Passion has never been about keeping a level head. Did passion work differently than love? Would it keep out the hurt?
His lips moved over mine again. Slowly. Cautiously. Asking permission. Good Lord, when he kissed me this way, the possibility of hurt didn’t matter. And I realized that’s what he’d meant. Passion was about experiencing the moment, damn the future. Everything about the way he held me, the softness in it, compelled me. I couldn’t tell him no. I didn’t want to.
He held me tight. I loved that about him. Like he wasn’t afraid of breaking me. And his kisses didn’t feel polite or calculated, like Aaron’s always had. There was nothing well-mannered about the way Ford kissed.
In answer to his unspoken question, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing against him, and opened my mouth for his tongue to flick inside.
Ford would smile if I told him I’d just made a decision based on passion, on feeling instead of thinking. But that would require stopping the kiss long enough to talk. I didn’t much want to talk right now. Judging by the way he reacted when I scraped my teeth against his lip, neither did he.
The softness between us gave way to intensity. His hands loosened their grip on my hips and fell lower to cup my ass, pulling me closer. A sudden punch of fire shot into my stomach and settled between my legs. I pushed my hips against him and rose up onto my toes so I could better reach his mouth—and better align our bodies.
I slipped my hands underneath his shirt and ran them over the contours of his chest and abs. The hard planes of his skin were smooth under my fingertips. I went lower, feeling for his belt buckle. I unhooked it and yanked it free, the motion rocking his hips against mine as the belt slid through the loops.
Ford’s hand trailed down my chest and dipped underneath the fabric of my dress, pushing my bra aside before finding my nipple. It pulled taut between his thumb and finger as he gently squeezed and massaged the point. I ran my own fingertips over his nipples and found them hard as well. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly, enjoying the way his skin revealed itself inch by inch. When the fabric fell open, I kissed his nipple, letting my teeth graze lightly over the firm point. In response, Ford cupped my breast and massaged, his thumb running back and forth over the tip.
When I went for the button on his pants he let out a soft growl and grabbed my wrists, directing them back to my sides. “Not yet,” he whispered.
He prodded me backward until I was pressed against the wall, one hand still teasing and massaging my breast. With the other hand, he reached for the hem of my skirt and pushed it up, his fingers trailing along the inside of my thighs. He moved my panties aside, the elastic pulling tight around my leg to give him access. His palm caressed me while one finger massaged in a lazy circle over my clit. I tensed, holding my breath to keep from whimpering in anticipation.
Every part of me ached for penetration, but I couldn’t bring myself to demand he hurry. This was tortured enjoyment. His fingertip stroked and teased before finally sliding inside me. His thrust was excruciatingly slow as he moved his finger in and out, the rhythm matching the dance of our mouths. I bucked, wanting faster, harder, but he kept it slow and steady no matter how much I squirmed for more.
“Ohh.” The single word came out on a sigh of pleasure while I barely held back a moan.
His finger increased the pace, pushing deeper inside. “Let go,” he whispered as if he knew.
My hips pulsed against the pressure of his hand. I gripped his shoulders, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. “Ford,” I began, but the rest was lost on a breath.
All I could do was hang on. His finger pushed in and out, sending me higher. Closer. When he pushed me over the edge, I opened my mouth to cry out and he swallowed the noise with a kiss.
I shuddered and finally went still.
Without breaking contact with my lips, he grabbed me and lifted me up, guiding my legs until they were wrapped around him. He walked to the bed, our bodies parallel as he lowered himself over me. His rigid length pressed through his pants and I arched my hips to meet it.
“Summer ...” Ford managed, his voice hoarse.
It thrilled me hearing him so turned on. With a confidence I hadn’t expected, I gave him my most inviting smile. “Do what you feel,” I said.
His hand shifted to cup my ass, holding me against him. “I want to feel you.”
My breath caught. The heat turned molten. “I want that too.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me as he stood and removed his shirt and pants and finally his boxers. There was just enough light to make out the definition of biceps and tensing muscles while he undressed. I drank in every inch of his toned torso, all the way down to his ample erection, licking my lips appreciatively.
I squirmed underneath his stare, feeling exposed despite the fact that I’d yet to shed any layer of clothing. His boxers removed, he lay back down and pressed a kiss to my lips, my cheek, my jaw.
When he reached the fabric of my dress, he stopped and pulled it over my head. I sat up to let him undo the clip of my bra. He smiled sheepishly as he fumbled with it for a minute before it popped free. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he tugged on the fabric of my panties until I was free of them. When my clothes were gone, he stared down at me, his eyes roaming every inch of my flesh.
Comfortable silence hung between us. I kept waiting for awkwardness or uncertainty to set in but there was none. It could take all night and it still wouldn’t be long enough. When he lowered his body to mine again, I knew I’d made the right choice; this moment was worth every ounce of risk.
