Chapter 47 Stormy
Stormy
We stay in the shower with steam wrapping around us, and our hands continuously explore one another, tasting, kissing, teasing. I’d wanted him to feel good and to know how deeply I appreciate the way he has shown up for me … how much it means that he’s here.
And the way he felt on my tongue, filling my mouth, taking up all the space, God it felt good. So good.
The date at the lake was perfect, and I told him so. He just hummed, low and warm, his lips wrapped around my nipple as he murmured, “Perfect. Just like you.”
I blush when he says things like that. I’m not used to hearing them without an edge. But God, I love it. I’ve always carried a quiet self-consciousness about my body and the way I look. Sam used to make comments that chipped away at me.
But Ford? Ford can’t seem to stop complimenting me.
It’s not just what he says, it’s how he says it.
I know he means every word. He says them like I’m the only woman in the world.
And with him, I want to be. And his vulnerability tonight, the way he opened up and let me share that part of him—I want more of him like that.
I want to really know him. Because he’s so much more than he believes he is.
Stepping out of the shower, my skin feels flushed and clean, and my body hums with warmth and satisfaction.
Ford wraps a towel around me gently, pressing a soft kiss to my temple before disappearing downstairs. I watch him go with his towel slung low on his hips and his back muscles shifting with each stride. Droplets of water still cling to his tanned skin like they’re reluctant to leave.
I let out a sigh.
How is this man … this godlike man, this grumpy rancher who’s somehow gone soft for me … now everything I want?
I ease into my bedroom and sit at my dressing table, towel still wrapped around me, hair damp and clinging to my shoulders.
I comb through my tangled hair and plug in the hairdryer, glancing at my reflection. My cheeks are pink, lips swollen, eyes soft in a way I barely recognise.
I look … happy. I feel like I’ve finally been chosen—and by someone who is actually worth trusting.
I start drying my hair, slowly and methodically, letting the hum of the dryer fill the quiet.
It’s dark outside now, and the moon beams down through the windows. The same moon that’s watched me cry through countless nights, and seen me unravel, rebuild, and survive.
And I wonder, just for a moment, if the moon would be proud of who I am now.
I hear the door creak open behind me, and Ford steps in, hair still damp and holding two glasses of water. He sets them down on the bedside table, then walks over, stopping just behind me.
I feel his warmth and steadiness, and so I switch off the hair dryer, setting it on the table. He leans down, hands resting lightly on my shoulders, and meets my eyes in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” he says, voice low.
I smile shyly, but my heart is overflowing.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then steps back as I finish brushing out my hair again, letting the slow rhythm ground me.
Ford moves through my room, quiet and curious, trailing his fingers along the spines of my books.
He picks them up one by one, studying each cover before gently setting them back.
I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and slip into a soft silk nightdress, the fabric cool against my skin.
“See anything you like?” I ask, and he looks up from the book in his hands.
He hesitates, fingers still resting on the worn spine.
“I’ve … never actually read a book before.”
I stare at him, momentarily thrown.
“Wait … you’ve never read a book?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish.
“I mean, I’ve read manuals and stuff. Ranch guides. Equipment instructions. But never a fiction book. Not like these.”
I step closer, a slow smile curving my lips.
“I think you’d like them, Ford.”
My fingers trail lightly down his bare chest, and I watch his breath catch as his gaze follows my hand.
“Strong, morally grey men,” I murmur, voice low and teasing. “Falling hard for brave, sweet heroines. Lots of tension. Lots of heat.”
He clears his throat, eyes flicking to mine, flustered but trying to play it cool.
“If I read one of these, will it help me understand what you’re doing to me right now?”
“Maybe.”
My smile deepens as I catch the heat swirling in his eyes. “But I think you’re already catching on.”
I turn on my heel, my hand lingering just a moment longer before I let it slide away.
Behind me, his voice follows, low, rough, threaded with restraint.
“You’re trouble, did you know that?”
I glance back, just enough for him to see the spark in my eyes.
“Only the best kind of trouble,” I say, voice light, but laced with intent.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no humour in his eyes, just awe.
“Who’d have thought,” he says, watching me as I turn away. “This sweet girl I met, with pretty little eyes and a soft voice … has a side like this.”
