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But what I’m telling Ford is just an excuse, and he knows it.
He waits a few minutes as we get into the rhythm of the game, then leans in again. Other people are whispering strategy to their partners too, so it doesn’t seem unusual.
“Is this because we were working all day?” Ford asks quietly. “We appreciated the lunch you made, but we were hoping you’d bring it yourself. We could have used the break.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working. I know this deal is crucial to you.”
“It is, but so is taking full advantage of our time with you.”
“I just didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You know you could never bother us—even when we’re working. We’re not trying to neglect you. We meant what we agreed to yesterday.”
I swallow hard. “Right. I don’t think you don’t mean it, Ford. But I actually think this might not be a good idea. I think we should just leave things as they are.”
Ford makes a small incredulous sound in the back of his throat. “That’s not what you want.”
He speaks with such confidence, I can’t help but shiver. He’s speaking so close to me, his lips almost brushing my ear. His voice is warm and dark, curling through my mind and down my spine.
“You don’t know that,” I whisper back.
“You forget something important.” Ford’s hand settles on my thigh under the table, high up where no one can see. “I know you, Spitfire. You know us, but we know you too. And I can tell when you’re lying, even when you’re lying to yourself.”
“I’m… not lying,” I breathe, but there’s a slight tremor in my voice that betrays me.
“Yes you are.” Ford’s hand slides up my inner thigh and squeezes possessively. “You can tell me that you think this is a bad idea, but you can’t lie to me and claim it’s not what you want.”
“We want lots of things that are bad ideas,” I whisper back, my breath catching as his fingers trace patterns on my skin. “But for the record, no, I don’t want this anymore. I’ve changed my mind. The complications are just too big.”
“Right.” Ford’s quiet voice drops to that commanding tone that makes my stomach flip. “So if I were to slip a finger into your panties right now… I wouldn’t find you soaking wet for me?”
37
MAEVE
My clit throbs in response to his words, a pulse of heat that spreads like wildfire through my entire body. He’s got me there. I am wet for him, so fucking wet, but I can’t answer because Lydia is announcing the next category and everyone is listening intently to her.
Ford doesn’t need an answer anyway.
While the other teams debate their responses, he slips one hand beneath the table without missing a beat. His palm burns against my bare leg as he slides it up my thigh, fingers trailing deliberately beneath the soft wool of my skirt. The heat of his touch makes my breath catch in my throat, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral even as my skin comes alive under his caress.
I glance around the room frantically, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. Liam sits directly across from us, close enough that he’d definitely notice if he bothered to look down. Ford’s parents are absorbed in arranging their game pieces, but still—anyone could see. The thought should terrify me, but instead it sends another jolt of arousal straight between my legs.
Ford’s fingers reach the lace edge of my panties, and I have to bite down hard on my lip to stifle a gasp. He slips beneath the delicate fabric with practiced confidence, finding my slick pussy like he’s memorized every inch of my body. His touch is gentle at first, barely there, but it’s enough to make my thighs instinctively part for him.
He’s right. I’m soaked. The evidence of my arousal coats his fingers immediately, and I feel my cheeks burn with a combination of embarrassment and need.
His fingers explore me with maddening slowness, stroking my slit with long, deliberate movements that make my breath hitch. He traces circles around my entrance, gathering my arousal before sliding up to tease my swollen clit with the barest touch. The sensation is electric, and I have to grip the edge of my chair to keep from arching into his hand.
Above the table, he maintains perfect composure, his face a mask of casual interest as he watches the other teams. He even manages to contribute to our team’s discussion, his voice steady and normal, all while his fingers work me into a frenzy just inches below everyone’s line of sight.
“The answer is eighteen forty-three,” he says conversationally, sliding one thick finger deep inside me. The sudden fullness makes my inner walls clench around him reflexively, and I have to disguise my sharp intake of breath as clearing my throat.
I shift my weight a little, trying to find some relief from the building pressure, but Ford’s touch only becomes more insistent. He curls his finger inside me, finding that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, while his thumb finds my clit and begins a torturous rhythm that has me seeing white. My pulse hammers against my throat, and I’m terrified someone will notice the rapid rise and fall of my chest or the way my hands shake as I reach for my water glass.
The risk of being caught—of someone noticing the flush creeping up my chest or the way my breathing has gone shallow and quick—only adds to every sensation.
My hands grip the edge of the table so tightly my knuckles go white, and I pray no one notices how my leg trembles under Ford’s ministrations. When Lydia laughs at something Hayden says, I force myself to smile and nod, even though I can barely process what’s happening around me. All my focus is centered on Ford’s fingers as they work inside me, stretching me, filling me in a way that makes me want to spread my legs wider and beg for more.
