I swallowed hard, waiting for him to go on.
“I think you secretly like it,” Ford said, his voice dropping into a low, seductive whisper.
My throat was dry as Ford’s hand moved upward, just an inch, but I felt his touch like a shock through my system.
“And that you’re uncomfortable because you like it—the sex jokes, thinking about sex, imagining having sex…with me—and you’re ashamed of that,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be.”
His voice was like velvet over my senses, his hand stroking the inside of my thigh.
Fuck him for hitting the nail on the head so perfectly. All of Ford’s sex jokes, all of his dirty comments, the innuendo, all of it had led to me thinking almost nonstop about having sex with him this entire night out. How it would feel, how good it could be with him—with someone who knew me so well, who had as much experience as he did.
And I did feel ashamed. Even more so because he knew exactly what was going on with me. It was hard not to be humiliated by my interest, my obvious horniness.
Not that I was going to admit it to him. Because Ford didn’t need to know he was right. He didn’t need the satisfaction. His ego was already big enough.
His dick too, apparently.
I shook those thoughts from my head.
“You’re wrong,” I said, but my throat was so dry that my denial came out breathy.
Completely undermining the point I was trying to make.
“Am I?” Ford asked. “So if I keep going right now, if I keep sliding my hand up your skirt, I won’t find anything, will I? Because I think I’d like to test my little theory.”
I gulped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I could have pressed my knees together. I could have stopped him. But I didn’t.
“Oh no?” Ford gave me that wicked grin again. “So you’re telling me that if I put my hand under this slutty little skirt of yours, I won’t find a soaking wet pussy waiting for me?”
I was speechless. Ford had never spoken to me this way.
And I fucking loved it. I was eating it up. His words were beyond hot, and so was the hand moving slowly and surely up my inner thigh, mere inches from my hot core.
I could have easily pushed him away. Could have put my purse on my lap. Could have crossed my legs.
Instead, I let them fall open. I gave him full access.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” Ford said, his hand moving up. “I think I’m about to find out that I am absolutely. Fucking. Right.”
I shook my head, even though I knew how wet I was. For him. I could feel it.
“No?” Ford asked.
I could tell that he liked teasing me. And as turned on as I was, it was also infuriating that he could read me so easily. I decided not to make things too easy for him. The parted legs were about as much encouragement as he was going to get.
Not that he seemed to mind.
His hand kept sliding higher, his fingers hot and sure of their destination. I took a deep breath as he neared the apex of my thighs. This wasn’t the first time someone had fingered me, but it had only happened once before, and it hadn’t been all that good. In fact, it was awful.
The guy’s fingers had been too rough, too fast, and when it started to hurt I’d blurted out some random excuse about how I had work early in the morning and then bolted from the guy’s apartment, never to return again. Not that I’d ever admit my inexperience to Ford.
This was different, though. I could already tell. Ford had barely even touched me yet, and already I could feel my thighs trembling. I wanted him to do more to me.
“Oh, now what is this?” he asked.
His fingers brushed against the damp lace of my thong, and I nearly bucked off of the seat with the potent pleasure of it.
