And my partners had always come up lacking in some way.
Now I understood why.
Because Ford was Ford.
And nobody else would ever be Ford.
“You’re driving me crazy.” I pulled back only long enough to draw in a deep breath.
Then once again I was leaning forward, my hands now resting on Ford’s impressive chest.
“This means nothing,” I said to him between kisses.
He laughed into my mouth.
“It means less than nothing,” he countered.
That was right. What we were doing wasn’t anything. It meant nothing. It felt like… everything.
Yet, I still told myself it was nothing even though we were both lying to ourselves.
“Just shut up and think of something else,” he ordered.
“I wasn’t talking,” I told him.
“You were overthinking,” he countered. “Your kisses slowed.”
Well, we couldn’t have that, could we?
“There’s my girl,” he growled.
I doubled my efforts on making him realize that I was all in, all there, and no longer in my head.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he said against my lips. His petal soft lips, and my most favorite part of him to stare at, brushed against my skin as he spoke.
“Do what?” I asked.
He showed me instead, picking me up and whirling us around so that he was sitting on the chair and I was sitting on his lap.
I felt my head spin as he moved.
And the moment that his cock touched the apex of my thighs, where I most wanted his touch, I nearly came right then and there.
I also had a feeling I knew where this was going.
Which had me feeling anxious all over again.
“Ford,” I said. “I… we can’t… I don’t have…”
He knew exactly what I was talking about without me going into even more detail.
I was allergic to latex. I was allergic to birth control. I was allergic to life, apparently.
I wasn’t sure if he knew about the birth control or not, but I hadn’t been trying to hide it.
Not to mention, the time that I tried to use them, not only had I had a very bad reaction, but I’d been in the middle of a Dixie Warden party, with everyone in attendance, when it’d happened.
I’d lost my vision. Like, completely.
One second, I could see, and the next I couldn’t.
It was found out later at the hospital that what I thought was the flu was actually the side effects of my birth control pills.
So I’d completely come off everything, returned to normal, only to try a different birth control months later.
That time I’d had chest pains.
It was decided after that that I should probably just stick with the guy wearing the protection instead of me.
The one and only time I’d tried to have sex, the man had gotten his penis just close enough to come into contact with my vagina when I started to feel a burning sensation.
He’d immediately backed off and had pulled away.
That was when the hives started, followed by the trouble breathing, a cough, and watery eyes.
After a trip to the ER without the man that got me there, I realized that I was likely allergic to latex.
Needless to say, I’d never had another chance to test the theory.
I thought I was doomed to be a virgin forever.
“Your office door lock?” he asked curiously.
I looked at the door, saw the back of the handle, and nodded.
“Get up and go lock it.”
I blinked furiously, trying to get my brain to work.
“Go,” he urged, pushing me away from him.
I had no other choice but to move or fall on my ass.
Not that he would’ve let me fall or anything.
But it was like my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders just yet.
I stood stiffly for a few seconds, then hurried toward the door to lock it.
When I turned back around, it was to see Ford stepping out of his pants.
My breath caught, and I stared at him in shock.
“Ford,” I breathed. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that this is a long time coming,” he admitted, sounding pissed. “Take your clothes off.”
I did, watching him the entire time.
His eyes went hot when I ripped my shirt off.
Even hotter when my bra followed the shirt.
I got stuck momentarily on my jeans because he started to lower the front of his boxer briefs, exposing long, glorious inches of his lower abdomen and the root of his cock.
“Keep going,” he urged.
My mind wasn’t working correctly.
I told myself to push my pants down, but I was floundering.
I’d always wondered about this.
I’d wanted to know what it would be like.
I’d daydreamed, thought that it couldn’t possibly be as good as everybody always made it out to seem.
But seeing the bulge?
“I hate when you wear gray sweatpants,” I told him.
He frowned and stopped moving, his underwear now low enough to show about an inch of the base of his cock.
It was darker than the rest of his skin.
“What?” he asked. “Why?”