Chapter 46 Ford
Ford
She shivers again as we reach the shore, pulling her arms around herself as her hair drips down her back. I grab one of the blankets from the truck bed and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close and into my arms, before placing her into the passenger seat.
The drive back is quiet, but not awkward. We’re silently bathing in the moments we’ve just had together—revelling in them.
I crank up the heaters and rest my hand on her cool thigh for the entire journey.
When I pull up outside her place, I hesitate. I don’t want to push. But then she turns to me, eyes soft and sure.
“Come in?” she asks.
I nod, heart racing with anticipation, and I follow her.
She unlocks the door, and we step inside. The warmth of the cottage wraps around us like a second blanket, comforting and familiar. Buddy trots off without ceremony, curling into a spot on the couch, already settled.
Stormy doesn’t speak. She just turns and takes my hand. Her grip is cool, and purposeful, and her fingers lace tightly with mine. She leads me up the stairs, and I follow without question. There’s no rush in her steps or hesitation. Just quiet certainty.
I feel it in the way her thumb brushes mine. In the way her shoulders stay relaxed. In the way she doesn’t look back, because she knows I’m already hers.
When we reach the bathroom, she flicks on the light and reaches to turn on the shower.
Steam still clings to the edges of the mirror from earlier, and the room smells faintly of coconut and vanilla shampoo.
She turns to me, eyes searching, lips parted. Then she steps forwards.
Her hands find the buttons of my shirt, and she carefully tugs them open.
She glances up for a second, cheeks a soft shade of pink, either from the flush of warm air or the heat rising between us.
She’s close. So close.
Her warm breath is on my chest as she slides the shirt down past my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
Her fingers trail down my chest, slowly, with intention, tracing each and every muscle.
I tense as they graze my lower stomach, just above my waistband.
Not from nerves. From the sheer intensity of her touch.
It’s gentle, like she’s memorising me by heart.
I reach for the straps of her dress, slipping them off her shoulders.
She watches, eyes bright and steady, and I could fall to my knees with the way she’s looking at me.
I place a soft kiss on her lips, my hand cupping her cheek.
Then she turns, gathering her hair over one shoulder.
My hands fumble for a moment as I untie her dress at the back, and then time slows as the fabric slips down, pooling at her feet.
And I stop.
Just for a second.
Because she’s standing there in front of me, bare and breathtaking.
And I can’t move.
Can’t speak.
I watch her reflection in the mirror before us.
The shape of her breasts, the pink of her nipples, the soft curls beneath her delicate lacy underwear—she’s all gentle curves and quiet strength. I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest by how much I need her.
Not just her body, her.
All of her.
I close the space behind her and rest my hands on the dip of her waist.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper into her ear.
She smiles shyly, and then turns to face me, her hands moving to the waistband of her underwear. But, just as she’s about to slip them down, I place my hands over hers to stop her.
She looks at me, questioning.
“Let me,” I request softly. “Please.”
She releases her grip, and I take hold of the soft band.
Crouching down in front of her, eyes level with her hips, I slowly slide the fabric down.
Over her thick thighs, her knees, her delicate ankles.
I help her step out of them, and then I begin to kiss my way upwards.
From the arch of her foot, up her legs, and onto her thighs.
My hands caressing her soft skin as I go, steady and tender.
I leave a final kiss on the soft curls between her legs in quiet worship. And, then she takes my face in her hands, guiding me up until I’m standing before her again.
I lean forwards, placing kisses on her neck and her throat as her hands thread through my hair. Mine are at her waist, and we move together like we’ve done this a thousand times in our dreams.
We step clumsily into the shower together, until the warm water cascades over us, washing away the lake and the firelight. Her skin is slick and glowing, and I can’t stop touching her.
She kisses me again slowly, and I know, this isn’t just passion.
It’s trust.
Her hands find my belt and work to undo the buckle. I take her face in my hands, searching her eyes through the soft haze of steam rising around us like mist.
I need to be sure, need to see this is what she wants.
She smiles, steady and sure, her gaze never leaving mine.
And she keeps going.
Her fingers slide my zipper, tugging it down achingly slowly.
