by Carly Bloom
He’d known where it would lead, and now there was nothing between him and paradise but a wisp of fabric.
He was about to run his tongue across her perfect skin when she managed to get herself unstuck and climb the rest of the way down the ladder.
Was she going to take her turn after all? Call things off?
He’d die if she did.
She put her hands on his shoulders, and her touch was warm. Gentle. Devastating.
“I’m okay with this, Ford. I know what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with and what the outcome will be…And I’m happy for now. Now is all anybody has anyway.”
He didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words evaded his tongue. They floated around, disjointed, in his mind. Words like forever. Words like love. Words like mine.
He took a breath and tried again, but Claire put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
The finger entered his mouth, and all the words disappeared.
He sucked on her finger and watched as her eyes became glassy with desire…
Was it this easy for other men to turn her on? Or was this a reaction reserved just for him?
She pulled her glistening finger out of his mouth and dragged it down his chest and belly, all the way to the waistband of his jeans. She made a show of peeking inside before blushing beautifully. “Is that for me, Ford?”
“God, yes,” he whispered.
She left the button alone and unzipped his fly. And then, as he stood like a statue with his arms at his sides, she reached in and extracted his throbbing cock. It stuck out like a flagpole, bouncing slightly with every beat of his frantic heart.
If she dropped to her knees, he was one hundred percent certain they weren’t making it back to the loft bed.
Her warm breath grazed his chest as she delivered soft butterfly kisses. He broke out in goose bumps when she licked a nipple.
“Oh, Claire…”
You’re my everything. My whole fucking universe.
She gave his cock a long, firm stroke. Then another.
Ford’s head fell back. He swayed on his feet.
“Ford,” Claire said. Her voice sounded distant and faint. “Look at me.”
She stopped stroking.
He leaned forward to kiss her. He wanted to keep his eyes closed. It was too intimate in broad daylight to have her staring into his eyes and seeing…
The truth.
That he’d do anything for her. Be anything for her. If only he could. If only he weren’t a Jarvis. If only he weren’t so fucking scared.
His heart had ventured into unexplored territory.
“Ford,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, and slowly Claire’s beautiful face came into focus. And then he fell right into her eyes.
Was it possible that she was just as lost in his?
He grabbed her face and kissed her with everything he had. He was insatiable, and he would never be able to get enough of Claire Kowalski. Not if he lived until the end of time.
“Let’s get back in the loft,” he said.
He was panting and gasping like an idiot, but he had the wherewithal to get Claire turned around and going up the rungs on the ladder.
He was right behind her, and when she got to the top and raised her leg to climb in, he lost the last bit of control he’d been clinging to.
He grabbed her hips and she stilled at his touch. He ran his hands over her sweet, round cheeks and then squeezed. The tiny strip of cloth that ran between her legs disappeared into her flesh. She gasped when he used a single finger to lift up the fabric and pull it over to the side.
He’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about it. Lain in bed and tried to remember exactly what she’d tasted like. Smelled like. Felt like.
He kissed her inner thighs, and she collapsed onto the mattress, raising her ass and opening up for him even more. He got his face as close to her as he could without actually touching her. He wanted her to feel his breath. His gaze.
His need.
He licked her softly, and she responded with a whimper. A tremor went through her body, and he wanted to turn it into a fucking earthquake. So, he licked her again.
For the next few minutes he worshipped Claire. Devoured her.
Loved her.
“Oh, God, Ford. I’m going to—”
She came like an avalanche, nearly knocking him off the ladder.
He held on, relishing the sight of Claire coming undone. And when she finally stilled, he leaned against her and whispered, “I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.”
* * *
Claire thought the tremors passing through her body would never stop. It was almost embarrassing. Her legs felt like noodles, but somehow, she managed to climb the rest of the way into the loft bed, scooting up to the wall to make room for Ford.
She heard him step out of his jeans, and then he climbed in with the urgency of someone who hadn’t yet gotten his fill. And for a man who’d been complaining about the cramped accommodations, he had no trouble at all sliding himself right on top of her.
Claire’s legs opened of their own accord. She was out of her mind with desire again, even though she could still feel the aftershocks of her orgasm.
Ford breathed raggedly, and his lips trembled against hers. “I want you, Claire. All of you.”
His fingers went to her nipples. His mouth was at her ear, and his penis was exactly where it needed to be. “Can I take you now?” he whispered.
“God yes,” she said. “Now. Before I die.”
He thrust himself inside and Claire grabbed his ass, letting him know that he didn’t need to take it slow and easy. She was frantic with desire, and she wanted this cowboy to ride her, fast and hard.
But Ford had other plans, and he moved slowly and deliberately, hitting all the right spots. Soon, they were in perfect sync. And it felt like going home.
His body was so familiar, and Claire knew just how to move to set him on fire.
“Oh, damn,” he said. “I want to go slow, but I just can’t.”
“You don’t have to,” she said.
He increased the pace, hitting new and deeper spots, and Claire felt another orgasm building. And it was coming from a place deep within. The low humming sound she heard was her own voice, and she barely recognized it.
