“Really, Ford?”
“Yeah.” He reaches up tenderly and brushes a strand of hair off my face. “Then that fight when I told you …”
I gulp. “Not my best memory.”
“Mine either.”
We exchange a sad smile as we both sort through those memories. I can’t even look him in the face.
“We don’t need to talk about this,” I say, trying to go around him, a lump stuck in my throat. He steps in my way. “It doesn’t make a difference. We’re just wasting our breath.”
“Maybe it doesn’t make a difference,” he admits, “but I want you to know I’m sorry. If I had to do it all over again, I would’ve figured out how to stay with you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
The tough me is gone and in her place is an eighteen-year-old girl that’s wanted to hear those words all her adult life. I wish for a witty comeback, something to lighten the feeling between us, but there’s nothing.
“Do you love me, Ellie?”
“I don’t even know you,” I whisper. “How could I love you?”
“Did you used to love me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he holds them there for a long minute. When they open, there’s a fire there I haven’t seen before. He reaches for me, but I catch his hand mid-air. Something catches my attention.
In between his thumb and forefinger, there’s a tiny star tattooed into his skin. It settles in the bend of his hand. It seems like an odd choice and an even stranger location for a tattoo, especially for guy like him.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, running my thumb over it.
When I look at him, I see a gentleness in his face that nearly melts me.
“Do you remember the night we climbed into the top of your neighbor’s hay loft?” he asks. “And we sat there for hours, talking and laughing and you trying to show me constellations and getting it all messed up?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “That was the first night that we … Um …” I look down.
“The first night that we were together.” He puts his finger beneath my chin and lifts it so I’m looking at him. “This tattoo is my reminder of you.”
My chest compresses, my breathing gets shallow, as I try to process what he’s saying.
“I got it here, in the bend of my right hand, so I see it, and regardless of what I’m doing—eating, writing, firing a weapon—I see you.” His cheeks flush. “Well, not really. But I think of you. I’m reminded of you.”
“Ford, I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit, dropping his hand. Flooded with a warmth like the desert in mid-summer, I can’t stop looking at the little star.
He blushes. “It was a late night in San Diego and I may have had too much to drink. The guys dragged me to a tattoo parlor and they were all getting something inked and I walked out with this.” He looks at the star, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Picking out a tattoo is a lot harder than you think it will be.”
“I couldn’t get a tattoo. I’m afraid I’d hate what I chose down the road.”
“I didn’t think I could either.” He drops his hand and looks at me. “I knew if there was one thing I wanted, it had to be something that I’d never regret.”
My heartbeat quickens as our eyes lock together.
“I may regret some things, or even a lot of things, that have to do with you. But those regrets are all from the way I acted.” He takes a step towards me, his chest rising and falling more quickly. “You are the only person in my life that ever just let me be me. I mean, I love my family. You know that. But I always felt so much …”
“Pressure.”
“Yes,” he says, blowing out a breath. “There was, there is, pressure to make good choices, do the right thing, toe the line in some ways that I’m not interested in doing.”
“Is your mom still doing all those fancy charities?” I ask with a grin.
“Yes,” he laughs. “I understand them more now. It’s her way of giving back in the way she understands.”
“I still think you could just donate all that money you spend on setting it up to the Shelters for Savannah or the Food Pantry.”
“You’d be happy to know,” he grins, “that Lincoln and Danielle have started a charity in town. I’m not sure of the ins and outs of it, but I know Dani is passionate about under-privileged kids and they do a lot of charity work with those types of things.”
“Really?” I ask. “Maybe we could team up and do a back-to-school drive together or something.”
“She’d love that. Mom always wants to help and then it becomes this glamour thing. Dani is more like you.”
“Are you saying I’m not glamorous?” I tease.
“Your sneakers with paint splattered over them are so, so glamorous, Ellie.”
He laughs, a warm, rich, captivating sound that feels like a balm to so many of my wounds. It doesn’t fix anything, obviously, but it does soothe me somehow.
“You always did have a way with words,” I joke, sighing for dramatic effect.
“You should give me a chance to show you how much better I’ve gotten with words.” He shoots me a smile so sinful I have to look away.
“I bet you have.”
“I’ve gotten better at a lot of things,” he whispers.
He searches my eyes as if he’s asking for permission and in my amped-up state, I’m not thinking clearly … because I smile. It’s a tiny fissure in my persona that he takes full advantage of.
My back suctions against the paint behind it as Ford cages me in. One foot on the outside of each of mine, a hand planted on the wall on both sides of my face. My knees wobble the slightest bit as he leans down and feathers his lips over mine.
They’re as soft as I remember and my eyes flutter closed as my chin angles towards him, wanting more. We move together effortlessly, like there hasn’t been a decade since the last time we did this.
My bottom lip drops open and that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds mine, exploring my mouth, the heat of his breath bringing up my temperature hundred-fold.
