Chapter 21 #3
I nod. But I’m afraid to speak, because if I try, I may erupt into tears. Ford Mercer is my dream, and I’m beneath my dream, taking his cock.
“Surreal?” he asks, kissing my cheekbones, then the tip of my nose.
I nod.
“Me too,” he says, his mouth finding mine again as he lifts one of my legs, bracing it against his chest. I don’t like this position because it’s unflattering to my tummy, and I know if his eyes leave mine to roam my body, he’ll see my stomach bunched up, the extra stress I carry around my hips that I never lost in college, the jagged marks in my skin from my body’s evolution.
I don’t hate those things about myself, but in front of the man I’ve loved since forever, I find myself wishing he wouldn’t see them.
Pushing my leg down, against his chest, his eyes come to mine and he grips my ankle. “Does it hurt?” he asks, smoothing his fingertips over my knee. “Does it hurt when I have your leg on my chest while I fuck you?”
“Ooh,” I hum, so not used to Ford Mercer’s mouth, his dirty talk, and the look in his eye when he’s saying unspeakably filthy things. “Mr. Mercer, I’m not used to your mouth.”
His eyes fall to my pussy for a brief moment, his nostrils flaring as he runs his fingers over the place where our bodies join. His fingers stroking the base of himself, playing with my lips– it’s so fucking hot.
I shake my head. “Stop, Ford. I’ll… you’re…” I don’t finish that sentence but instead, think about moving my leg back down, so my body is flat. The way I feel the most confident. “I just, I’m a little self conscious of myself at this angle,” I admit, and that brings him to a halt.
He empties me, sliding out, hovering over me again.
His cock drags against my belly, wet and steely, making my insides clench.
I am desperate to have him inside me again, starved for his affection and attention, and I want nothing more than to know what it’s like to have Ford Mercer’s cum leaking out of my pussy all night.
But he takes my eyes in a serious glare.
“Juliette,” he says, the weight of his body making it hard to think. Skating my fingertips along his ribcage, I widen my legs, but he doesn’t fuck me. His cock stays pressed against my thigh, his eyes searching mine, chest heaving. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” The question feels rhetorical.
Lifting my head from his pillow, I wait for his lips. He kisses me, but demands my answer, remaining silent.
“I look–” I stop and restart, wanting to be exact with my words.
If Ford and I are starting a relationship, it’s important he understands the relationship that I have with my body.
That’s important to me, because I don’t think that Harry, or any other ex has.
“I feel better about myself in bed when–” I stop again, and restart with the utter truth.
“I want you to think I look sexy and beautiful all the time and I know when my leg is up, my tummy rolls and my dimples really show and I’m okay with my tummy and dimples, I am, but…
I want you to think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, Ford, and I just–”
Thankfully, since I had no clue where I was going with that or how I was going to get out of that without trudging up old body shaming memories, Ford places his finger over my mouth, keeping my lips closed.
“With your clothes on, with your makeup off, when you’re upset or when you’re really fucking pissed, when you’re spinning that thumb ring because you’re anxious, when you’re sick and wearing your alumni hoodie, when you’re being a contortionist to get the right photo, when you’re in sweats or when you’re in a backless dress that steals my breath, a single digit size or double–I love you, Juliette, and I want you.
I want your heart and your mind, yes, but I want your lips and your breasts, and I want to run my hands over your belly and thighs, I want to feel your perfect, beautiful body, the body of the woman who makes me feel whole, who makes life fully worth living, I want it all because you’re fucking perfect, and you’re mine. ”
Tears prick the back of my eyes.
He strokes thick fingers through my hair, and dusts my tears away with his thumbs, still holding my gaze.
My chest tightens, burning desire flooding through me.
I lick my lips, tasting my tears, salty and abundant, and can’t help but smile.
These are good tears, unlike the tears shed with Harry.
I nod, and manage a controlled smile while battling the overwhelming adoration I have for Ford.
He slides his hand beneath my knee, and rears my leg back again, and our groans nearly rattle the walls when he slides back inside me.
“You’re the best thing I’ve felt,” he groans, letting my leg balance against his chest and shoulder as his hands find my hips.
Grabbing me, he moans at the soft feel of my flesh beneath his touch.
“I love your body, Juliette,” he praises.
“These thighs, fuck, the unholy things I have thought,” he grumbles, holding me tight as he thrusts into me, his body slapping against mine.
“What?” I breathe, dying to know the ways in which I have existed in Ford’s mind.
“Having my face trapped between them while I eat your pussy,” he admits, hips roving as one hand slides to where we’re joined, thumb falling on my clit.
Tipping my head further back, nearly upside down, I let my eyes slam shut for a hot second.
“Or these thighs around my head while you take a seat on my face and ride,” he continues, the slick sound of his thumb against my clit making my eyes flutter open.
