Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
PAIGE
Instinct had driven me across the hall to Ford’s room and into his bed.
I couldn’t shut off the need burning inside me, no matter how many times I tried to talk myself out of it.
All those shoulds and shouldn’ts—I was tired of it.
That voice in my head reminded me of my mother, overanalyzing, criticizing, breaking me down.
Maybe I shouldn’t want Ford Sawyer, but I did.
And miracle of miracles, he wanted me back.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, and maybe it was.
I wouldn’t know unless I took the leap, and I was so fucking tired of telling myself no.
I was an adult, a free woman, and he was a free man.
I wasn’t asking him to marry me or make me any promises, but I wanted him.
He wanted me. And what was wrong with that? Not a damn thing.
I hadn’t had a plan in mind as I lay in my bed, listening to the clock tick, trying to find sleep, and tossing and turning in the dark.
I’d heard his feet on the stairs, the way he paused in the hall before moving to his door instead of mine.
After the night before, he had to know he’d be welcome, but perhaps he hadn’t wanted to wake me up.
Or maybe he was exhausted and would turn me away if I knocked. No way to know unless I took a chance.
I had slid out of my bed before I could talk myself out of it, grabbed my robe, and crept across the hall.
I’d tried the antique crystal handle on his door, and it turned easily, swinging open to reveal an empty room, the beat of the shower pounding on the other side of the bathroom door.
A smile curved across my mouth as I thought about my next move.
And again, before I could talk myself out of it, I tossed my robe and nightgown across the foot of the bed and slid between his sheets.
It could have been the most humiliating moment of my life thus far…
But I had payback in mind, and as much as nerves fluttered in my belly, I didn’t think he’d send me away.
The look on his face when he saw me in his bed told me everything I needed to know.
That flare of hungry desire. The slow smile.
I was coming to love every one of Ford Sawyer’s smiles.
As faint and brief as they were, they were real, and I treasured every one.
But none as much as this one—not just curving one side of his lips, but stretching all the way across, so real and true I could see his teeth and the light of it in his eyes.
Even once he told me they’d caught the bastard who’d come after him, I could tell the smile was about me.
He reached for me, awe and lust a heady swirl in that sea-green gaze.
His kiss was possessive, his hands closing over me, one cupping my chin, the other sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my ass.
Strong. It was one of the things about Ford that sent heat spiraling through me every time we touched.
His body, his hands, his mouth, his eyes—every part of him.
And yet he didn’t use that strength in force.
He used it to protect, to care, to pleasure.
Everything about that turned me on so much; it made my head spin.
I hooked my leg around his hip, my fingers lost in his thick hair, kissing him as if my life depended on it.
He shifted, and I sensed he planned to flip me to my back.
I had something else in mind. Dragging my mouth from his, I braced my forearms on his chest and pressed up, putting a few inches between us.
“Stay put,” I ordered.
His mouth curled in another smile, and his eyes flamed. “For what?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” I said, grinning back at him as I inched my way down his long body, pressing kisses as I moved—the curve of his pec, his flat, dark nipple tightening under the flick of my tongue.
He let out a short gasp, and I slid my mouth down the ridges of his abs, dipping my tongue into his belly button, closing my teeth gently over the side of his hip.
His erection pressed against me, thicker, longer with every touch of my lips to his skin. When my fingers closed around him, he sucked in a breath, exhaling my name. “Paige—fuck, Paige.”
I nudged his legs apart and settled between his thighs. Ford lifted up on his elbows, something that looked like alarm in his eyes, shadowed by lust.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he said, “but if you do that, I’m going to embarrass myself.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You can’t embarrass yourself—I’m going to do all the work.”
His lips quirked, and he shook his head. His eyes flicked away and then back to mine. That was definitely embarrassment, colored by lust, but still there. “I haven’t been with anyone since before prison. Long before.”
I dropped my head and licked, tasting the crown of his penis. He smelled of soap, and beneath that, of Ford. He made a choking sound as my mouth closed over him, and I gave a hard suck.
