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When my movements stall, he growls, “I’m waiting.”
My lips lift into a faint smile. Ford has never been known for his patience. Especially when he wants something. Anticipation builds within me as the room shrinks around us.
When I can’t resist another second, I lower my face, allowing my lips to drift over his. It’s barely a caress. More like a whisper of air. He tilts his head, angling his chin higher as if to close the distance between us. Instead of giving him what he wants, I retreat an inch or so.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he says with a groan.
My lips twitch at the corners.
He shifts, pulling me tight enough against him to feel the thick swell of his erection. That’s all it takes for my core to flood with arousal.
Our breath mingles, becoming one, as I nip his lower lip, tugging it with sharp teeth before doing the same to the top. His fingers curl, biting into the flesh of my hips. Instead of hurting, his touch grounds me in the moment unfolding between us. Every cell feels as if it’s been sparked to life.
There’ve been boys in my past. Tons of them. But none have ever made me feel this alive. It’s both addictive and frightening all at the same time.
Deep down in a place I’m unwilling to inspect, I’m terrified that all Ford is doing is ripping the lid off something I’ve spent years trying to keep contained. And yet, that knowledge isn’t enough to stop this from happening. I’m not sure if there’s anything that could tear me away.
And that’s probably the scariest realization of all.
I shove those thoughts from my head and focus my attention on his mouth. I used to love the way he kissed me. Even in high school, he knew precisely what would drive me crazy and how to draw out the most pleasure.
His pupils dilate as I suck on the plump flesh before releasing it with a soft pop. When I’ve teased him enough, my lips slant over his. A groan rumbles up from deep within his chest as his grip tightens. I almost wonder if he’ll take control instead of allowing me to set the pace, but he doesn’t. His lips part just enough for my tongue to slip inside the warmth of his mouth to mingle with his own. Memories unfold inside my head, transporting me back to a time when slipping into bed with him and being held in his arms was a nightly occurrence.
He tastes exactly like I remember.
His fingers loosen as his arms snake around my ribcage, and he drags me close enough for my breasts to get crushed against the chiseled strength of his chest. I flex my hips, rubbing myself against his thick length.
He breaks away enough to growl, “Fuck, Carina. Keep that up and I’ll come in my joggers.”
Laughter rises in my throat. “I’d love to see that happen.”
As tempting as it is to continue, if I don’t pull back now, I won’t be able to. I’ll lose myself in the taste and feel of him and I can’t allow that to happen. I can’t allow myself to get sucked into his vortex like before.
With one final kiss, I unwind my arms from around his neck. His honey-colored eyes search mine for a long silent heartbeat before he sets me free. As soon as he relinquishes his hold, I pop to my feet and swing away on surprisingly unsteady legs. I need to put as much distance between us as possible.
“Come back here,” he groans. The guttural scrape of his voice is like a straight shot to my core. Another burst of arousal explodes inside me before I snuff it out.
“You dared me to kiss you and that’s exactly what I did,” I say, tossing the words carelessly over my shoulder. “Now I’m going to change. I’ll meet you upstairs and we can take off.”
It’s only when I close the changing room door behind me that I lean against it and squeeze my eyes tight, sucking a deep breath into my lungs before slowly releasing it back into the atmosphere.
I might have riled up Ford, but I did the same damn thing to myself.
Looks like my trusty vibe will be getting some action tonight.
Chapter Eight
Ford
The door reverberates on the hinges as I slam into the apartment I share with Wolf and Madden. An hour later and I’m still sporting a semi. I quickly adjust myself as I catch sight of them. Madden is perched on the edge of the overstuffed armchair. His gaze stays locked on the big screen, high-def television mounted to the far wall as his avatar dekes out a defenseman from the other team and shoots on goal. When it slides in, hitting the back of the net, he leaps from the chair and thrusts the controller in the air.
“Suck it!”
Wolf glares. “Seriously, dude. It’s not that deep.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re a loser.” Madden drops back down onto the chair and his eyes drift my way before giving me a chin lift in greeting. “Sup?”
I grunt out an unintelligible answer before settling at the far end of the couch.
