7. Boston

CHAPTER 7

BOSTON

I stayed at work until five, if for no other reason than I didn't know what to do if I left early. There were still three hours before I was supposed to show up at Ford's house, which was plenty of time for me to question every life choice I'd ever made while I sat in Central Park and ate a gyro. But even as I beat myself up over the second-guessing and the doubt, I couldn't shake the thin strand of arousal that had curled around my spine at the same time I'd curled my hand around Ford's thigh.

He was so tall, so muscular, so sure of himself. Being attracted to Ford shouldn't have made sense, but there was no way to explain it. I didn't think I needed to explain it, though. It wasn't the 1950s anymore. While it was still problematic in some parts of the country to be in a same sex relationship, New York wasn't one of them. And I wasn't even going to be in a same sex relationship . I asked Ford to show me how the body parts worked, nothing more. Being intimate with a man was one thing, dating a man was something else entirely and I didn't know if I was ready to wrap my head around that piece of the puzzle.

By the time I worked through all of those mental conversations, it was barely seven. With a frustrated sigh, I decided to go home and change clothes. Maybe I'd feel more comfortable if I wasn't in my suit, if I washed the feel of Ford's hands out of my hair with a quick shower even though the whole point was to go to his house in an hour so I could have them there all over again.

I washed up and while I was getting dressed to go, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Immediately, my heart sank, thinking it was going to be Ford calling the whole thing off, but the truth of the sender was much worse.

It was my brother.

Kale : Do you want to grab a drink?

Me : Already in for the night, sorry.

Kale : Maybe Friday?

Me : Didn't you make plans with Ford on Friday?

Kale : Let me ask my assistant.

Kale : Did I make plans with Ford on Friday?

Me : Yes, and the rest of your friends.

Kale : Did you want to come?

Kale : Actually, scratch that. Tomorrow night for us?

I exhaled, trying not to read into why he didn't want me to come out with his friends on Friday night. I'd known all of them almost as long as he had. It wasn't like we were strangers. It was just Kale trying to make decisions for me based off what he thought was best. It was exactly what he'd done by giving me my job. He didn't think I should leave, so he made sure I would stay.

Me : Sure.

I put it on his calendar so he didn't forget, then sat on the edge of my bed to lace up my sneakers. I'd settled on something casual, just jeans and an old college t-shirt. I really didn't know what the dress code was for when you convinced your brother's best friend to teach you how to fuck a man, but I doubted Ford knew either. I didn't expect to be in clothes long anyway, so…

This was a ridiculous plan.

But my body wanted it and my feet carried me out of the house and down to the curb where I flagged a taxi. I climbed into the back seat on autopilot, and then I was in front of Ford's gorgeous brownstone, once again wondering if this was a mistake. I had money. My brother had money. My grandparents had money, but Ford…Ford had money . I knew how much buildings in this part of town went for, and Ford's was far from the smallest. I was in over my head with him in every way possible, it seemed.

When I knocked on his front door, it was eight o'clock on the nose.

He opened the door before I could knock a second time, once again stealing the breath from my lungs at the sight of him. Ford made my casual look overdressed as he stood before me in low-slung gray sweatpants and a crisp white undershirt. He was tall, and the smallest sliver of skin was exposed between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his pants and, further down, his feet were bare. Long and slender toes tapping against what looked to be real oak floors.

"Hey, Boston." He said my name like it was an endearment by itself. "Did you want to come in?"

I swallowed, clearing my throat and bringing my stare back up toward his face. "Yes, please."

He took a step back and I followed him inside. He was careful to move around me to close the door, the smell of him already fresh and sharp in my nose.

"Shoes off?" I asked.

"If you don't mind."

I toed off my sneakers and kicked them under the small side table just inside the door. Ford's wallet and keys sat in a wooden bowl beside some crumpled receipts, spare change, and a hot pink fuzzy mouse.

"I hope you're not allergic to cats," he said, tilting his head toward the hallway.

I followed after him, my socks slipping over the highly polished floor. Ford's house was narrow and deep, like most of the renovated units in the Upper East Side. He had at least three stories of room, though, and detailed black finishings throughout.

"What is your cat's name?" I asked.

"Milo. He's a beast of a Calico, but he mostly keeps to himself."

Ford made a left turn through a doorway which led into a decent-sized living room space that overlooked the back garden made mostly of gnarled vines and mismatched cobblestones.

"Sit down," he said. "Let's talk. Did you want a drink?"

"I probably shouldn't." I tucked myself into the corner of his black leather loveseat. It faced a brick fireplace and a massive TV which hung on the wall above the mantel.

"You probably shouldn't be here either," he reminded me.

"I'll have a drink."

"Get comfortable. I'll be right back."

It was impossible to not get comfortable on Ford's couch. The whole room smelled like him, and it was the first opportunity I had to get a look at the man behind the playboy exterior. I would have never guessed he had a cat, but the proof was scattered all around the room in the shape of more fuzzy mice and a cardboard scratching post near the window. Ford returned quickly, two glasses of wine in hand. He passed one to me and then sat down next to me so close the outside of our thighs brushed. I tightened my fingers around the stem of the wine glass and took a quick swallow.

"So, you've thought about it," he said. "You're sure this is what you want."

