18. Ford

CHAPTER 18

FORD

The house was quiet, save for the V-8 volume of Milo's purring in my ear. After Boston left, I threw myself down on the couch in a dramatic fit of pining, and Milo was quick to take advantage of the new place to lie, jumping on my chest and bumping his head into the bottom of my chin over and over until I patted the top of his head.

Boston had spent the night, half-naked in my arms, then he'd let me make him coffee before getting dressed in the same clothes he'd worn over the night before and giving me a blistering goodbye kiss. With my eyes closed, I traced my fingertips across my lower lip as Milo insistently shoved his head into my palm.

"What am I doing, Milo?" I asked.

My cat purred louder, curling up and swatting my chin with his tail before he coiled himself into a circle and laid down in the center of my chest.

Boston had me more tangled up than anyone ever had, and I wanted to hate him for it, even though I was much closer to another and just as powerful four-letter word. The mere idea of it was preposterous. I'd known Boston for years, but I didn't know him. My brain was running on endorphins around him…or something. But even as I tried to tell myself that, I couldn't understand where I'd gone so off-track.

Boston wasn't the first man I'd taken to bed that I found myself fond of, but my feelings for him were amplified as loud as Milo's never-ending purring. I could feel the hints of it in my bones, like it was a real and tangible thing beneath my fingers. That was the only reason I'd agreed to date him, which felt like not the best idea I'd ever had. New York was a big city, but it wasn't that big, and we both knew we were on borrowed time. He was content to play with fire, one way he was very much exactly like his brother.

In the pocket of my pajamas, my cell phone buzzed against my thigh and I fished it out, finding a handful of ignored text messages and one new one from Boston letting me know he'd made it home.

Boston : Taking a shower, then meeting a friend for lunch.

Boston : Can I jerk off in the shower?

My eyes rolled back a little, and I groaned, shoving Milo onto the floor so I could sit up. He landed with an undignified-sounding meow, then he sauntered out of the room in search of what I assumed to be less sentient places to sit. There was a box in my office that he favored and I hadn't had the heart to toss it out yet.

Boston : I don't know why but ever since you, I've been horny all the time .

I scrubbed a hand down my face, so far over my head I was drowning.

Me : It's like you're going through puberty again.

Me : You can jerk off but you can't come.

Boston : That's mean.

Boston : What's the point?

Me : There's plenty of points. One, because you asked and I gave you your answer. Two, because I'm a selfish man and I would rather lick your cum off your stomach than let it wash down the drain. Three, because if you get yourself close and don't finish, I imagine I'll see you sooner rather than later.

Boston : I could have stayed longer???

I swallowed, leaning forward and digging my elbows into the tops of my knees. I held my phone loosely in my hands, staring down at the unnecessary volume of question marks that followed his question. I would have let him stay forever.

Me : If I wanted you to go, I would have asked you to go.

Boston : I didn't want to overstay.

I didn't think he could.

Boston : Why didn't you tell me to stay?

That was a fair question, all things considered. Because I didn't want to look desperate and needy and it was one thing to control his orgasms, but another to monopolize his time. Before I could think myself into a deeper hole than I'd already dug, my phone rang .

"Boston," I greeted.

"Why didn't you tell me to stay?" he repeated the question from his text message like I would suddenly have an answer.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"I thought this was more than just sex."

"This is," I agreed.

"I didn't mean us , " he said. "I meant the…controlling stuff."

"The dominance, Boston. You can say it."

"The dominance," he whispered.

I pictured him on his knees with my cock in his mouth, eyes open and pupils shot. I groaned to myself, cursing my own stupidity under my breath. There was no real explanation I could give that he would accept. I could say that I didn't want to scare him off, that I wanted to ease him into things, that I wanted him to only experience the best parts of me, but none of those were the whole truth. At the end of the day, the real reason was one I'd struggled with every time he pressed his mouth against mine. Boston kissed without a care in the world, like no harm could ever come. There was a courageous kind of innocence about him, and if I were being honest, I envied it. Because, at the end of the day, I was scared shitless.

Scared of the way being with me came so naturally to him.

Scared of the way I wanted him in my space…in my life.

Scared of the changes taking place inside of me every time I looked at him.

"It's been a while since I've played that way outside of sex," I told him.

"How long?"

I huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, had it not been laced with so much self-deprecation .

"College, probably," I said.

"Why?"

"It's a little early for the hard-hitting questions, sweetheart."

"I just want to know you," he explained, and it was impossible to not picture that same earnest and hopeful—and a little bit hungry—look he had on his face every time he looked at me these days.

"I'm not sure what to tell you," I said. "I don't think the man I am right now is the man I used to be."

"Who is the man you used to be?"

