Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
L andyn
So…
That was an orgasm.
I sit here for a moment, dazed and blinking, still straddling Ford’s lap, still full of him, still very much wrecked in the best, most unholy way possible.
Huh. Apparently, I have a thing for car sex, because holy shit—nothing I’ve ever felt even belongs in the same category as what just happened in this car.
I feel lit up and weightless. Liquid bones. Heart racing. Muscles quivering.
Ford’s hand rests on my thigh, warm and grounding, but his breathing’s still ragged—harsh, uneven gasps. He doesn’t speak.
“Ford?” I say softly, brushing my knuckles over his forehead. “Are you okay?”
No answer.
My chest tightens, worry creeping up my spine like a cold draft. “Ford,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Is everything okay? ”
He finally lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. “I’m good,” he rasps. “I’m so good. I’m happy.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach twist in a sharp, sweet way. “I’m just… happy, Landyn,” he repeats. “Happier than I’ve been in a long fucking time. And I want to take care of you.”
Before I can respond—before I can even figure out what to say—his lips are on mine in a slow, lingering kiss. “That was me getting everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve ever wished for over the past seven years, June.” Then he’s helping me off his lap, his hands gentle, guiding.
He finds my dress crumpled in the footwell and eases it back over my head, pulling the soft fabric down my arms, smoothing it into place with a reverence that makes me ache.
He reaches for his pants, tugging them up his hips.
His breath is still ragged, but it’s quieter now.
There’s no hesitation as he opens the door and takes my hand and then we’re walking into his house through, the front hall, and up the stairs.
My body’s still humming, my legs still shaky. I follow him, barefoot and wordless, something tight curling around my heart. He leads me into his bedroom and then through a second door that opens into a moody-toned ensuite. I watch, silently, as he walks to the tub.
“I’m going to run us a bath.” He turns on the tap. Adjusts the water. Dips his hand under the stream.
I don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not Ford Winters running me a bath. Not this quiet, stripped-down version of him. I just watch, heart thudding. I watch him move around the bathroom like this is normal. Like he didn’t’ just wreck me in the front seat of his car.
Ford disappears into the bedroom and comes back with a cluster of pillar candles. He sets them around the room— on the edge of the tub, the vanity, the back of the toilet—then strikes a match. One by one, they flicker to life. The scent of vanilla blooms almost instantly, sweet and warm.
Steam rises from the tub in curling ribbons, softening everything. It’s nearly full when he turns off the tap and looks at me. His voice is low. “Here, June, I’ve got you.”
It’s not a question. I blink, pulse ticking high again. He steps toward me, hands moving to the hem of my dress. He lifts it slowly, peeling it up and over my head like he’s unwrapping something fragile. He pulls it free and lets it fall to the floor. My bralette and underwear go next.
I don’t have time to feel shy or exposed before he steps back and starts removing his shirt, his shorts, his boxers. They’re all left on the floor exposing every hard line of him.
His chest is all thick muscle, broad and tapered, arms veined and flexing with every small movement. His abs catch the candlelight like a sculpture, cut deep and solid. And then there’s his cock, already thickening again.
My thighs clench without permission before I dip a toe into the water.
Hot, but not scalding. I slide in slowly, easing under the surface inch by inch until the water cradles me, rising just beneath my collarbones.
I exhale, my entire body unwinding into it, tension melting away only to be replaced by a similar sensation, this one tightening low in my belly because I can feel him watching me. Like a hunter waiting to pounce.
I slide lower, dipping under the surface until the tips of my shoulders are submerged and my skin is tingling. Ford gets in after me and I rise up so he can climb in behind me. Water sloshes over the edge and hits the tile with a soft slap as he sinks lower.
We settle. His chest presses to my back, his thighs bracket mine.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves except for Ford’s big, steady hand that dips into the water, cupping it and pouring it over my shoulders, my arms, the parts of me not fully submerged.
Over and over. Patient. Careful. The only sound is our breathing and the trickle of water.
We stay like that forever, or maybe just long enough for me to wonder how I ever survived without this. When he does speak, his voice is low, quiet and careful in a way that makes my heart ache. “Do you want more kids?”