I don’t know how I didn’t see this before, but on the wall above his bed, framed in weathered birchwood, matted in a rich champagne, is one of the first photos I ever took with my Canon DSLR.
I haven’t thought about this image in years, and can’t remember what I did with it.
I was with Kat when I took it, that much I do remember.
Though I’m certain I had no idea that Ford had it blown up, matted and framed, and hung it over his head.
His palm cups my jaw, tilting my face down to meet his potent gaze.
“I need those gorgeous eyes on me, Juliette,” he rasps, voice like crushed gravel soaked in the whiskey he serves.
Sweat traces a glistening path between the chiseled slabs of his pecs, slipping over the inked, lone flower on his chest. “Give me that beautiful face, sweetheart.”
A helpless moan spills from my lips as he drives into me harder, his controlled strokes turning sloppier, more frantic.
“I love how your voice changes when you’re making love,” I confess, the words tumbling out on a gasp.
I thought this before, at my apartment, but with the moment and the booze, I never said it.
His thumb circles my clit with precision, while he hooks his other hand beneath my other knee, draping my leg over his shoulder.
Ford presses soft kisses along my calf, sending sparks up my spine.
“These legs,” he growls against my skin, worship brimming from every syllable. “Fuck, I love these legs wrapped around me.” He thrusts relentlessly, making my toes curl. “And these tits. Hell, Juliette, your tits are perfect. Watching them bounce for me… it’s fucking everything.”
His hands glide up my thighs, strong fingers locking around my ankles as he spreads me wider, finding a punishing rhythm.
Sweat beads on his forehead, catching the dim afternoon light like diamonds as he stares down at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
He sinks in, to the hilt, and stills, his cock throbbing, hot and thick inside me.
“You want me?” he teases, voice low and dangerous.
“I want you more than air,” I whisper, the truth ripping free after years of restraint. “There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted the way that I want you.” Heat coils low in my belly, my nipples peaking tight and aching as he begins again, his relentless pace pushing me toward the edge.
“Ford,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Please… I need to come with you. I need to feel you lose control inside me.”
He flashes a wicked, breathless smile. “I’ve been on the edge since the cake tasting, sweetheart.”
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the sun-dappled bedroom as he spreads my knees wider, palms gliding down my thighs in soothing, possessive strokes. My breasts sway with every thrust, his pleasure blurring the edges of my vision.
“You want me?” he demands again, hips moving faster, less precise, more urgent. “I’m yours, Juliette. But that means you’re mine.” His eyes lock on mine, fierce and unwavering. “Every gorgeous inch. Every moan. Every heartbeat. Mine. Say you understand. Tell me you know who you belong to.”
I nod frantically, sweat gathering on my upper lip as a primal growl rumbles from his chest. His gold chain swings wildly with each punishing thrust. “You’re going to be my wife,” he vows, voice lined with emotion.
“You’ll carry my babies. You’ll wake up with me already buried deep, begging you to take every drop–begging you to let me breed you again and again.
I’ll never stop worshipping you, never stop filling you, never stop loving you. ”
“Ford!” I cry out, legs trembling against his chest, that delicious burn blooming where we’re joined as one. “I’m, I’m coming!”
He yanks me closer, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise in the sweetest way.
“That’s it, beautiful. Take my cock. Take everything.
” His voice drops to a filthy whisper. “Your greedy little pussy is milking me so fucking tight, I can feel you begging for my cum. Tell me you want it. Beg for it, baby.”
“Please,” I sob, vision tunneling as ecstasy washes over me. “Please, Ford–give me your cum. Fill me up.”
He groans my name like a prayer, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat before snapping open again, locking on mine. His abs clench hard, ink shifting over flexed muscle as he pounds into me one final time.
I shatter first, waves of blinding pleasure ripping through me, my walls fluttering and clenching around him in desperate pulses.
He follows, roaring my name as his cock jerks deep inside, flooding me with hot, thick ropes of cum.
The strain and striation in this throat as he comes, the way his nostrils flare and his hand slides from my hip to my throat tenderly gripping me, all of it, everything about Ford Mercer orgasming inside me is forever my favorite thing.
We come together, staring into each other’s souls, bodies tangled in desire, every thrust drawing out the bliss until we’re both completely spent.
The next time I open my eyes, I’m covered in a sheet, and the TV plays softly from its spot on the wall, blinds drawn tightly closed.
I sit up, finding my body no longer sweaty but still naked beneath the sheet.
Next to me, Ford sits, back to the headboard, a laptop over his thighs.
Glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as he types, but the moment I move, he closes the computer.
“What time is it? How long has it been since…?”
Ford tugs off his glasses, and pats his chest, urging me to nuzzle into him, which I do. “A few hours. You fell asleep and… I enjoyed being with you while you slept, so I let you nap.” He strokes his fingers through my hair. “Hungry?”