip. I shiver and lift my body to meet him.
He leans back slightly and stares at me. My core. My stomach. My legs.
He uses one thumb against one side of my pussy and spreads me.
“Ford…”
“Rosie, shut up and let me admire you.”