Ford gasped. “I’m going to come.”
Claire’s eyes shot open. They’d been so overcome with desire that they’d made a stupid and immature mistake.
“Stop,” she ordered. “No condom.”
Ford froze. “Oh my God.”
“You need to pull out,” Claire said.
Ford gazed frantically into her eyes. “I don’t think I can.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m so close. I can’t move…”
“Really?”
“I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager with a hair trigger.”
Claire shifted beneath him. This was ridiculous.
“Seriously, don’t move,” he begged. “Give me a minute to conjure up my grannie.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Ford’s eyes were squeezed shut. “I saw her once in a threadbare, see-through housecoat. It’s the image I use when I need to kill a boner. Be quiet and let me concentrate.”
Claire started to laugh.
“No!” Ford said. “Don’t laugh. It feels good when you do.”
Claire tried to stifle a giggle, but she was mostly unsuccessful, even under such dire circumstances.
“Jesus, Claire.”
“Maybe we should introduce some jokes into your sexual repertoire,” she said.
“Grannie, Grannie, Grannie…” Ford mumbled.
Claire managed to be still and silent and Ford finally pulled out.
“Man, I’m so sorry,” he said. “That was incredibly embarrassing.”
“Just for you,” Claire said with a grin.
“Thank you for coming to your senses. I can’t believe
I didn’t think about protection. I’ve never gone bareback. Not even once.”
Claire opened a little drawer on a shelf above the mattress and pulled out a foil packet. “Look what I have,” she said, smiling.
He sat up suddenly and wham! He’d hit his head on the ceiling.
“Oh, Ford! Are you okay?”
“Do you hear birds?” he asked.
Claire brushed his hair off his forehead. He couldn’t be very badly injured, because something moved against her leg, and she realized Ford had stopped thinking about his grannie.
“Oh, look who’s perked up,” Claire said. “I hate to proposition you while you have a possible head injury, but we’re both naked, and you won’t even have to work hard.” She slung a leg over his thigh. “I’ll get on top.”
Ford snatched the condom out of Claire’s hand. Ripped the package open with his teeth. “The hell you will,” he said. “I’m on top.”
* * *
Claire rolled over onto her back, wearing nothing but a devilish grin, as Ford slipped the condom on. She teased him by running her fingers down her smooth, soft tummy before dipping them between her legs.
Then she brought them to his lips and gave him a taste of heaven.
He entered her easily, and she moaned softly, eyelids fluttering. For every movement of his body, there was a reaction in hers. He could feel the tensing of her muscles, hear the hitches in her breath, see the fleeting expressions of ecstasy cross her brow. He played her like an instrument: this motion made her arch her back; that one made her fingers squeeze his upper arms.
His pleasure was rising, but he kept it in check. He wanted to draw this moment out forever.
Claire, however, was growing impatient. She dug her heels into his ass. She rocked her hips. “Ford, please…”
She’d asked nicely, so he thrusted deeper, harder, and faster, watching in delight as Claire started to lose it.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that. Oh, Ford, you feel so good.”
His name on her lips was the sweetest song.
Claire whispered yes, Ford in rhythm with his movements.
Then she arched her back as her eyes flew open. Ford didn’t stop. He rode her through it, until her eyes rolled back and her body buckled. And the most beautiful sight of all was the smile that spread across her face as she contracted around him.
He rose up to find his own release, but he hit his head on the ceiling again. And this time, he almost did see stars. Because at that exact moment, Claire began to laugh, teasing his cock with the tightest flutter of squeezes he’d ever felt.
He came to the sound of her laughter, and it was like hearing wind chimes in the middle of an earthquake.
She’d taken everything he had, and he collapsed on top of her.
She ruffled his hair. “You’re going to need a helmet next time, cowboy.”
He was still so awash in pleasure that he could hardly feel the knot that was probably forming on the top of his head.
He rolled over and settled Claire in the crook of his arm. It felt so damn right. All of it. The heat. The sweetness. The laughter.
For the first time in a long time, he relaxed completely. And as his mind drifted, his world shrank smaller and smaller until it was nothing but this ridiculously tiny trailer and the beautiful force of nature at his side.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Claire was in her Mini Cooper, sitting in the middle of the ditch that ran in front of her house. She was stuck. The car couldn’t move forward or backward, and she didn’t know what to do. But she had to do something, because a train was coming. And she knew it was coming because of its horribly loud and obnoxious horn.
A horn! Claire’s eyes flew open. Ford’s arm was around her waist. Her nose was pressed into the wall. They were spooning in the loft, and she could tell by Ford’s steady breathing that he was sleeping through the horn blowing. What time was it? For that matter, what day was it?
She peeked out the window while nudging Ford. A yellow Jeep was parked outside, and Maggie was staring out the window at Coco, who was staring calmly back.
Book club! Shit. She’d forgotten. And she still hadn’t finished the book.
“Ford! Wake up,” she said, climbing over him.
Ford mumbled something that sounded like curse before rolling over and continuing to ignore her.
