All thoughts of not being in this position right now is gone. Even if I wanted to tell him I didn’t mean it, I couldn’t. My libido has officially taken over and as I look into his eyes and feel his thickness bulging from his pants, I’m good where I am.
I make a point of lifting each leg and wrapping it firmly around his waist, locking my heels together at the dip of his back. The purposeful movement is as much for me as it is for him. It lets us both know I’m all-in. At least for now. At least for this.
“If this goes an inch farther, it’s on. I’m warning you,” he grins.
“You have a window of opportunity here,” I whisper, winding my hands in his hair. It’s silky and soft, and I gently tug a handful of it so his face lifts to me. “Take it. Or leave it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grins.
His head dips slowly until his lips are hovering over mine. I wait one, two, three seconds until I can’t take it anymore. Lifting my chin, I brush my mouth against his and I know what he means by, “It’s on.”
An urgency is just below the surface. His struggle, as real as mine, to keep this under control is a losing endeavor. His tongue licks a long swipe against my mouth, and as I moan, his volleys against mine.
His breath is hot, his skin smooth as I drag my hands down the side of his face and cup his cheeks in my palms. The curve of his jaw is masculine, almost sharp, as it rests against my fingertips.
As he kisses me senseless, I roam his body—down his neck, across his shoulders, down his sinewy, muscled sides. Tugging on his shirt, I bring it up far enough to get my hands on his back. Traversing his body, it’s like rediscovering a road you once traveled all the time, only to find all the dips a little deeper, the bends a little sharper. The body a whole lot sexier.
“Ford,” I moan against his lips as he rocks his hips forward. His cock presses against me, solid as a piece of steel. My entire body hums, begging for him to touch me. Caress me. Make love to me. I’m so keyed up I can’t think. I can’t hear. I can’t do anything but feel for the first time in forever.
He breaks the kiss, but goes back in and kisses me once more. Then another time. Then a fourth. By the fifth kiss, I’m giggling. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. “I could kiss you all night.”
“I hope you do,” I say, fumbling at the buttons of his pants. “But can we do that without these?”
He does a push-up and on the up-swing, pops up to his feet. Standing over me, he looks even taller, wider, than he really is. “Up.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me to my feet.
Lifting the hem of my shirt, he drags it over my head. I’m left standing in front of him in a nude-colored lace bra and a pair of leggings. My thighs press together in a failed attempt to stop the ache pulsing so hard, begging for attention, that it’s almost all I can concentrate on.
“Damn,” he whistles. He takes a step back and looks me up and down, his gaze like fire as it skims my body. “You are beyond gorgeous.”
“Your turn,” I say, motioning to his shirt. “Off with it.”
He sheds the fabric in a second and discards it to the side next to mine. His body is like looking at a magazine cover for men’s health. His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a narrow waist. His abs are cut into perfect squares with long, lean lines running down the sides. My fingers itch to touch him, drag my nails down his tanned skin and feel the smoothness of his powerful body.
Right before I do, I see a small tattoo vertical down his right side. It’s a rifle with a combat helmet on top. Winding around it are three little red flowers. When I look at him, he swallows.
“I had three buddies killed overseas. That’s for them.”
“What about that one?” I point towards a line of script going from his front to his back around his left ribs. “Who you are and whose you are” is etched in elegant script in his skin.
“It’s something my grandma used to say. I got it as a reminder to remember who I am in the scheme of things and where I belong. I thought it was stupid back then, but now, I get it.”
“Where do you belong now?” I husk.
He closes the distance between us, his eyes burning a hole in me. “Right fucking here.”
As my breathing picks up, his follows suit. As his fists begin to clench, my hands start to move as well. He closes the final few centimeters with barely a move and his thumbs dig into my hips.
It’s like a button has been pressed.
He slides the fabric down my legs, his palms flat against me as he goes down. Chills creep up in the wake as I watch him drop to his knees. He lifts one leg, pulls the leggings off, and then moves to the other. As he stands, his fingertips trail up my body as if he’s afraid to break contact.
I grab the front belt loops of his pants and yank him towards me. He smiles. The latch is unfastened and the zipper lowered in a few quick seconds. He steps out of his pants and green boxer briefs as I unfasten my bra and discard it to the side.
Only now do I see him in all his glory—chiseled, carved, and cut to absolute precision. His cock is long, the head of it swollen, as it waits at attention.
My pussy pulses, wetness dampening my thighs. I’m tempted to reach down and relieve some of the pressure myself, but I’m afraid to move. A sheen of sweat dots Ford’s body as he narrows his eyes.
“Come here,” he orders.