34. June #3
Leaning forward on the couch, he kisses the side of my throat and drives into me with the power of a thunderstorm.
I’ll be sore tomorrow. Even if he was smaller than he is and actually let me ride him instead of taking control the way he is, I’d still be sore.
I’ve only had sex with three guys, and it’s been a solid year since my last encounter.
And even then, the guy was nothing compared to Ford. Both physically and emotionally.
Slipping his hand between us, he massages my clit with his thumb, and my jaw drops.
It’s the perfect amount of pressure. Easy.
Rhythmic. Circles. My breasts feel heavy, and my skin feels tight as I hold onto his shoulders for balance.
I don’t want this to end. This moment. This feeling.
With his free hand, Ford picks up my right boob and shoves it into his mouth, swirling his tongue along the bud until I swear I see stars.
“Oh.” He rubs at my clit. “Oh my gosh, Ford.”
Sucking harder, he drives into me with so much momentum, I’m afraid I might actually be bucked off the guy if it wasn’t for my hands clinging to his shoulders.
He’s so deep, but it feels so good. So freaking good.
Throwing my head back, I moan his name. I’m close.
I can feel it. See it. Taste it. “Ford,” I breathe out. “Ford, I think I’m going to—”
He drags his teeth along my nipple. Not biting, just scraping the sensitive skin. The sensation shoots straight to my clit as Ford presses with just enough force to send me spiraling.
My mouth parts on a gasp, and I clench around him, pulsating with every drag of his erection as I fall apart.
Tingles spread from my core and out to my extremities, my muscles squeezing, and my eyes rolling back in my head before a lightness takes over, and I swear I’m floating.
When his cock jerks inside of me, he bends forward, burrowing his head along the crook of my neck as he comes.
Holy freaking crap.
I just had sex with Ford Harden. With his arms still wrapped around my waist, he places a gentle kiss against the side of my throat, then lifts his head. “Damn, Bug.”
The edge of my mouth raises. “Why do you call me that?”
“Call you what?”
“Bug,” I clarify. “I mean, I know my name’s June, but…”
Reaching up, he tucks my hair behind my ear, studying me.
It’s like he’s debating something. Whether or not he should tell me the truth.
Or maybe whether or not he should brush off what just transpired between us altogether.
I don’t want him to, though. To brush it aside or act like it didn’t mean anything.
Then again, maybe it didn’t. Not to him. I know he likes me. He said so himself. But he’s Ford Harden. Him liking something or someone isn’t the issue. It’s keeping them around that seems to be his downfall.
“You’re a light, June,” he murmurs. “A little blip of light that appears anytime you’re around.” Threading his hand around the back of my neck, he pulls me into him and kisses me softly. “Even if you’re only around for a little while, it’s still a highlight every time.”
I melt against him, savoring his kind words and the feel of him still buried inside of me, when a loud knock jerks me from the moment.
I scramble off Ford’s lap and scoop up my clothing from the ground, moving faster than I ever have in my entire life.
“Crap, crap, crap.” Hiding behind the loveseat, I fidget with my clothes as Ford calls out, “Give us a sec, Jag—”
“How do you know it’s Jag?” I screech.
“Because anyone else would’ve barged in,” he mutters. Plucking my underwear from the cushion—I knew that thing was missing—he smirks at me and tucks the scrap of fabric into his front pocket.
“I kind of need those,” I muse.
“Nah.” With a gentle shake of his head, he moves closer and cups my cheek before kissing me like we have all the time in the world.
Another loud knock interrupts us.
With a low groan, he lets me go and strides toward the door, casting me one more quick glance over his shoulder and confirming I’m finally dressed. Satisfied, he opens the door with a bored look. “This had better be good.”
“You checked your phone?” Jagger shoves his cell toward Ford.
And just like that, his confusion twists into nothing short of rage. “Fuck,” he grits out.
Jagger mirrors his sentiment. Okay? Something is clearly wrong.
Smoothing down my skirt, I move closer to them. “What’s wrong?”
Ford’s molars grind. “Our house is on fire.”
“What?”
Ford tosses his keys to Jagger. “You’re gonna have to drive. I had a drink at the bar.”
“I got it,” Jagger returns.
“So help me, if you scratch my baby—”
“I said, I’ve got it,” Jagger repeats. He reaches down and threads his fingers with Violet’s, who is waiting in the hallway.
Oh, good. She’s here, too. I wonder if she heard our sexcapades through the door.
Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of tonight’s sundae?
“Come on, Little Thief,” Jagger orders. “We gotta go.”
“What about Lex?” she starts.
“I can drive her back,” I offer. “Why don’t you give me your keys, and—”
“You really think I’m letting you stay in Drift territory?” Ford scoffs. “Not a chance.”
“But what about Lex?” Violet insists.
“This is Lexie’s turf. She's fine.” Jagger gives his brother a pointed look. “I already covered the tab. Let’s move.”