I can feel his kisses shoot through my bloodstream, regrouping again in between my legs. My hips tilt just as he presses his body closer to mine and I feel his hardness through the fabric of our clothes. My clothing pulls, sticking to the tacky wall behind me.
Moaning into his mouth, my body goes lax. Any sense I had moments ago to keep this in check—to keep it somehow to kisses—is long gone. Instead, my hands are roaming beneath his shirt and splaying over his chiseled abdomen.
As he takes my face in both of his hands, continuing his delicious assault on my lips, I drag my hands all over his body. Across his stomach, along his hips where the muscles are cut to perfection, up his sides and around to his back. Each movement causes those muscles to flex beneath my palms and with each ripple, I lose a little more judgment.
We’re going so fast, trying to fit so many years of not having into this moment of having that his fingers are fumbling with the button of my jeans before I realize what’s happening. I shimmy my hips, helping them drop to the floor. He grins salaciously.
“Spread your legs.” It’s a command, an order, given with such authority I shiver.
I’m nearly panting as I widen my stance as much as the jeans pooled at my feet will allow. The wall is warm against my bare skin, my hair feels like it’s glued to the space behind me. All of that is forgotten as desire pools everywhere from my vagina to my breasts.
He holds up his right hand, showing me it’s paint free. Not that I care at this point. I’d take a trip to the ER as long as I got off first.
I’m nearly trembling with anticipation as I wait for his touch. I gasp when his finger slides into me, my legs almost buckling. He draws his finger through my slit while his bright blue eyes watch my reaction.
“Damn,” I hiss, my back arching at the sensation. Lacing my fingers through his hair, I bring his face down to mine. There’s nothing sweet
about it this time; it’s frenzied, capped off by a moan into his mouth as he slips one, then two, fingers inside me.
My body hums to the tune of Ford’s insertions. As he intensifies his pace, adding another finger to the mix, I think I’m going to lose it.
I feel how wet I am and know I must be dripping down his hand. The insides of my thighs ache from the build-up of the orgasm that’s well on its way.
He kisses me hungrily, ravenously, even, as my hips work against his fingers, absorbing every fraction of friction I can get. Everything moves at a million miles per hour as he uses his free hand, lifts my shirt, and frees my breasts from the lace bra. Paint smears through my hair and along the side of my face in his haste to rid me of my clothes.
“Ford,” I breathe, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. He rolls one of my nipples with his fingers while the other hand continues its onslaught of my pussy.
“This is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.
I feel his gaze on me as heavily as I feel any other part of him. It feels just as heavenly.
Tilting my hips even more, craving the final couple of steps to climax, he presses a simple kiss to my lips.
His hand slides from my breast, down my stomach, and splays his hand on the top of my legs. Using his thumb, he presses on my clit. One touch sends me over the edge.
“Fuck,” I groan as an eruption begins in my core. Like a flash flood, it crashes through me with no warning. “Ford!”
I buck against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He presses and pushes on every part of me that he knows will elicit a spark of ecstasy. He works me over like he wrote the book on how to make me come. In a way, maybe he did.
He brings me down as expertly as he took me up. Slowly, he allows me to drop from the clouds and land, shakily, on my own two feet.
When I open my eyes, he’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“That was …” I don’t know what to say, so I giggle.
“That was awesome.”
“You got nothing out of that.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I got more out of that than you did.”
“But …” He’s making no move to do anything else, no indication that there’s more where that came from.
As if he reads my mind, he nods. “That’s all that’s happening tonight.”
I look at him curiously as I pull my jeans back over my hips. They stick to the paint, making it harder than normal to get in place. “Whatever you say,” I say, fastening the button. “It felt amazing.”
I stall mid-zip as his grin turns wicked. He holds his hand up in the air. My juices are all over it, his fingers covered in my come.
His eyes on mine, he brings them to his mouth. My jaw hangs open as he licks his fingers. “It tastes better than it felt.”
My cheeks turn red as I scramble to regain my composure. He has every upper hand in this situation and now that I’m not all worked up, I see I’m at the disadvantage. And a complete mess.
My hair is matted to one side of my head, the ends of my ponytail acting like little brushes and rubbing the green material all over my shoulders.
Before I can figure out what to say, he heads towards his coat.
“Where are you going?” I ask, trying to work my hair into some semblance.
“I need to get home and get to bed,” he says nonchalantly. “I have a meeting on the golf course first thing in the morning. That’ll be two days golfing and I don’t particularly love it in the first place.”
“Oh.”
Whether I expected him to stick around or offer to take me for coffee, or a shower, I don’t know. But I didn’t expect this—whatever it is.
He’s faces me with a smug look on his face, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Did that prove I’m not selfish?”
Before I can answer, he’s out the door.
Ten
Ford
Running the towel over my head, I toss it in the sink. The charcoal grey linen drops into the bowl as Trigger’s yawn echoes through the marbled room. The yellow lab lies in the corner, curled up on a burgundy rug that I paid way too much for but knew she’d love.
