Chapter 44 Ford
Ford
She’s still holding the guitar with her fingers curled loosely around the neck and her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to remember the chord that I just showed her.
She’s terrible at it. But God, she’s trying. And she’s laughing at herself, which somehow makes it even better. I fucking love her laugh.
I still can’t shake the image of Will’s hands on her and the way her face twisted in fear.
That memory clings to me like smoke. It takes everything in me not to drive to his place right now and show him exactly how angry I am.
I want to show him how it feels to have unwanted hands on you.
To be terrified of what might come next.
But, when she laughs, it cuts through the haze.
It pulls me back. Stormy’s lived through enough hurt.
Enough violence. I won’t be another person in her life who uses rage to get what they want. I refuse to be that for her.
I watch her mouth the notes under her breath, her lips move softly, and her eyes flick between her hands like she’s solving a puzzle.
And I feel it again, that ache in my chest. The one that started the first time I saw her standing on my mom’s porch with her cardigan slipping off her shoulder, golden hair glowing in the sunlight, and big blue eyes too bright for someone trying to act like she wasn’t scared.
She hands the guitar back to me with a sheepish smile.
“Okay, I think I’m officially not destined for musical greatness.”
I smirk, taking it from her and setting it behind us, cushioned between two pillows.
“Maybe not,” I say, “but you look damn good trying.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
And then she shifts, just slightly, and her cardigan slips.
That soft, cream fabric falls down her shoulder, revealing the thin strap of her dress and the curve of her collarbone. That collarbone—delicate and defined, like it was carved just to undo me.
I reach out before I can stop myself, and I brush my fingers lightly across it, just once. A slow, languid trace. Her skin is warm from the fire, smooth beneath my touch, and I feel her breath catch.
Then before I get lost in the moment, in her. I gently pull the cardigan back up, settling it over her shoulder like I’m tucking something sacred away.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” I say, voice low. “Every time I’ve noticed it slip, but I’ve had to force myself not to.”
She turns to me, lips parted slightly. And I know she feels it too, this quiet, burning thing between us.
I don’t move. I just let the moment settle, and I let her see it in my eyes.
Because this isn’t about rushing. It’s about showing her just how unbelievable she is, how much worth she has, and how much she has changed me, just by letting me in.
Her eyes are locked on mine, and her beautiful face is open, searching, like she’s trying to read every unspoken word behind my gaze.
And then she kisses me. No hesitation. No slow build.
Just her mouth on mine, real, desperate, and so damn full of emotion.
Her hands slide up the back of my head, and her fingers thread through my hair, and then she’s climbing into my lap, straddling me like she’s done holding back. It’s like she’s pouring everything into it: the laughter, the longing, the quiet ache we’ve been dancing around for weeks.
We’ve kissed before but this … this is different. Its needy. It’s her finally letting herself feel.
My hands find her waist, and I kiss her back, just as hungrily, just as undone.
She traces my lips with her tongue, bites, and pulls at my bottom lip.
This sweet, sexy, reserved British woman, is now a needy little thing burning hot in my grip. She pulls my head back with one hand, the other is tangled in my hair, and her body is grinding against mine like she can’t get close enough.
When she feels my hard cock press against her core, she practically melts. She gasps and moves a hand to my chest, clutching at the fabric of my shirt as my hands explore her body, sliding beneath her dress to settle on her ass. Her perfect, curvy ass.
I pull her closer, harder, needing her to feel every inch of me.
Her grip tightens, knuckles white against my shirt.
“Ford …” she breathes between hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“God, Ford …”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her lips.
“Just let go. I’m right here.”
But then she pulls away, breathless, eyes shining with something wild. Her lips are swollen and beautiful, her chest rising like she’s just surfaced for something more than air. Like she’s suddenly realised something.
“Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she asks, voice low, electric.
I blink, still reeling. Thrown by the sudden shift, aching to have her mouth back on mine.
“Uh … no?”
She climbs off me, pulls off her boots, stands tall, and shrugs off her cardigan, tossing it beside me. My eyes widen. Does she want to …
But instead, she walks to the edge of the truck bed, silhouetted against the lake and the last blush of sunset.
“I’ve never been daring,” she says, voice steady but threaded with something raw.
“I’ve never been allowed to be. I’ve always had to be quiet and careful. Make myself small. Keep the peace.”
She turns to me, and there’s fire in her eyes now.
“But tonight … I want to feel free.”
And then, without warning, she jumps.
Straight into the lake.
The splash rings out across the water and Buddy barks beside me. I scramble to my feet, heart lurching.
“Stormy!” I shout the word, fear clawing up my chest.
She surfaces a second later, laughing. Her hair is slicked back, and water streams down her face. She’s radiant.
“Oh my god, Stormy,” I breathe, half laughing, half stunned.
“Come on, Ford! Don’t make me be brave alone!”
I stare at her, stunned. She’s glowing, soaked, wild, and alive. I shake my head, grinning.
“You’re insane,” I mutter, pulling off my boots.
Then I jump.
The water hits like a shock—cold and clean—and I surface beside her, breathless and laughing. Just the two of us in the water with no past, no weight …just this. Just us.
She splashes me and she’s laughing again, causing golden ripples that shimmer against her skin.
She looks goddess-like. Like something born from light. Not just beautiful, but transcendent, too.
And I’m in awe. Of her courage. Of the way she’s fighting to rewrite her story. Of how she’s choosing joy, choosing herself, choosing this.
She swims towards me, water dripping from her hair, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
And I swear, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.