Page 74 of The Key Holder

“We still need a bed in the guest room, even if we’re not going to use it,” Ford replied, practical as ever.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I conceded. Logically, it made sense.

“Don’t worry”—he pulled me closer to him—“you’re not going anywhere.”

I slid my hand up his leg, massaging his thigh. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

The next morning, the new bed arrived. Two burly men—significantly less forward than River and the brothers—maneuvered the tightly wrapped mattress and a couple of flat boxes to my old room. As soon as they were gone, Ford stripped his shirt off, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and headed down the hall.

“You’re going to put it together now?”

“Yup.”

“Want some help?” I asked.

“I won’t say no to that,” he called over his shoulder.

Grunting and straining, and sometimes swearing at whomever wrote the convoluted instruction booklet, Ford and I wrestled the jumble of pieces into what looked like a bed frame. By comparison, unsealing the mattress was cake. But after it was assembled, despite being a little sweaty, I felt strangely accomplished. It was nice to work side by side. Together.

As Ford surveyed our handiwork, I had a naughty idea. “Now that that’s done, should we christen it?”

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” Ford asked, before turning to me, his eyes locking with mine. “Only if you’re going to put a sheet or a towel on it, you barbarian.”

“Fine. Let’s just go up to our bed then.”

“I mean if it’s such a hassle, I can fuck you right here on the floor.”

The playful threat of Ford taking me right there gave me butterflies, but as much as the idea was tempting, the new mattress felt…impersonal.

And it smelled funny.

"Let's just go up to our bed," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the hall. The thought of our bed, the one we shared, was infinitely more appealing. About halfway up the stairs, Ford gave my ass a playful smack from behind, making me stumble slightly and laugh.

"Hey, watch the merchandise!" I quipped, twisting my head back to give him a mock-offended look, though a grin was already spreading across my face.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest—it was a sound I lived for. Knowing he was content spending time with me was a comfort deeper than any other.

As soon as we stepped into the bedroom, the air shifted, thick with expectation. I turned to face Ford and he reached for the hem of my t-shirt. His eyes never left mine, and with one slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it up and over my head. Then, with a practiced ease that made my stomach flip, he pulled my shorts off, letting them slide down to the floor.

“I had a feeling you were going commando.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

As he trailed his fingers down my stomach, my heart began to race, my breathing quickened. The ghost of his touch still lingered as he unfastened the button of his shorts with a slow, teasing movement. My breath hitched, watching him hook his thumbs into the waistband, drawing them down inch by tantalizing inch. His briefs went with them, revealing the mouth-watering prize at the end of his glorious treasure trail, until his cock was freed and jerked up.

He never broke eye contact with me, his silent seduction pulling me deeper into the moment. A low growl rumbled in his chest, almost imperceptible, as his hand grabbed my hip and pulled me towards him. His other found its familiar resting place, cupping my cage, squeezing gently.

I hadn't thought much about it lately—it had become almost incidental—until this moment. Until his skillful fingers made its presence almost deafening.

And while Morgan’s suggestion was a literal physical barrier, wearing the cage had morphed into a philosophical refrain, like a way to reclaim my sexual independence.

But now, standing here with Ford, his eyes full of a desire that mirrored my own, it felt…unnecessary. The goal had always been about finding control within myself, not about permanent restraint, and I had found that control, that stability.

With Ford.

“I’ve thought about it," I said, my voice dropping, my eyes holding his. My gaze pleaded with him, asking him to understand the weight of what I was about to say. "And I’m ready for you to take it off."