Chapter 21
The front door closes and my heart is in my throat. Ford crouches to one knee, his hands skating up and down my calf. He starts to untie my laces as a gentle groan leaves his chest, just from the feel of me.
I make Ford Mercer groan. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.
I blink down at the sight, black and silver hair, tattoos and muscle crouched at my feet, and get a flash of him, lying on top of me, his hard cock in my fist, champagne on our breath.
“Ford,” I breathe out, just to see his eyes lift to mine.
They sparkle, beautiful as ever, and he keeps his eyes on me, moving to my other foot, removing the other shoe.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he questions as my second shoe thunks to the floor. He climbs to his feet, kicking his own sneakers off, the corner of his lips tugging into a sly smirk.
“I don’t know. I just… I wanted to say your name. See your eyes. Make sure this is real,” I admit, feeling a little foolish, a little vulnerable.
He dances his brows playfully. Dipping down, hooking his arm behind my knees, the other behind my back, Ford lifts me off the ground. Cradled to his chest, he treads toward the stairs, eyes on me. “We’re going to my room.”
Ford Mercer’s bedroom. A place I’ve wondered about for years. For half of my life, even. My toes curl in my socks and I let my head rest against his chest, soaking in this moment for everything that it is.
He bumps the door open with his foot, leading me into his darkened bedroom, bending at the waist to lie me across the bed. A moment later, he flicks the lights on, and I’m not sure where to look first, because I want to know every inch of this sacred space.
Moving my hands through the sheets, a rich merlot color, the softness indicating it’s a sky-high thread count. Of course he has rich red and luxury, I wouldn’t expect any less. The bed is unmade, and pillows are everywhere.
“I don’t sleep well,” he says, “but I have a sneaking suspicion that’s about to come to a close.”
The subtext in that statement makes the base of my throat throb, and the back of my nose burn.
He nods, tugging his hoodie off over his head, tossing it aside.
“Take off your clothes, Juliette.” In another half of a minute, Ford Mercer is naked in front of me, serpents twining florals, daggers, ships lost at sea, beautiful women with their breasts exposed–his ink and muscles take my breath away.
I’ve seen him without a shirt many times over the years; summers at the lake, swimming in the backyard, working out in the garage, cruising the halls post-shower.
And thanks to our rendezvous a few weeks ago, the rest of his body is no longer a mystery to me, either.
But he will never fail to take my breath away.
“You’re so hot,” I murmur, absentmindedly staring at him as I shimmy out of my leggings, panties still on. Reaching for the hem of my shirt, I take a pause. This is when Harry would turn the lights off.
I look over at Ford, whose eyes are glued to me, and wait.
“The light,” I offer, hands still lying in wait at the bottom of my t-shirt.
He shakes his head. “The light stays on. I want to see every inch of what’s mine.
” He fishes his cock from his boxers, and begins stroking the rigid, angry length.
My mouth goes dry and my nostrils flare, and after a deep breath, my top joins his pants on the floor.
He’s already seen me naked, but now, I’m sober.
I’m not insecure, and I don’t know why I’m hesitant.
“Did that prick make you feel like the lights needed to be off?” he asks, stalking toward me on the bed, making everything between my thighs warm and fuzzy.
The bed dips as he crawls between my legs, nuzzling his face into my cotton panties. Kat warned me that today may end like this–well, not like this exactly, but with Ford and I together.
I still can’t even think those words without absolutely freaking out.
When I got dressed earlier, I hadn't planned on lace or silk or anything remotely seductive because who could have predicted this? Me, here, with him, unraveling in ways I never saw coming.
I shake my head, a silent no as his mouth trails fiery kisses along my inner thighs. But his question hangs in the air, and I pause, really considering it.
My fingers thread through Ford's thick hair, my thumb tracing the sharp line of ink along his cheekbone, then gliding down the hard curve of his shoulder, and over the bulge of his bicep, which flexes beneath my touch.
He worships me with his mouth, placing slow, reverent kisses on my thighs, my mound, then the swell of each hip.