"I thought you were going to have a wank and a lunch date." I pushed up from my spot on the couch so I could go into the kitchen and refill my coffee. It was too early for this level of introspection, but apparently the bedroom wasn't the only place I couldn't tell Boston no.

"I will," he said, "eventually. Who is the man you used to be?"

"You know the kind of man I used to be." I filled my empty mug to the brim with a fresh round of hot coffee and turned to rest my ass against the counter while I waited for it to cool to a drinkable temperature. "The life of the party. Always down for a good time."

"But not a long time." Boston laughed at me.

"Not a long time," I agreed with a frown.

His laughter was quick to die down, and he cleared his throat. "But now?"

"Now, I don't know if a long time would be long enough," I told him honestly.

"Am I that good at sucking cock?"

I laughed, the boldness so out of character for the man I'd thought I knew, but maybe I wasn't the only one being changed over the course of our relationship.

"My arrogance is rubbing off on you," I teased. "You've changed too."

"How?"

"You never would have said that to me two weeks ago."

"I didn't know I was attracted to you two weeks ago," he said.

"That's a lie and you know it, sweetheart." I raised my coffee and took a tentative sip. It burned my tongue, but nothing hot enough to scar. "If you think hard enough about it, you'll find out that I wasn't the first."

"You were, Ford."

I wanted to argue with him, but the insistence and surety in his voice stopped me in my tracks. I admired how certain he was about me, when every day with him had me feeling less sure of myself. At first, I'd been content to hide this little obsession of mine, but to have Boston know and for him to imply the feelings were mutual? For me to have met a person who wasn't scared off by my intensity, my needs?

I'd never imagined myself with a partner because the shoes were always too big to fill. I wanted too hard, too much, too fast. It was overwhelming and scary, not just for myself but for others, so I'd never given anything a chance to go that far. But it was impossible to pump the brakes with Boston.

"I can hear you thinking," he murmured.

"You're the pushiest submissive I've ever met."

"I don't think I am submissive," he said simply.

"You get hard when you call me Sir," I reminded him, getting hard thinking about him getting hard. Was the rest of my life really meant to be this vicious and never-ending cycle of arousal?

"I get hard other times too," he said.

I could tell there was more in that comment, but I hadn't had enough coffee to unpack it yet.

"And yet you still want me to assert my dominance in this relationship outside of the bedroom?" I pressed.

"Yes," he rasped. "I like it. It makes me feel…"

The silence stretched between us and when I was tired of waiting, I prompted him to finish the sentence.

"Makes you feel what?"

"Safe."

I screwed my eyes shut and scrunched my nose up in a painful grimace. The irony of Boston feeling safe with me while I was absolutely terrified when I was with him would forever remain one of nature's cruelest tricks.

"Are you there?" he asked.

"I'm here. Yes."

"Did I say something wrong?" There was that quiet and tentative man I'd always thought him to be.

"Not at all," I promised him. "This is new for both of us."

"Next time, tell me stay if you want me to."

"I will."

"When am I going to see you again?" he asked.

"When do you want to?"

He chuckled. "Depends on the next lesson."

Fuck.

How was he continually able to disarm me like that? I didn't know which way was up, but what was worse…I didn't care. I'd already resigned myself to letting Boston Sheffield tie me down and ruin my life, I might as well go big.

"I thought our next lesson could be a date," I said.

"I know how to date."

"That's not what I meant." I grabbed my mug and took a big swallow of my coffee. "I just meant I wasn't thinking about lessons, I was thinking I wanted to take you on a proper date. Since we're…since we're in…"

"A relationship," he helpfully supplied, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"If that's what you wanted."

"It's what we agreed."

"If it's what you wanted," I repeated, desperately searching out more than his consent, but also his interest.

"It is."

There was a small silence, and I found myself wishing we were having the conversation in person and not over the phone so I could see his face, so I could read his mannerisms, his tells. "A date would be good."

"Tonight?"

Boston hummed. "That works."

"I'll pick you up at seven?"

"That's perfect, Ford," he said softly. "This was a roundabout way of me getting ready for that shower wank."

I couldn't help but laugh at that.

"No coming," I reminded him.

"No, Sir," he said. "No coming."

"I'll see you at seven."

I disconnected the call before he could say goodbye, before I could say something any more embarrassing than I already had. I was so out of my element with this man, but I couldn't go to any of my friends for advice. They wouldn't accept a nameless or faceless suitor if I brought it up, and there was no way I could let anyone besides Brooks know what was going on between me and Boston.

That only left one person.

It was early in California, but I was desperate.

I collected my phone and my coffee, then carried it all back to the couch where I collapsed against the cushions with a groan. The whole room still smelled like sex, smelled like Boston. Ignoring the way my cock threatened to tent the loose fabric of my pajamas at the memory, I scrolled through my contacts and called the one person who had kept a secret better than any of us ever could.

I called Beamer.