Chapter 9

Ashley

My God, this man can kiss. His mouth is on mine—hungry and insistent. He's gently biting my lower lip, and the whole time, his hands are moving constantly from my shoulders, down to my waist, my hips and then further until he grabs my ass and hauls me against him. The hard ridge of his dick is pressing against me. It's hot as hell, knowing just how much he wants me.

But doubt creeps in. He's been single for a while. Single and not able to mingle, so to speak. Does he really want me, or does he just want to not be alone anymore? I'm not opposed to us being a little bit of anesthesia for one another. I just need to know going in so that I can protect myself. Heartbreak might seem romantic when you're a stupid teenager, but when you're a grown‐ass woman whose life is a virtual shit show, the last thing you need is something else going wrong.

"Are we gonna pretend we're just hanging out?" He asks the question, his breath hot against my neck.

"Are we … just hanging out?"

"If that's all I wanted, Ashley, I could get that elsewhere. I wouldn't have brought you into my home where my kid is," he says. "I don't bring women here who don't matter."

That scares me as much as it excites me. "Take me to your bedroom," I tell him.

He steps back, but he keeps my hand in his as he pulls me toward his room. Luckily, it's on the other side of the living room from Felicity's.

When Ford walks backward toward his bedroom. pulling me with him, I don't hesitate. I go willingly. Because I'm not strong enough to walk away from something I want this bad, even if it's the smart thing to do. Before my ass even hits the mattress, I've got my hands under his shirt. His skin is burning hot and smooth beneath my fingers as I trace every line and ridge of his abs.

"Fuck, Ashley," he breathes against my mouth. "I love feeling your hands on me."

"Take your shirt off," I tell him.

He rears back and does just that, tossing it aside with a careless flick of his wrist. And it's so much better than I imagined. He's lean and strong, with that little line of hair bisecting his abs and disappearing behind the waistband of his jeans. But it's the tattoo on his chest that draws me in. It's a phoenix, but it isn't just rising from the ashes. It's breaking free of chains that are trying to hold it in the fire. That tattoo tells me a story. It tells his story.

Reaching up, I trace the inked lines on his chest. "It's beautiful."

"It's what I want," he says. "To break free of all the bullshit that's been holding me back … holding me down."

He's looking down at me, those coal black eyes of his intent, like he's waiting to see if I get it. And I do. "I know a little bit about that. I'm Doogie's kid, after all. That automatically makes me suspect in most people's eyes. Or if not suspect, beneath their notice because how, when he's my dad, could I ever amount to anything?" I can say these things to him because he gets it. In a lot of ways, we're the same. We've been marked by our family name, our futures decided by everyone else around us because no one thinks we'll ever break the generational curses that haunt us.

He nods. "Yeah. I figured you'd get it. But I don't want to talk about our pasts or our families or this goddamn town. I don't really want to talk at all, Ash."

I reach for the buttons on my shirt and slip one free. Then the next. When the fabric parts, I'm wearing a lacy black bra underneath. And the panties match. Because I knew what I was coming over here for.

He leans down and his mouth is on my neck, biting, licking, teasing. And he moves lower each time until I can feel the heat of his breath on my nipple. When his lips close around it, I can't stop the little whimper that escapes me. Fuck, that's so good. I can feel his smile against my skin. He knows exactly what he's doing to me. But I'm not about to be a passive participant. Reaching between us, I place my palm against the fly of his jeans, stroking him through the fabric.

"Ashley." He utters my name on a harsh exhale as he closes his eyes. "Fuck, you're killing me."

"Not yet, I'm not. Not until I get what I want," I whisper.

"And what's that?"

"You." I follow that admission with a challenge, "I'll show you mine, Chevy, if you show me yours."

That challenge sparks something in him. He pushes me back on the bed and strips my jeans off me with slow, deliberate movements. Then he follows up by removing his own. Lean, chiseled, strong and sexy as fuck—just looking at him is enough to make me wet. But when he leans over me, pinning me to the bed, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, it feels so right, so freaking perfect, that I just lift my hips and lock my legs around his waist.

"Slow down, baby girl," he whispers. "We don't have to rush."

"Maybe you don't, but I do," I tell him, raking my nails down his back. It's been way too long. And if I'm gonna be honest, it's never been like this. I've never wanted anyone the way I want Ford–where all he has to do is look at me and I'm ready to jump him. "What's it gonna be, Ford … are you gonna fuck me, or talk me to death?"

It's like a match to gasoline. He slides his hand up my thigh, touching me intimately. I'm already wet for him, and he appears a little too satisfied with himself on that score. But that's something to tackle later. Right now, I just want him inside me.

"Condom," I tell him. "Now."

He leans away from me and reaches into the drawer of his bedside table. Then he's back with a little foil packet which he rips open with his teeth in one very well‐practiced move. I try not to think about just how well practiced. It doesn't matter though, because he doesn't give me a chance to think at all. He's back, his hands hooked behind my knees, as he's settling himself between my thighs. I shiver a little, anticipating just how good it's going to feel to have him inside me. It's been way too long since I've had sex with something that doesn't require batteries.

"You sure this is what you want?" he asks.

I get why he asks. Ford has been burned before. I know all about Felicity's mom and all the crazy abuse accusations she'd made against him just because she's a petty bitch mad about getting dumped. There can't be any questions for him about whether or not I'm on board. So I just reach between us, close my hand around his cock and bring it home. "I like the direct approach. Don't you?"

"Fuck yes," he says, his voice all growly and deep.

I lock my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. But Ford isn't someone who needs a lot of direction. He seems to know exactly what I need.

It's not gentle. It's not slow and easy. Instead, he's going hard and fast and all I can do is hang onto him as I come, sinking my nails into his back. He stops, not making a single move as… and he's still hard.

"You didn't come."

He grins. "You wanted hard and fast, and I gave it to you. Now I'm gonna do it the way I want it … and it won't be fast, Ashley."