Chapter Twenty
Ford
“Don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens - The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.” ―John Steinbeck
The static in the line was a constant buzz. My parents refused to get a cell phone and their landline wasn’t the sharpest way up in the hills of southern California. Community living meant plenty of people had a phone they could borrow but they never asked. They just stuck with the same corded wall phone year after year.
“Ford? Ford, I can’t hear you,” my dad said over the buzzing.
“Dad, turn the volume up,” I said.
There was some jostling while he located the button.
“Better?” I asked.
“Yes, much better, thanks. How’s the plant business? And that Virginia heat? I heard it’s like being slow-cooked in a sauna out there.”
“Plants are good. Making a lot of progress with Casey’s help. And Virginia is hot. That’s for sure.” My night with Summer unwittingly flashed in my mind. Hot wasn’t even the word. Boiling. Molten. Searing. Those were all better descriptions of what I’d experienced. I was pretty sure my dad meant the weather, though.
“Casey’s your roommate, right? The one good with engines?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s been a lot of help with the medicinal stuff.”
“Good to hear. Your mom and I, we’re both real proud of what you’re doing up there.”
“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
A female voice sounded in the background on my dad’s end, and I waited while my mom added her two cents about something. A minute later, my dad came back on. “Your mom says to tell you she wants you to mail her some more of that one herb, the one she can use for cooking.”
I shook my head. “She means that edible aphrodisiac, doesn’t she?”
My dad chuckled. “What can I say? Your mom’s an adventure.”
“You mean she likes an adventure.”
“No, son. I mean, she IS the adventure. Just wait, you’ll find someone soon enough and you’ll see what I mean.”
“I have all the adventure I need on my own.”
“Hmm,” my dad responded—which was his way of not arguing but still feeling right. I let it go, unwilling to admit that for the first time in my life, I could imagine what he meant. Summer was an adventure unto herself. “Speaking of which, that girl,” he continued, “what’s her name? The farm
er’s daughter? Your mom said you sounded sappy about her last time you called.”
“I did not sound sappy. Mom likes to romanticize.”
“Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with you. What’s her name again?”
“Her name is Summer. And I ... okay, fine, I might be sappy about her.”
My dad whooped and the line muffled as he called out to my mom and repeated what I’d just told him. My mom laughed and I heard a clear, “I told you so” in the background.
Damn. Why did I tell those hippies anything? They got so stinking excited about the idea of me in love. Which was funny considering it hadn’t even happened yet. But no matter how long it took, no matter how many times I walked away from the possibility of a relationship, they never lost hope.
“She’s just a girl I’m seeing,” I reminded them—and myself—amidst their hoots and what was probably a happy dance in their living room.
“Sure she is,” my dad replied quickly. Too quickly.
“We’re just having fun,” I added.
“Well, I would hope so. You shouldn’t do it if you’re not having fun.”
I pressed my lips together. This wasn’t going the way I wanted. “What are you so smug about?”
I could hear the grin in my dad’s voice. “Judging by the fact that you actually admitted to being sappy, something you’ve never done before by the way, I think this is going to be real interesting.”
“I’m going to Dakota in a little over three months,” I reminded him.
“I know you are, son.”
“Then why do you sound so calm about it?”
“Because I know you. And you know yourself better than anyone else I’ve ever met. You’ll do what’s right for you, and that’s all I can ask.”
“What’s right for me might not be what’s right for Summer,” I warned.
“It may not.”
His agreement surprised me. I wanted him to argue, to tell me I was wrong for this, for possibly hurting this girl. Somewhere during our little dance around the edges, I’d developed feelings. It was safe to say she had too. I knew where this could end up and I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I wanted someone to tell me it was okay—or to run in the other direction now, before it was too late. My dad was doing neither.
“This time is different,” I said. Maybe if I admitted it aloud, it would make him see. Make me see. And give me answers.
“I know.” His voice was way too gentle and understanding. This is not what I’d wanted when I started this conversation.
“Why aren’t you worried?” I demanded.
“The question is, why are you?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Summer
“The only thing you have is right now, and that’s where the happiness lies.”
–Angeline Kace, author of Wicked Thing
Over the next week, Ford helped me inventory the retail stock. We counted plants, bags of soil, tools, fertilizer... anything and everything the farm could put a price tag on got logged. Despite the tedious work, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much or spent so little time thinking about balance sheets and bank accounts or the state of my parents’ love life.
Ford was both a distraction and a point of focus.
The things he said, the way he saw the world, made me think from an angle I never had before. It was a constant challenge to answer his questions or to ask my own in a way that helped me understand there was more than one way to view the landscape of life.
Over the course of our conversations, something began to shift. I couldn’t put my finger on it except I felt so ... open. So free. And full of feeling, emotional and physical. I preferred to concentrate on the physical. I’d never had so much sex. Or so many orgasms. Unfortunately, one hadn’t gone with the other in experiences past. I realized now how sad that’d been.
