“You okay?” Ford asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We can stop.”
Even in the moonlight, I could see the concern in his eyes, the questions there.
“No! I—I just wanted to make sure you had a condom,” I said.
Ford gave me that devastatingly handsome grin of his.
“Of course,” he said, digging a foil packet out from his pile of clothes.
I watched as he rolled it on, the thin latex stretching over his impressive length. Once he was sheathed, he pressed himself against me again, his body hot and heavy above mine, his tongue sliding deep into my mouth.
I kissed him back eagerly, my body tingly and taut and electric. I knew I was soaking wet, I could feel it, and Ford slipped a hand between our bodies, letting out a groan of appreciation when he slipped a finger back inside me.
“You’re going to feel amazing around my cock,” he said. “So hot. So wet.”
I didn’t respond, just let myself focus on the feel of his mouth and his body as his cock nudged against my entrance. I tried to relax, spreading my legs wide, looking into Ford’s eyes in the dark, feeling his lips curve into a smile against mine.
Then he pushed inside me, in one sure, deep thrust.
I bit my lip as I cried out, and then Ford was moaning along with me as he started to move. We were kissing again, both of us making soft sounds, the moment between us—after all these years—so completely unbelievable and yet so right all at the same time. It was happening. I was having sex. With Ford. And it was amazing and incredible and maybe a little uncomfortable too, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that hurt, it was the kind that felt good.
It was also different from how it had been with my vibrator inside me, better, hotter, but I also knew that my active self-love practices had prepared my body for this, and I was glad.
“Fucking hell,” Ford groaned, picking up the pace. “You feel so fucking good. Such a tight fucking pussy.”
His words made me even hotter. Wetter.
I moved with him, and we found a rhythm, straining against each other, chasing our own pleasure as we gave ourselves to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was exactly what I wanted, Ford pumping harder and faster, me trying to take all of him inside me, connecting with him on this new level we’d never experienced together before.
His hips drummed against mine, and then he was wrapping my legs around his waist, the new angle helping him sink even deeper inside. We groaned together at the pleasure.
“God, you’re hot,” Ford said. “So hot and tight.”
I loved the words he was whispering in my ear as he fucked me. It was just one more way he was getting me off, beyond the miracle of his body and my emotional ties to him.
“So good,” I murmured, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good.”
Most of the goodness, I knew, was because it was Ford. The man I’d loved for so long. He might not feel the same about me, but maybe he did. It felt like he did. And not just because he knew exactly what my body wanted. It was more than that. Our connection was so much deeper than just being friends, even Ford couldn’t have denied that.
His strokes started getting slower and out of sync, his grunts louder, and I realized he was starting to approach his climax before he even told me, roughly, “I want you to come first.”
Rolling onto his back and taking me with him, I suddenly found myself on top of Ford, his cock thrusting up inside me at a whole new angle. His hands went to my hips and he gripped me tight, pushing and pulling me back and forth over his length. Even still, I was in control of how deep he was, how fast, how hard. My hips moved in time, pleasure flooding my body as I rode him, my orgasm building to a crescendo with every passing second.
“Oh my God. More. More,” I moaned, head tilting back as his thrusts sped up again.
“Fuck, I want to feel you come,” he nearly growled, shifting his hand so his thumb was pressing against my clit as I fucked him.
Every stroke was pleasure, agony, sweet and hot, sending sparks from my clit to my toes.
“Ford,” I panted, my voice trembling. “Ford, fuck, oh fuck—”
I leaned forward onto his chest, clinging to his shoulders, burying my face in his neck as I started to slip over the edge. It was happening. I was coming hard, so hard, moaning uncontrollably as the orgasm rippled through me, stronger and deeper inside than I had ever experienced before. I could feel my pussy clenching tight around him with every contraction of sheer, pulsing ecstasy, and I knew he felt it too because he let out a groan and suddenly he was slamming into me, wild and fast, cursing and whispering my name as he found his own release.
“Em,” he moaned, the sound making me shiver even as I started to recover.
Our bodies were tangled as we caught our breath, our hearts racing in time, our skin slick with sweat. I didn’t want it to be over, so I shifted onto my side next to him, my body in a position more comfortable for both of us, and rested my head on his chest.
I’d done it. I’d had sex. With Ford Malone.