“Paige, I—”
I lifted my head and smirked up at him. “It’s been a while for me, too. It’s been so long, I’m not sure I know how to do this anymore. I might end up being the one embarrassed.”
I dropped my head and gave the length of his erection a long, slow lick. He shuddered, groaning, his head tipping back.
“Feel free to practice on me, then,” he rumbled, his words slurring. “Just don’t be surprised if it’s a short lesson. Because goddamn, you’re good at that.”
I didn’t argue about my proficiency or lack thereof. I didn’t have an extensive sexual past. God knew dating had been the last thing on my mind in recent times, but I liked being exactly where I was—with this man trembling beneath me, at my mercy.
I wanted this. I wanted to make him come, to leave him as stunned with bliss as he had me the night before.
I had no doubt that he would take good care of me later.
But for now, I parted my lips, sliding them over his length.
I couldn’t take all of him—he was too big—and I didn’t know how to go about trying to deep-throat a penis.
Judging by the way his breath shuddered and the groan of my name on his lips, I was doing well enough.
After the first minute or two, I stopped worrying about technique and my lack of experience, because he tasted good.
I loved the feel of him, the way he arched and moaned, one hand gripping the duvet and the other tangled in my hair—not pushing or guiding, just holding, staying connected as I worked my mouth over his erection and drew out every gasp.
He was barely touching me, but he didn’t need to.
Just those fingers tangled in my hair, the feel of him beneath me, the sound of him in my ears was enough.
My breasts felt full and tight, my nipples hard, needy peaks.
The heat between my legs grew, demanding I slide his cock out of my mouth and climb on top.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted a man like this. Maybe never. Maybe just Ford.
His fingers tightened in my hair, giving a sharp tug. “Paige, I can’t. I can’t—”
I knew what he wanted, but I disagreed. I tightened my grip, his length slippery from my mouth, and stroked and sucked until I drew the orgasm from him.
His groan was long and deep. I almost couldn’t swallow it all, but I managed.
When he relaxed into the bed, I rested my head on his stomach, drawing lines on his hip with a light touch.
I was restless with need, and at the same time, I could have stayed there forever, curled at his side, touching him, listening to his breathing slow, his fingers threaded through my hair, brushing it from my face.
Usually, I thought of oral sex as something I did for my partner.
It had never turned me on like this before.
I shifted my legs, feeling the slick heat from having him in my mouth.
I traced the flare of the head of his cock with my fingertip, watching in fascination as it grew longer, hard once more. He’d never truly gone soft.
I shifted, flicking my eyes up to his.
He propped himself on his elbows and grinned down at me, the light in his sea-green eyes bright in a way I’d never seen before—as if all his worries had lifted for just these moments.
“I told you it had been a while,” he said.
“So, this isn’t your normal refractory period?” I asked, dipping my head down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Not exactly. But maybe it’s you.”
He curled up, his abs flexing impressively—the muscle distracting me before I realized what he was up to.
Strong hands hooked under my arms, and suddenly I was on my back, my hair spread across the pillow, my body splayed out beneath him.
He pushed up on his hands, taking me in—my flushed cheeks, my shoulders, my breasts, nipples still peaked, begging for his mouth.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he said. “I feel like I’m going to wake up and you’ll have been a dream.
And it’s not this…” He shifted his weight to one elbow, reaching down to cup my breast, running his thumb along my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.
“I mean, it’s partly this, because your body is beautiful.
But it’s this…” He looked up, running a finger across my forehead with the sweetest, lightest touch, down my nose, up my cheekbone, tapping beside my eye.
“And this. You have light inside you. You glow with it. When I’m near you, I feel like it spreads across me. You lift the dark.”
His lips met mine, and my heart swelled.
No one had ever said such things to me. That I was pretty, that I was hot—I’d heard that now and then—but nothing like this.
I understood what he meant. Not the glow-inside-me part, but I knew it wasn’t that he lifted my dark.
It was different than that. My hands reached up, closing over his shoulders, pulling him down, and I kissed him, as I struggled to find the right words.