22. Ford

CHAPTER 22

FORD

I was in love with Boston Sheffield.

I rolled him on top of me, knowing I was in love with him.

I helped him strip me out of my underwear, knowing I was in love with him.

I kissed him, knowing I was in love with him.

I watched when he reached over to his nightstand for lube and a condom, already helplessly in love with him.

"Tell me what to do," he said softly, holding the gold foil packet and the bottle of clear liquid in his hands.

"Put some lube on your fingers," I told him. "If you think it's too much, you still need more."

He moved onto his knees and cracked open the bottle, squirting a liberal amount onto his fingers. He used his other hand to slick it up and down the length of his first two digits, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in a show of adorable concentration.

"What now?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion you can figure it out, sweetheart." I covered my eyes with my forearm, unable to look at him a second longer.

How long had it been since I'd bottomed?

My erection flagged at the thought, and I covered it with my palm, pulling my shaft and balls up toward my stomach so he could see what he was working with. There was still part of me that expected him to absolutely freak out and beg off from what we'd gotten ourselves into. I wouldn't have been able to blame him. There were plenty of things different about having a man beneath you than a woman, and everything we'd done up until this point was nothing more than foreplay.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly.

"You won't." I desperately hoped that wasn't a lie. "Just go slow. One finger first, then the other."

The cold and wet press of his finger against my asshole was enough to almost send me into orbit. I gritted my teeth and spread my legs for him, digging my heels into the bed and lifting up enough for him to see.

"Put a pillow under my hips," I whispered, lifting my hips off the bed to make room. "It'll be easier."

At least, that's what I always told everyone else. I hoped I wasn't getting ready to make a liar out of myself.

Boston slid one of his pillows underneath me and I relaxed against it. His finger was back against my hole, and his other hand grabbed my wrist, tugging my arm away from my face.

"I want to see you," he said,

Didn't he understand he saw me better than anyone else ever had? Wasn't that enough for him? How foolish I'd been going into this with him, thinking that Boston deserved anything less than everything.

Sucking in a breath, I stared down my nose at him as he pushed the tip of his finger into my body. He caught my reaction and immediately went still, but I shook my head.

"Don't stop," I told him. "All the way in. Just like that, sweetheart."

His pointer finger bottomed out, the knuckle pressed against my rim, his slick second finger curled and ready.

"Don't stop, Boston," I said again, and with an agonizing slowness that unfurled a ripple of goose flesh up both of my arms, he pulled his finger all the way out of me, then pushed it back in.

Letting him get used to having his finger inside of an asshole was going to be the death of me, so I told him to add another one. If I was going to die, it might as well be with his cock inside of me, not something as simple as fingers. He struggled to get his second finger into me, but it was nothing a little lube and a little willpower couldn't get done, and with both of them inside of me, Boston fell forward, bracing his hand beside my head. His chest heaved as he breathed, the position shifting one of my knees toward my ear to make room for the spread of his body.

"Does it feel okay?" He asked, brow knit together, but pupils shot.

"Feels like I need more of you," I admitted, lifting my head from the pillow so I could chase after another kiss.

Boston teased the full length of his fingers in and out of me until a cold sweat broke out against my temple. He moved to the side and licked the sweat off me, sending a shiver through us both.

"This is amazing," he said, more to himself than to me, I thought. "This is more than I ever expected."

"I know. "

Boston kissed down the side of my face and the curve of my neck. I lifted my arm, reaching above me for his headboard. I needed to ground myself, but when he took the opportunity to bury his face in the sweaty crook of my armpit, I almost came on the spot.

"I need more, sweetheart," I said again, voice cracking on the endearment.

"Right. Right."

He quickly pulled his fingers out of me, and I groaned at the absence. The condom had gotten lost on the bed somewhere, and while he searched around for it with a curse under his breath, I made the decision to hammer the final nail into my coffin.

"Don't use the condom," I rasped, shaking my head when he looked sharply at me with hooded, yet confused eyes.

"What?"

"Don't use the condom," I repeated. "We're exclusive, right?"

His mouth twitched at the statement.

"We've been tested, we don't…" My throat was dry as the desert, so I stopped trying to find words. I know I told him I always used condoms, and it had been the truth, but the thought of using one with him was unfathomable.

At my silence, Boston stopped trying to find the condom.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

No.

"Very."

