Chapter 9 #3
He unfastened her dress slowly. When it slipped to the floor, she didn't hide. She didn't apologize for the scars or the faint white lines at her hip from an old shrapnel graze she rarely spoke about. Her panties followed.
He backed her up to the bed, and when her legs hit the mattress, he pressed her back against the pillows.
Breath hot against her skin, he kissed along one of the scars, then lower.
His mouth traced the hollow of her hip, teeth grazing the tender skin of her inner thigh.
She spread wider for him, an invitation he accepted without hesitation.
His tongue found her center, tasting her arousal. She gasped, hips bucking against his mouth. He pinned her down with one hand flat on her stomach, the other sliding two fingers inside her, curling upward while his lips closed around her clit.
"Ford," she breathed, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. "Don't stop."
He worked her with his mouth and fingers until her thighs trembled, until she was writhing beneath him.
Then, with one more taste, she came apart with a cry that echoed off the walls.
He stayed with her through it, gentling his movements as the waves subsided, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs.
When he lifted himself over her, she pulled at his clothes impatiently, needing skin. He helped her strip away the last barriers between them. She wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking slowly, watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath stuttered.
"Nightstand," he managed, voice rough. "Top drawer."
She reached over, found a foil packet, and tore it open. She rolled the condom down his length herself, taking her time, watching his jaw clench with the effort of holding still.
When their bodies finally pressed together, skin against skin, the heat between them became undeniable. He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing, eyes locked on hers.
"Tell me.”
"I need you inside me," she breathed.
He pushed into her in one slow, deep stroke. She gasped at the stretch, nails raking down his back, a moan spilling from her throat when he was fully buried inside her. He gave her a moment, forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard.
"Move," she pleaded.
The rhythm built gradually, slowly at first, then deeper, harder.
She hooked her legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, pulling him impossibly closer.
His mouth found the hollow of her throat, teeth scraping against her pulse point hard enough to bruise.
He nuzzled one breast and then the other, her rosy nipples forming hard points.
"Please," she gasped.
He drove into her with more force. He was controlled, not frenzied. His eyes bore into hers. She met him stroke for stroke, hips rising to take him deeper. The sounds filling the room were indecent and sexy with skin slapping skin, her breathless moans, and his low grunts of pleasure.
He shifted the angle, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder, and she cried out as he hit something exquisite inside her. Her hand flew to the headboard, bracing herself as he took her to the edge.
Her name left his mouth like a promise. His left hers like a prayer.
"I'm close," she gasped. “Please.”
He reached between them, thumb circling her clit in tight, fast strokes. She shattered with a scream, clenching around him tightly. He followed moments later with a groan that rumbled through his chest, hips stuttering as he came.
Afterward, neither pulled away. Ford rolled them to the side.
Limbs tangled together, they were slick with sweat, breathing ragged.
Soon, he withdrew from her body and slipped from the bed to dispose of the condom.
She headed to the other bathroom. Both returned, and he pulled her against his chest.
"Still steady?" she murmured.
"Yeah.” He placed her palm against his heart. "You?"
She nodded.
The ocean moved outside. The breeze shifted the curtains. His fingers traced slow circles along her back, not needing anything more. Her breathing evened gradually, exhaustion claiming her in the safest place she'd allowed herself in years.
He stayed awake and let the room hold them. Moonlight cut a thin path across the floor, landing on her knuckles where her hand was loose, palm open against his ribs. Every so often, a muscle in her thigh flickered—a ghost of sprinting that faded as his breathing matched hers.
He eased the sheet higher over her shoulders, careful not to jostle the chain at her neck, the small pendant warmed by skin.
Outside, the tide rolled and withdrew like a long, patient thought.
He counted the beats beneath her ear and felt them sync, not perfect, but close enough to call it peace.
The word he didn’t say settled between them anyway, solid as a stone: stay.
He understood now what loving someone like her would cost. It would mean staying. It would mean not defaulting to distance. It would mean choosing presence over control. He brushed his lips against her hair. Finally, he let himself sleep.
And this time, there were no ghosts.