It never failed that when left alone, we’d end up in some form of undress and making out—or more. Usually more. And usually wherever inventory took us. Closets, greenhouses, sheds. The garage. Casey had almost walked in on that one but we’d played it off. The memory still made me smile.
By the time I woke Friday morning, my senses tingled at the mere thought of checking off numbers in boxes.
“Morning,” I said to Mazie as I went for the coffeepot. The kitchen was deserted except for the two of us. Most of the crew wouldn’t pop in until lunchtime since they had coffee and bagels in the main greenhouse. Mazie always made sure of that.
“Good morning, paidi mou,” she said, a smug smile on her lips.
“What’s that look for?” I asked before blowing on the steaming mug.
She didn’t look up from the small circles her dish rag made on the already clean counter. “No reason.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t believe her one bit. Especially after that stunt she’d pulled getting me to my mom’s party. She still acted like she’d been the one to bring Ford and me together. And I’d bit back an argument since technically, she was right. Underhanded but right.
“Your boyfriend was in this morning, asking me questions about you,” she said.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mumbled over the rim of my cup.
I’d told her this already. I’d told everyone this already. The problem was, I had no idea what Ford was. Anytime I tried calling him “just a friend” the person laughed in my face. Especially Mazie.
My dad frowned a lot. He, least of everyone, understood or approved of casual relationships. Frank had slapped him on the back and called him “old school” before admitting it confused him just the same. Casey was the only one who got it but instead of agreeing with me about being “just friends” with Ford, he winked and changed the subject. It grated on me, not having a better answer. I had zero experience with a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere.
“If you say so,” Mazie said, still wiping spotless counters. “But his questions said otherwise.”
“What did he ask you?”
She shrugged. “Things about your childhood. Your favorite sports and subjects in school. What you were like. First boyfriend.” Her expression turned sly. “First kiss.”
I set my mug aside and groaned. “You did not tell him about that.”
“He needs to know what he’s up against,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not ‘up against’ anything.”
Her laughter escaped in a snort. I shook my head, picked up my mug, and headed for the hall. “I’ll be in my office,” I called over my shoulder. Mazie’s answer was more laughter. That woman was evil.
After lunch, I put aside the account files and went in search of Ford. He spent his mornings either helping Dad or hunched over the baby sprouts in his greenhouse. I found him doing the latter, so intent on his work he didn’t hear me come in.
I stood there, watching his suddenly delicate fingers handle the tiny leaves and stems. His lips moved silently as he bent over the raised planter’s box. Whispering to his babies.
“Ford?” Halfway down the aisle I called his name, but he didn’t look up. Then I noticed the ear buds he wore and the wire connecting to his iPod. Not whispering to the plants. Singing. I smiled and crept sideways so that his back was to me.
When I reached his shoulder, I ripped the ear bud free. “Ford!”
He jumped and let out a yell. “You should’ve seen your face,” I said, laughing.
“Oh, you’ve started it now. Just wait,” he said, removing the other ear bud and switching off the iPod.
I grinned. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be.”
“Uh-huh. Are you ready or what?”
“I was born ready.” I turned to go but he grabbed me and pulled me to him. “One thing first,” he said, lowering his lips to mine. I ran my hands up his chest and locked them around his neck, the motion eerily familiar, like I’d been doing it forever. His tongue traced my bottom lip and then the roof of my mouth, just behind my teeth. I shivered, instantly turned on.
“You like that?” he murmured.
“Gets me every time,” I whispered, reaching for more.
The kiss lasted just long enough to make it difficult to stop. When he pulled away, we were both breathing hard. I dropped my arms from his neck reluctantly. “We should get to work,” I said.
He kissed my cheek one last time and whispered into my ear, “When’s our first break?”
“Soon,” I said, grinning at him.
Outside, he fell into step beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I hung on, shoving out the little voice that wanted to know what it meant for him to hold my hand. It didn’t matter what it meant. It only mattered that he was holding it.
We spent the next hour inside the barn’s storage room, Ford calling out items while I marked it down on my clipboard. When all the rakes and shovels had been recorded, we went back to my office to input the numbers.
I shoved aside the contents of boxes I’d brought in that now littered my desk and fired up the computer. I’d barely had time to put away Mom’s things left behind since being back. The room was still bare of my own personal touches.
“It’s a work in progress,” I explained.
Ford sat in the empty chair across the desk. “No explanation required. Have you seen my work space? Controlled chaos.”
“Controlled?” I lifted a brow.
“I know where everything is.”
“Yeah, because it’s all lying on the floor in plain sight.”
“Don’t question my system. It works for me. Besides, all the creative types are messy.”
I looked around my half-decorated, half-packed office and made a face. “I would say you’re converting me but this is just me procrastinating.”
He picked up a framed document laying on top of the stack. My diploma. “Congratulations, by the way,” he said, scanning it. “Heard you graduated with honors and a dean’s letter. That’s something to be proud of.”
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 237