I cross the room, and the sheets rustle softly as I sit on the edge of the bed. I meet his eyes.
“What can I say?” I shrug unapologetically. “I know what I want.”
Ford hesitates at the edge of the room, almost like he’s holding himself back.
“I want you to stay with me,” I say, voice a little quieter now. “Tonight, I mean. I … I want you here.”
His eyes soften, and he nods, walking over. He stops in front of me and leans down until our eyes are level. “
I’ll stay,” he says, voice low and steady. “As long as you need me.”
His fingers lift my chin, and he presses a soft kiss to my lips as if it’s a promise. I smile up at him, then ease myself back, settling against the pillows. My hand finds the towel knot at his waist, and my fingers curl around it as I tug him onto the bed.
My need for him is unparalleled, and it pulses through me like a second heartbeat. It’s consuming and quietly terrifying, but in the best way.
I undo the knot and let the towel fall loose in my hands before dropping it to the floor. He leans over me, his weight held steady on his arms, and I take him in again, every inch of him. I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing him like this.
He's already hard, the tip glistening with a bead of anticipation, and my hand slips between us, fingers barely brushing over him. The touch is featherlight, but his whole body stiffens, a sharp inhale catching in his throat.
He leans in closer, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of my breast, then up the line of my neck, and then his teeth are tugging gently at my ear, just enough to make me shiver.
“You sure?” he whispers, voice rough now, but careful.
I nod, and my fingers tighten slightly against his skin. But he doesn’t move. His mouth is still at my ear, warm and teasing, and his voice comes low, almost a plea.
“I need to hear you say it, Stormy.”
I’ve never wanted anything so clearly. But saying it out loud makes my heart race, like I’m handing him something fragile.
Earlier, I showed him my boldness. The part of me that knows how to tease, how to take control, and how to ask for what I want with a smile and a lingering touch.
But now … I want him to see this side too.
The part that’s soft and trembles a little. That wants, just as fiercely, but isn’t afraid to be vulnerable in the wanting.
Just because I’m shy in this moment doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.
It means I trust him enough to let him see me like this.
I turn my head slightly, just enough for my lips to graze his cheek, my breath brushing his skin.
“I’m sure,” I whisper, the words trembling, thick and needy.
I can feel the heat radiating from his skin as he presses closer, his body moulding to mine like we were made to fit this way. The sensation lingers, igniting a slow-burning fire beneath my skin.
His lips grow hungrier against my neck, then claim my mouth with urgency. I tangle my fingers in his hair, anchoring myself as he sucks gently on my bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from deep in my throat.
There’s no space between us now, just warmth and want and the steady thrum of need.
His hand slides up my thigh, and the fabric of my nightdress bunches higher with every inch. His fingers ghost over my entrance, already slick, and I gasp at the contact.
Then suddenly, he pulls back.
“I need to see all of you,” he says, voice thick and low.
He helps me ease the dress up and over my head, and when it falls away, his gaze sears into me.
His hands follow with purpose, caressing every inch.
A single finger traces my collarbone, then glides over the peak of my breast, circling my nipple before trailing down the curve of my stomach.
He moves lower, over the soft curls between my thighs, until his fingers find me, wet, aching, and ready.
He slides two fingers inside, curling them just right, and my back arches in response, a cry escaping my lips.
“Ford …” I pant. My hands grip the bed sheets, and pleasure crests like a wave I can’t hold back.
“You’re so damn perfect like this,” he murmurs, his thumb gliding over my clit in slow, deliberate circles. “I love how you fall apart for me.”
Then he pulls his hand away like it costs him as he sits back on his heels.
I look at him, flushed and breathless, aching for more.
He meets my gaze, eyes dark and steady.
“You got protection?” he asks.
I nod toward the bedside table.
And he leans over me to reach the drawer.
I hadn’t planned to meet anyone, so protection wasn’t on my list of things I needed at home.
But earlier, Missy had handed me the condoms with a raised brow and a smirk, like she knew something I didn’t.
“Just in case,” she’d said casually, but pointedly. I’d rolled my eyes, tucked them away and told her she was ridiculous.
Now I’m grateful.
It’s weird, his sister giving me them. But also … so perfectly Missy.
I blink, pulling myself back into the moment, and Ford kneels between my legs, the foil wrapper glinting in his hand.