Chapter 8 Olivia
EIGHT
OLIVIA
He tastes salty and a little bitter, yet not in a gross I know where he’s been kind of way. It’s actually a little invigorating, and with the way he strains above me, trying to keep hold of the little control he has left, knowing I’m the one taking it from him…
Heat swells in my belly, making me hot all over.
I take him in my mouth slowly, the head of his cock on my tongue. He’s wide enough that I feel a strain at the corners of my lips, one that tells me taking all of him will be impossible. I knew Ford was big the first time. I’d just felt him stretch me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
This just tells me I’ll have to be a little more creative.
Keeping my left hand wrapped around his shaft, I play with myself and take him as deep as I can before releasing him completely to run my tongue down the underside of his cock. Ford makes a choked sound above me before blowing out a breath.
“Olivia…” he warns again, control slipping further. “This is going to be very embarrassing.”
I pull my lips from him long enough to look up at him through my lashes. “And why’s that, cowboy?”
He hisses again when I flick my tongue over his slit. “Because I don’t quite have the stamina I used to.”
“I distinctly remember you giving me…three orgasms before you came the first time,” I murmur around his tip, which earns me another guttural sound.
Ford runs his fingers through my hair gently before placing his palm on the back of my head. “Darlin’, you were the last woman I was ever with, and I haven’t stopped thinking about that night since.”
I pause, tongue flattened on the underside of his cock, and look up at him. Shining eyes find mine, soft in a way that makes my heart stutter and guilt wash through me. “You haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “No. Never stopped thinking about you. And having you here is like a dream come true. Not just on your knees, before you ask. But in general. Just knowing you’re real—that none of it was a fantasy—is better than anything I could have hoped for.”
A lump forms in my throat, so thick I can barely swallow around it.
Ford doesn’t let me finish, instead guiding me back to my feet and kissing me hard, pouring everything he has—his devotion, his heart, his hope—into it.
And for a moment, I get lost in the touch of him, letting the guilt fall away.
Ford cradles me in his arms, our hands joined over his racing heart while I lay my head on his chest. Neither of us move, lost to our own thoughts. If it weren’t for the fact that I could feel him tracing soft, slow circles on my hand, I might have thought him asleep.
Instead, we both stare at the rising sun—magnificent as it lights up the early morning sky—through the gap in the trees.
“What are you thinking about, darlin’?” he asks, a twang of that southern charm heavy in his voice. The more tired he is, the thicker it becomes, I’ve noticed.
A shaky breath falls from my lips, eyes closing. In the darkness, I see Christopher. His chubby, smiling face. The hint of dimples that are a direct inheritance from his father. I get a glimpse at what our life could be like if I finally tell Ford the truth.
“There’s something I need to tell you—”
I get cut off by shouts and the squeals of women near the waterfall. It’s so shocking after experiencing the silence of the night that it has me sitting up, heart racing.
Ford chuckles, running a hand down my spine. “Skinny dippers,” he says, voice light. “They think we don’t know about it.”
The lump in my throat is tight, making it hard to swallow or speak, but I somehow manage a small laugh in response.
My accidental husband sits up, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Did I do some—”
I shake my head. “No, you didn’t do anything,” I say, heart leaping into my throat. “You’ve actually been amazing. Better than I expected. Then I…deserve.”
Ford’s brows furrow as he stares at me. “You deserve the world, Olivia. And I want to be the man that gives that to you. If I haven’t made that clear enough, then I will.” He pauses for a moment, the frown deepening, and sighs. “I’ll move closer to you. Quit.”
“What?” My brows shoot up in surprise, stomach flipping. “No, that’s not—”
“You said you want to move closer to your sister, anyway. And to make this work, I should probably look at doing something a little less…time consuming.”
My heart stutters, crashing inside my chest. “Ford—”
“Unless you’re about to tell me you don’t want to continue this anymore. That despite tonight, you still want the annulment?”
Bile rises in my throat. Uncertainty hits me full force, colliding full force with all the conflicting emotions curling deep inside me.
I have to tell him. I can’t keep holding this back. He deserves to know, before he gets too invested.
It might already be too late for that.
“I’ve been keeping something from you,” I start, voice shaky. “And it might change how you look at me. No, I think it definitely will. Because it will change how we go forward. Which is okay. Whatever you choose, it’s okay.”
Confusion swims in his eyes as he inches closer. “Are you about to tell me you’ve got another husband out there I don’t know about?”
“That might actually be easier,” I reply, hands trembling as I put them in my lap. “But no. It’s not another husband. There is no boyfriend or fiancé or man in my life. Not technically.”
Ford blows out a breath and runs a hand down his face. “You had me worried for a second there, Olivia. I might be a lover, but I don’t wreck homes.”
“That is good to know,” I tell him with a shaky laugh. “It might be a little more complicated than that. I, uh, have—”
More shouts sound beyond the trees, turning from fun to blood curdling.
Ford shoots up, on his feet before I can think or move. “I have to check that out, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head and stumble to my feet. “No, no. That’s okay. We can—”
More screams, and then a shout for help.
Ford grabs my hand and together, we make our way through the trees, leaving our things behind. I don’t even think twice about my purse or our blanket. All thoughts of Christopher are tucked away, concern replacing the terrible sickness curdling in my stomach.
When the tree line breaks, we come to Lake Woodbridge and the small dock. The early morning sunrise allows us to see everything in stark, sickening clearness.
Someone swims to the edge of the water, another person floating alongside them. From here, I can’t make out if the second person is unconscious or not. But there’s definitely blood. A group of people in towels stand at the edge shaking, while others from the early fishing group gather by the bank.
“That looks like one of the staff,” Ford says, eyes locked on the pair. “You stay here. I’m going to see if he needs help.”
Before I can respond, he presses a quick kiss to the top of my head and releases my hand to rush down and help the gathered people. I remain locked in place, heart hammering, as I watch him. From here, his voice is low, and I can’t catch anything he says.
Part of me feels disappointed I didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth. All night, I’ve put it off out of fear, because now that I’m here, I don’t want this to end.
And yet, as I watch him help get the swimmer onto the shore, as he and the other staff member of the ranch perform CPR, call it in, the disappointment disappears and is instead replaced with respect.
He could have ignored it. Could have played the scream off. It could have meant anything.
But he didn’t. He jumped right into action and now, someone is alive.
I can’t be disappointed in a man that would drop everything—even me—to help a person in need. It’s admirable.
And it makes the guilt worse.