My fingers drift along the surface of the water, tracing nothing. “Only with you.”
He stills behind me. I feel it in his breath, in the way his chest halts for half a second.
“You mean that?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.
I nod. “Yeah. I do.” Because I can’t imagine starting over with anyone else. Because the idea of building something—everything—with him doesn’t scare me the way it used to.
“What about you? Would you want another?”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tighter against his chest. His mouth brushes the edge of my shoulder. “You already gave me the best thing I’ve ever had,” he says. “If I got the chance to do it again—with you—I’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
“We’re not broken anymore,” I whisper.
“No,” he agrees, his mouth soft against my skin. “We’re just getting started.”
And in the stillness of the bath, wrapped in candlelight and the arms of the only man who’s ever truly had me…I believe him.
His lips brush the side of my head, a quiet kiss against my damp hair, and I lean into it. The water is starting to cool, but his arms stay warm around me, his chest a steady, solid wall at my back .
When his hands slide over my stomach, I know it’s not just comfort he’s giving me. His palms move slowly, purposefully, skimming my ribs before drifting up, cupping one breast beneath the water. My breath catches, but I don’t pull away.
Ford’s mouth finds the curve of my shoulder, his teeth grazing it before his lips soothe the spot. “Come to bed,” he murmurs against my skin.
We rise together, water cascading from our bodies, pooling on the tile. He wraps me in a towel before I can reach for one, his thumb sweeping along my jaw, his eyes searching mine like he’s asking a question without words.
In his bedroom, the sheets are cool against my skin as he eases me back onto the bed. He kneels at the foot, and my breath stutters when his hands grip my knees, urging them apart.
“Ford…”
He slides his palms up my thighs, spreading me wider, lowering himself until the heat of his breath ghosts over me. The first stroke of his tongue through my folds is slow, deliberate, like he’s reacquainting himself with every inch of me.
I arch into him, a soft sound catching in my throat. His hands lock around my hips, holding me still as his tongue moves in lazy, devastating patterns, flicking over my clit before drawing it between his lips.
“God—” My head falls back, fingers clutching the sheets.
He doesn’t let up, alternating between deep, languid licks and quick, precise flicks that have my thighs trembling.
Every time I try to grind against him for more, his grip tightens, forcing me to take what he gives, exactly how he gives it.
When he finally slips a finger inside me, curling just right, the pleasure spikes so sharply I nearly cry out.
He adds a second, his tongue never leaving me, coaxing me higher, closer, until the tension inside me snaps.
I shatter against him, the release hot and blinding, my body shaking as his name spills from my lips in a high-pitched cry. He doesn’t pull away until I’ve ridden out every wave, until I’m limp against the mattress.
Ford crawls up over me, his mouth finding mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
His hard cock is trapped between us, the weight of him pressing against my stomach.
We kiss and kiss until I’m desperate to feel him inside me.
Until I reach between us wrapping my fingers around the base of him, hot and heavy in my hand.
The weigh of him makes my pulse tick. I guide him to where I need him, the blunt head of his cock sliding against me in a way that makes my whole-body shiver.
The first push steals my breath, and when he slides into me slowly, like he wants to feel every second of it, every inch, my legs curl around him, pulling him deeper.
His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.
This isn’t frantic like the car. It’s slower, heavier. It’s about claiming and keeping. His thumb strokes along my jaw, his eyes holding mine like he’s afraid to look away.
Then his hips start to move, slowly at first, then deeper, harder, until the rhythm sinks into my bones. My toes curl when he’s buried to the hilt, and a strangled sound slips from me every time he pulls almost all the way out.
Every thrust feels intentional and deliberate, like he’s crafting something out of me.
His thick, solid length drags against every tender place inside me, hitting the one spot that makes my vision blur.
He does it again and again, until I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t filling me like this until the only truth I know is that I’ll shatter if I don’t come soon.
My hand starts to drift down between my legs, desperate for the friction I need, but he catches my wrist, pushing it back to the mattress.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he says, his voice absolute, his pupils blown wide, near black in the dim light.