Ford’s large hands slide beneath me, spanning my cheeks, gripping with a possessiveness that draws a low groan from deep in his chest. Then, with one swift tug, my plain cotton panties join the discarded clothes on the floor.
“Fuuuck, Juliette,” he growls, voice rough with awe as he pushes up onto his knees, towering over me on the bed. “Look at you. You should be worshiped. You’re a queen."
My breath catches as I drink him in; the vast expanse of muscle carved beneath tanned, tattooed skin, the fierce designs intertwined with unexpectedly tender ones, and silver threads in his chest hair, trimmed short, catching the low light.
My stomach turns over on itself when I catch sight of the gold chain that glints around his neck– the same one that had thudded against his collarbone at my place that night as he slammed into me.
I’ve seen that chain so often over the years.
Tucked beneath his collared shirt on Easter, lying over his t-shirt after a run with Geo, between his fingers as he works, playing with it thoughtlessly.
And now I know what that chain sounds like when it thumps against his body as he makes love. It’s surreal. Everything about us is.
I sit up, my fingers brushing the cool metal of his chain, the chill sending a shiver through me that dizzyingly contrasts the heat radiating off his body.
He wraps his arms around me in one fluid motion, pulling me close until his hard cock presses insistently against my stomach.
His lips find my throat, hot and demanding.
“Don't ever hide from me again,” he murmurs against my skin, his cedar-wood scent enveloping me, sinking into my soul.
I shake my head, my fingers tangling in the chain at the nape of his neck as he rains kisses along my throat.
He traces out a spot on my neck with his tongue before he nips gently, drawing out a gasp.
God, the sounds he makes, the deep groans when his lips claim mine, the raw grunts when he tastes my flesh–all of it sends heat flooding through every inch of me.
And there, pressing hot and unyielding against my belly, is proof that this isn't some fleeting haze of lust or booze.
It's real. It's us. I do this to him.
“Yes,” I breathe, my eyelids fluttering closed as Ford reaches between us, sliding two thick fingers over my sticky, swollen clit.
“Yes, he liked the lights off,” I admit on a moan as Ford tips me back, coming to crowd over me on the mattress.
Stroking my clit, his chest partially pressed to mine, he hovers over me, eyes on mine.
“I’ve never…” I murmur, hesitancy sticky on my lips. “I’ve never been touched like this, with the lights on, and been, you know, looked at.”
Ford’s lips dust mine in a soft kiss. His green eyes hold mine. “Eye contact, sweetheart, we’re making eye contact.”
I nod, licking my lips, cautioning a glance at his hand slowly working me over. Blinking down, the sight of Ford Mercer’s inked fingers plunging between my lips, the pad of his finger curling slow circles over my clit– “I’ve just… never… it’s never been like this.”
Ford nods, “intimacy is rare.” I spread my legs a little wider, giving him more room, but he stays focused on me, on my face, on my words.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and get lost in his touch, to fight the urge not to fold and come right this instant. I could. I could look at him, look down at his hand inside me, and orgasm this second.
But I don’t want it to end. I don’t know what’s next.
What lies after this moment, this magnanimous night.
I shake my head. “No. It feels… kind of like I want to cry, but also laugh. And, I don’t know,” I hedge, trying to explain the complicated emotions unraveling in my belly.
“It feels just…” I’m hesitant to say it, but Ford pulls the words out of me with another kiss, this one longer, his tongue caressing mine for a hot second.
“What? What does it feel like?” He urges, voice smoky.
“How it’s supposed to, when you’re with the right person.” My chin wobbles with the admission, and my eyes sting. Ford, eyes searching mine, kisses my tears away, still slowly working me over.
“That's why I was scared that night at your place. I felt that. I feel it still, only now, I’m not scared. I’m embracing it, because you and me, Juliette, we are meant to be. Of that I’m certain.”
Nearly trembling with need beneath him, my heart racing, I say what I didn’t say before. I want him to know before we go further. Reaching up, I take his cheek in my hand, my belly flaring with heat as he turns his head and presses a kiss to my palm. “Ford,” I whisper. “I love you.”