"I told you it's what I want. You're the one that didn't believe me."

"You're right." Ford took a big drink of his wine, then stood up, a near mirror from the position that had gotten us both into this mess in the first place. "If you want to learn my way, you have to play by my rules, though."

"What are the rules?" I asked, taking another drink of wine. My hand was trembling and the rim of the glass clashed against my teeth when I brought it to my mouth.

"The rules are that I'm in charge, Boston. I decide what we do and when we do it. If you don't like something, you can ask me to stop."

"Isn't that normal? "

"The last part." His mouth quirked up at the corner. "Not the first part."

"I don't mind you taking the lead," I said softly, turning my attention toward my lap. Why was that such a vulnerable thing to admit out loud? We'd already established the fact I didn't know anything about anything when it came to being with a man. It made perfect sense that Ford would be the one to make the decisions and show me the ropes.

"I would like for you to get tested," he said, reaching onto the mantle and picking up a sheet of paper that was folded in fours. He handed it to me expectantly. "I already have."

I balanced the glass on the arm of the couch and unfolded the sheet of paper, revealing the letterhead of Ford's physician and his most recent STI panel from the week before.

"How often do you get tested?" I asked, folding it back up and returning it to him.

"Monthly."

"Do you use condoms?"

"All the time," he said. "And so will you, as long as we're doing whatever the hell this is."

I picked up my wine and took another careful sip, not wanting to shatter the glass against my teeth. "Are you going to sleep with other people while we're doing whatever the hell this is ?"

"Are you?" he countered.

The idea felt absurd, and I couldn't help but laugh at him before I answered, "I'm not."

"Not even women?"

"No one," I said, shaking my head.

"Then neither will I."

The air in the room settled, and Ford took the wine glass out of my hand. He set both of our drinks on the fireplace mantel, then extended a free hand to me.

This was it.

I slid my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet, bringing us once again face to face. He still smelled like sandalwood, but the wine on his breath was rich, and I had to make a concerted effort to root my toes into the floor so I didn't fall right into him.

"Lesson one," he whispered, plucking my glasses off of my face and setting them on top of his test results, "kissing."

My teeth chattered, only quieting down when Ford slowly cradled my face in his hands. He stroked his thumbs across my cheekbones, and I finally allowed myself to sway toward him. Ford's dark and appraising eyes traced over my whole face, and I was thankful my glasses were only for distance, because there was no way I wanted to miss out on seeing even one second of this.

The power vibrated out of his hands, barely restrained as he angled my face toward him, bringing his face closer to mine at the same time. The tips of our noses pressed together, and my cock jerked against my leg, constricted and held down by the tight elastic of my underwear. I shuffled closer, bringing our bodies flush, Ford's erection brushing over mine. I gasped, surprised by the heat of it, the thickness of it, and then Ford closed the rest of the space between us and ever so carefully slanted his mouth over mine.

I gasped again, swallowing his breath, the taste of him, right into my mouth, and he tightened his hold on my face, keeping me still. He hadn't yet put his tongue into my mouth. Instead, it was just our lips parted and touching, my heart slamming against my ribs like it needed out of my chest entirely. My lashes fluttered, eyes closing, and then Ford pulled away.

A whimper tore out of my throat and he was back, lips against mine once again, this time more urgent and eager to explore. He licked across the seam of my mouth with his tongue before sliding it inside and tangling with mine. I had never kissed a man, but I knew how to kiss, and I threaded my fingers into Ford's hair to keep him right where I wanted him.

Kissing him was electric, unlike any kiss I'd ever had before. I pulled his hair, pushing back against him, not trying to take control of the kiss, only trying to not be overtaken by it entirely. Ford groaned, hands sliding away from my face and down to my neck. He turned us both halfway around and then my back was against the fireplace and one of his thighs was firmly nudged between my legs. The position put the perfect amount of pressure on my cock, and I whined into his mouth, grinding against his leg.

"Kissing," he murmured, pulling back enough that I couldn't reach his thigh with my cock anymore.

"I know how to kiss," I said, desperate to lean back into him and taste his mouth again.

Ford kissed with the same authority he exuded in everyday life, with his curious tongue, firm lips, and strong hands. He used his entire body to kiss, which was not the only thing new for me, but I knew I could never go back to middle school make-out sessions after this. I was hungry for more of this, more of him. I still wasn't sure if the need would translate through to other men, but I was happy for the desire to revolve around Ford, at least for now.

"You don't know how to kiss me , Boston," he warned, nipping my lower lip between his teeth before sliding his tongue over the tooth marks he left behind. "And I don't know how to kiss you either."

"I bet you say lines like that to all the boys," I tried to tease, hoping the humor would ease the throbbing ache that felt like it had taken up permanent residence between my legs. I needed more friction from him. I needed more than just a kiss.

He didn't say anything back to my comment, making some indiscernible noise in the back of his throat instead. He pulled me off the wall and guided me back to the couch, sitting beside me and resting one hand on the center of my chest and the other lightly curled around my waist.

"Tonight we're just kissing, sweetheart," he whispered, pecking his way from my ear down to the corner of my mouth. "No humping, no hand jobs, just kissing."

Then he leaned in, slanted our mouths back together, and did exactly that.