He opened the lube again and smeared it over his cock, just like he had with his fingers. His brow was furrowed in a look of single-minded focus and as he used more than enough lube to get himself ready. I was thankful for the prep, thankful for the wet slide that his attention was going to give us both, thankful for the opportunity to—at thirty-something—find out for the first time in my life what it meant to make love with another person.

With the same look of determination, Boston pressed the swollen head of his cock against my lube-slicked hole. His mouth pulled down into a frown, and I knew he was struggling with that first, hard push required to get past the resistant barrier of muscle.

"You feel good," I promised, bearing down to help him out.

The head of his dick slid into me and Boston shouted out a surprised cry over the curse I loosed under my breath. My heart slammed against my ribs, pulse beating like mad in my ears as he went still with the first inch of his cock inside of me.

"Don't stop, Boston," I encouraged him. "Come kiss me."

The bend to bring our mouths together brought another few inches of his cock into me, and I rose up enough to kiss the stuttered and surprised gasp out of his mouth. Hooking my legs around the backs of his thighs, I pulled the rest of his length into me, slamming my eyes closed when he bottomed out.

"Holy shit," he murmured against my mouth.

Over and over again.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" I nudged my nose against his, reaching up with a trembling hand to take off his glasses and toss them toward his nightstand .

"Like home," he croaked, pushing his hips forward once again and chasing any extra inch of depth he could find.

The weight of his words landed on the center of my chest like an anvil, making it near impossible to breathe. Even when he started to move, easing out of me and then back in, my lungs refused to fill. The sight of him above me, the burning swell of him inside of me…

I reached between our sweaty and tense bodies, grabbing my dick and giving it a rough stroke. My field of vision was already blurred, and the friction around my cock brought my orgasm up faster than I'd expected. Less than five minutes after Boston first started to pump in and out of me, I shot searing hot ribbons of cum across my stomach and chest, knowing all the while I was in love. When he cursed at the way my body gripped and sucked at him, drawing his own orgasm out, I still knew I was in love.

He gritted his teeth, lip curling into a feral and ferocious scowl. The pace of his hips turned frenetic, and he shook his head, cursing and whimpering like either of us had any control over anything between us anymore.

"Can I come now?" He begged the question in my ear, his temple pressed against mine and his forehead buried in the pillow.

The only sounds in the room were the harsh pant of our breaths, mine exhausted from the orgasm and his fraught with the restraint of fighting his off, layered under the loud and sharp slap of skin against skin as he fucked my legs wide, fucked me into the headboard.

I didn't answer him because I wasn't ready for it to end.

I wanted to be in love with him like this for another minute longer because I didn't think my heart was a truth I could hide from him.

"Ford." He groaned, hips thrusting and going still. "Please. Sir. Please, please, please."

I'd never had someone beg to get off with their cock inside of me. I had never felt dominance from my back, but it was headier than any high from any play session I'd ever had before. I flexed my muscles around him, relishing the way his pleases turned into unintelligible mumbles. He was all but still inside of me, the muscles in his stomach and back pulled tight from his restraint.

"Sir," he pleaded one last time, shaking his head. He sounded like he might be crying. Boston pressed his mouth against mine, lips moving in what was either a curse or a promise over and over until I finally relented and gave him what he needed the most.

"Come inside of me, sweetheart. Let me feel you."

Not even a full second later, half a breath at best, his cock thickened and swelled, testing my already swollen and well-fucked hole. Boston's mouth opened, no sound coming out, and then he spilled inside of me, hot jets of cum painting the deepest parts of me…places no one had ever touched before him. A shiver wracked through his whole body and I wrapped him up with my arms and my legs, holding him tight against me in every possible way I could while he rode out the intense waves of his orgasm.

Finally, long after the cum and the sweat between our stomachs had gone cool, Boston relaxed against me. His cock slipped out of me and he tucked himself into my side, nose once again buried deep in my armpit. He curled himself alongside my ribs and my legs, molding his body to the shape of mine in a way that felt righter than anything else ever had before. I kissed the top of his sweaty head, sighing and turning my attention to his ceiling.

His bedroom had long windows, and the lights of the city street down below played off the stark white paint, a kaleidoscope of everyone else's life moving on while mine had irreparably stopped in time.

"Boston," I whispered, drawing gentle spirals against his spine.

He hummed, scrunching his nose against my skin. "Ford."

The ache of his penetration was still warm and throbbing between my legs, my dick still half hard and ready to go a second round with him. A thousand words and futures raced through my mind, all of them conflicting with the only future I knew I would ever dream of again. I wanted to tell Boston that I loved him, but I wasn't ready to give him up yet.