I lean against the counter and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is sticking every which way from the shower, my eyes wide awake despite having been up far too long.
It’s nearly two in the morning and I’m not closer to sleep now than I was hours ago. I’ve tried working myself out until muscle failure, pouring over security plans for Landry Security, shooting the shit with Sienna over tacos that she brought over under the guise of being bored. I know she was searching for gossip. I gave her nothing.
There’s this crazy feeling in the pit of my stomach like something big has happened. Like I scored tickets to watch my favorite band perform in a sold-out concert or I beat my record five-mile time.
My cock comes back to life as soon as I close my eyes and see her face. Her head tipped back, the sexy-as-fuck sounds emitting from her throat as she gave me full access to her sinful body.
“I have to figure this girl out,” I tell Trigger. “Want to give me some tips?”
She opens one eye and closes it again.
“Come on. Just one. Give me one thing that will win her over.”
This time, only her mouth opens to yawn.
“You’re a terrible best friend.”
Rubbing her behind her ears, I flip off the light and pad down the hallway. Pictures of my family, of friends from the military, and some photos I took around the world hang on the walls.
My house is unlike my brothers’. Whereas theirs are modern and sleek, some of them elegant and sophisticated, mine is comfortable. Sure, I have marble counters and state-of-the-art sound systems and things like that, I also have a pool table in the living room. A hot tub on the back deck. A basement with a full exercise room and sauna.
Venturing into my bedroom, I flop on the chocolate-colored blanket. Closing my eyes, I wonder what it would feel like to have Ellie here.
I imagine feeling her next to me, hearing her sing in the shower, smelling her coffee in the morning before I wake up. I wonder if she’s as messy as she used to be and if she still likes to eat breakfast in bed.
Trigger waltzes in and curls up in the corner. Before she can get too comfy, I give her a warning.
“Better get used to the idea of having another woman around here,” I tell her, slipping under the covers. “Come hell or high water, I’m going to make her mine again. Just you wait and see.”
Eleven
Ellie
I haven’t seen one-thirty in the morning in a long time.
Stretched out on the couch, a fleece blanket pulled on top of me, I flip through the endless stream of channels on the television.
“Over a thousand channels and not a thing to watch,” I groan.
I wonder vaguely if that’s true or if I’m so preoccupied that I can’t get engrossed in anything except the one infomercial about the copper pots. I really kind of want those.
A man comes on the screen with light-colored hair and wide shoulders, and that’s all it takes to zap me wide awake again. It’s not Ford, obviously, but it’s close enough to cause my mind to jump back into overdrive.
My body is still charged, singing his praises every time I brush my legs together or clench my belly. That delicious pull from a good, hard orgasm still sits in my gut.
I’d forgotten what that felt like. I can’t remember the last guy to make completely lose control like that, to completely wipe away every thought but the feelings exploding inside you. That’s how I felt tonight.
I close my eyes and instantly see his face. Not the Ford now, but the Ford then. He was so cute with his cheeky grin and athlete’s body. I adored him on the verge of infatuation. That’s why it hurt so much. That’s why it was so devastating.
Losing him almost made me lose me. Only by a stroke of luck did I land in Florida and only with a few lucky breaks was I able to make it through school. If for no other reason than I
was determined to make something of myself to spite him. I did that. And so much more.
In a roundabout way, Ford may be to thank for making me the woman I am. Clearly it wasn’t intentional. But the successes in my life are spurred by the need to never be a burden to someone and never have to rely on someone … and that’s because of him.
Maybe having him walk away was more hurtful because I was young and didn’t understand life. Or, maybe it was just due to him being my first love. Either way, it goes to show that there will always be something special about Ford that complicates things to a degree that’s almost lethal.
That’s why I can’t do it again.
Twelve
Ellie
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Mallory’s voice rings out behind me, her naturally chipper tone like a burst of sunshine through the yoga studio. I look up to see her toned body clad in purple yoga pants and a lime green top.
“You look like an eggplant,” I laugh. “A gorgeous one, but an eggplant anyway.”
“It was all I had clean,” she admits. “I hate laundry.”
“I don’t know of anyone that likes laundry.”
Finishing my stretch, I pull my legs to me and wait for her to join me on the mat.
Mallory has classes every day of the week, but mornings are the least busy and my favorite. I love the quiet. Today, in particular, I need the zen. I also wanted to show Mallory I’m not angry with her.
She plops down beside me and smiles. “I’m glad you came. I was wondering if I should come by Halcyon or if you’d just toss me out on my eggplant rear.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I considered quitting you,” I wink. “But I’m stressed and yoga helps and this is my favorite studio. So I figured I’d better not quit you yet.”
“Thank God for small favors,” she sighs. “Please know I didn’t mean to make you mad with the whole Ford thing. Sometimes I just think I have a brilliant plan and act on it and then realize later I might’ve kind of crossed boundaries.”
The Landry Family Series: Part Two Page 7