There’s no rush in her touch, just intention.
A hand works its way inside my pants, and I physically shudder as she takes hold of me, her fingers curling around my hard cock.
My forehead falls to the top of her head, and I close my eyes, letting the sensation wash through me, letting her guide the moment.
“Stormy …” I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with heat.
My mind is a haze, desire clouding my thoughts.
“You don’t have to …”
She presses her hand to my chest, firm and grounding, and I let her guide me back.
Her eyes find mine.
“I want to,” she says, simple, certain.
And then her mouth is on mine, claiming me with a kiss that leaves no room for doubt.
She trails lower, skimming my neck and my chest. Each touch is a gentle reminder that she wants me too. All of me. Her lips map me like she’s memorising, like she’s choosing every inch.
She kneels before me with the water hitting her back, and I hear her mutter a curse under her breath as her eyes take me in. But then, her tongue begins to tease my cock with a long languid stroke, from base to tip, before wrapping her lips around me. Hot and wet.
I grunt, my hands finding her shoulders, not to stop her, just to hold on.
I watch as she moves back and forth.
She looks so beautiful.
So sexy.
Then her hand moves at the base of my cock while she works the tip with her tongue and mouth, and it takes everything in me to remain standing, because right now, this woman. This amazing, strong, beautiful woman, could bring me to my knees.
I pull her hair from her face, gathering it in my hands, and It’s not long before I begin to feel the tightness in my core become harder to withstand. My hips begin to jerk instinctively as she works me harder, adding a little more pressure in her fist.
“Stormy … I’m … Fuck …”
I stutter, my breath growing fast as I come closer to the edge.
“… I’m … gonna …”
I grunt, placing my hand on her cheek indicating she can stop. But she just lets out a small moan around me. The vibrations of her throat almost wreck me completely as her eyes meet mine.
She gags as she takes me deeper, and that’s all it takes for me to lose control. I grip the back of her head and let go inside of her mouth. A strangled noise leaves my lips.
Thick ropes of cum hit the back of her throat as she gags once more, swallowing around me.
My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the rush of blood and the ragged pull of my breath. I look down, dazed, watching as she pulls away, her tongue trailing one last languid stroke that leaves me trembling.
She licks her lips, eyes locked on mine, and then she smiles. Soft and smug, knowing exactly what she’s done to me.
“Fuck, Stormy,” I breathe, cupping her chin, coaxing her to stand. My hand shakes. I’m still stunned. Still reeling.
“That was …” I search her face, but the words won’t come. My mind’s a mess. “I can’t even think straight.”
She lets out a small laugh, and I brush my thumb across her swollen bottom lip.
“How are you so goddamn perfect?” I murmur, tugging it down gently, mesmerised. “These lips … I knew they’d wreck me.”
She opens her mouth and sucks softly on my thumb, her gaze never wavering. It’s slow. Intentional. A promise and a challenge all at once.
I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper.
“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?”
She releases my thumb slowly, lips parting with a soft pop. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Then, so softly I almost miss it, she whispers, “Only if you ruin me too.”
For a second, I just stare at her. At those flushed cheeks, those steady eyes, and that beautiful mouth.
I brush her hair back from her face and cradle her jaw like she’s something sacred.
“Anything for you, baby,” I whisper. “I’ll ruin you sweet, I’ll ruin you slow, I’ll ruin you so good you’ll never want to be whole again.”
Her breath hitches, and I lean in, lips grazing hers.
“And I’ll love every second of it.”
And then, without missing a beat, she smirks and turns away, reaching for the shampoo like she hasn’t just shattered me with a whisper.
I watch her lather it into her hair, fingers working through the strands with practised ease. Her movements are calm and fluid.
But then she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. That smile—gentle and open—undoes me all over again.
I step closer, drawn in like gravity, and reach for her. My hands slide into her hair, warm and slick with suds, and she tilts her head back without hesitation.
Trusting me.
I work the shampoo through her golden waves, massaging her scalp with the kind of care I didn’t know I was capable of. Her breath deepens and her body softens under my touch.
This … this quiet, intimate moment … is its own kind of ruin.