Claire looked out the little window again as Maggie laid on the horn.
Ford jerked and then, predictably, sat up. “Motherfucker!” he wailed, holding his head and plopping back down.
“We fell asleep,” Claire said.
“No shit.”
“Maggie’s here.”
“Why?”
“To take me to book club.”
The exit strategy for the loft bed involved backing out and down the ladder. Which was unfortunate, because Maggie banged on the door twice and then opened it just as Claire’s ass began its descent.
“Oh! Moon over Texas!” Maggie said. “Sorry!”
Claire grabbed the sheet, which left Ford completely naked. He started to sit up, but then he seemed to remember the low ceiling with whatever short-term memory he had left, and he plopped back down with a groan. He grabbed a pillow and covered himself with it.
“I’ll go outside while you get dressed,” Maggie said. “That is, if you still want to come with me to book club.”
Claire would rather see if she could give Ford a couple more concussions. “Hmm, maybe—”
“I’ve got to hit the road with the sheriff,” Ford said in a rough, hoarse voice. “We’ve got cattle in the state park.”
“So, books over bang,” Maggie said. “I’ll be in the Jeep.”
As soon as the door closed, Claire scurried the rest of the way down the ladder and grabbed her jeans off the floor.
Ford’s face peeked over the edge, and he hungrily eyed her slipping into her clothes. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Maggie was supposed to pick me up around four, so I suspect it’s around four.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Ford said, tossing the pillow aside and squirming toward the ladder. “Sheriff Long was supposed to be at my cabin at three thirty.”
Claire picked her T-shirt up off the floor with her toes—a special talent since childhood—and slipped it on without a bra. She couldn’t possibly wear this to the book club, but at least it would cover her while she scrounged around for something else.
The ladder groaned as Ford came down, and warm desire pooled in Claire’s belly at the sight. He really did have the best ass ever, and it was accentuated by a fleeting glimpse of what hung between his legs…
He bent over and grabbed his underwear, and when he stood up, she saw something flash across his face. Was it regret? Vulnerability?
She hoped it was the latter, because she felt it, too.
But no regrets.
Suddenly, the air was pierced by a sharp blast of a siren. Ford looked out the window and then frantically stepped into his underwear. “What is Sheriff Long doing here?”
“Looking for you, I imagine,” Claire said.
“Go out there and hold him off while I get dressed, would you?”
Someone pounded on the door. “Police! Open up!”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Hold your damn horses, Casey!”
She slipped her feet into her boots, and just as Ford zipped up his fly, she opened the door to see Casey standing there grinning like a dummy. He glanced past her to look inside, but she stepped out quickly and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Hi,” she said. “Ford and I were just discussing how to implement Maggie’s suggestions for handling runoff out here—”
“Discussing and implementing in the middle of the afternoon?” Casey shook his head. “And on a Sunday? You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“I think they discuss and implement twice on Sundays,” Maggie said. “Also, Claire, your shirt is on wrong side out.”
“Shit.”
Th
e door opened and Ford practically fell out, losing his hat in the process. His hair was a mess, his shirt was misbuttoned, and he’d missed at least one belt loop. He spun around to pick up his hat, plopped it on his head, and held out a hand to Casey.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff.”
* * *
A half hour later, Claire and Maggie stood on Anna’s porch, waiting for someone to answer the door. Claire shifted from foot to foot while juggling a big bowl of quinoa, kale, and cranberry salad that she and Maggie had picked up on their way. Her tattered copy of Kilted into It was in the bag slung over her shoulder. She’d read some on the drive over, but she still had about ten more pages to go. She was dying to open it back up, because she was right there at the part where everything was about to come together, only she didn’t know how.
Maggie held a cheap bottle of pinot grigio. After what was known as the Salty Brownie Incident, she’d been relegated to booze-only status at book club, even while she was pregnant and couldn’t drink.
The hollow sound of heels tapping on a tile floor grew louder and louder, and Claire braced herself for Anna. There would be a fake happy to see you greeting, followed by a backhanded compliment. And no matter how much Claire tried to prepare for it, she could never come up with a suitable response on the spot. She’d come up with brilliant humdingers once she was tucked away in bed later, but that never did her any good.
The door opened. Anna, dressed in a turquoise silk pantsuit that was really too much for book club, smiled brilliantly. Then she gave Claire a once-over. She took in the high-rise embellished jeans, white ruffled off-the-shoulder blouse, and sling-back Veronica Beard sandals. She smiled, which was never a good sign.
“Don’t you look adorable,” she said, leaning over for the fake kiss-kiss that literally nobody else in Big Verde did. “I had a pair of jeans like that in high school. They were in then, remember?”
Maggie snorted.
Claire smiled back. Painfully. The embellished jeans cost over three hundred dollars, and they were all the rage.
Maggie, who’d been chomping on gum the entire drive over, blew a gigantic bubble and let it pop. Anna ran her eyes over Maggie’s outfit—maternity jeans and a T-shirt that said EATING TACOS FOR TWO—and smirked.
