It wasn’t the most comfortable angle, but I couldn’t stop myself from craning my neck farther, just enough so that I could scrape my teeth along his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed convulsively. He gasped and his arms tightened around me, and it was the most amazing thing. I laved the spot with my tongue, and I felt more than heard the groan rumble up from his chest and through his throat.
His arms went slack, and I took full advantage, turning around until I straddled his lap, facing him. At first I rested my hands on his shoulders, but Ford’s deep inhale made some of his hair shift forward; the strands caressed the back of my hands. I’d always been fascinated by his hair, and now, in this moment that would probably be over way too soon, I was going to give in to temptation. I looped one arm around his neck and combed the other through the length of cool silk. I loved the way the long strands wrapped around my fingers, holding on to me before releasing me, only to latch on again a second later. As soon as I reached the end of that long fall of hair, I immediately repeated the stroking movement.
Air whooshed out of Ford’s lungs as he tipped his head back, clearly enjoying being petted.
I buried my face into his neck, nuzzling under his ear, the scent of his shampoo better than any aromatherapy on the market.
Ford lifted one arm to cup my face. He leaned back just enough to make eye contact. He was looking for something, some sign or clue, in my face. I didn’t know exactly what, but his heavy-lidded gaze and serious mouth… I couldn’t resist. I wrapped my fist around a hunk of his hair and dragged him back, latching on to his mouth like a starving man.
The aggression—or maybe assertiveness was a better word—was not my usual style. Normally I let the other guy take charge. Let him make the first move. But I knew this moment wouldn’t—couldn’t—last, and no way was I going to let it pass me by. Any minute now Ford was going to come to his senses. And if not him, then I would remember that this really wasn’t a good idea. Until then, though, I was going to enjoy every nanosecond of it.
I’d somehow expected him to push me away or stand up, letting me drop to the floor. Or yell or something. But he didn’t. Thank goodness. His lips were warm and smooth under mine, and he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth to my probing tongue. At his active participation, the desperation that had briefly taken hold of me abated.
He tasted like green tea and summer rain. Sort of fresh and earthy at the same time.
I completely lost track of time, consumed by the taste and feel of him. His hands, which had been comforting when used to bring me out of my little panic attack, now coursed over my body, tantalizing, exciting. Soon it wasn’t enough. I wanted to get closer, to take more. I rocked in his lap, increasing the press of groin against groin. He groaned and arched up into me.
“Seriously? No way!” Donnie’s disgruntled voice broke through the heavy haze of lust surrounding me. I reared back and almost fell completely out of Ford’s lap. Only his quick grab of my shoulder kept me from flopping back and staring at the ceiling.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Donnie stood inside the threshold of my front door, completely naked, with his hands propped on his hips. “You send me out to sniff around town while you two suck face like a couple of horny teenagers? I had to go three blocks out of my way to avoid animal control, and you two are playing tonsil hockey?”
“Zip it, Donnie.” Ford guided me off his lap. It was a smooth move, closer to lifting me away from him than pushing.
I tried not to notice how our recent activities had left Ford’s mouth slightly swollen and damp. A little zing of pride shot through me, though, when he tugged the bottom hem of his T-shirt down to cover the bulge in the front of his jeans. I’d done that. Me. Geeky bird-watcher. Academic freak. Of course, I had to make sure my own shirttails hid my boner.
“And put some damn clothes on.” Ford scowled at his friend.
“I guess I should be glad I didn’t come back to the two of you naked too,” Donnie grumbled as she stepped over and around piles of debris on his way to the bathroom and his clothes.
I swiped my palm across my sweat-dampened forehead and shot a look Ford’s way. My ballooning pride deflated a bit. Damn it. There was so much wrong with this whole situation. Someone had trashed my house. Ford was one of my students. Twice now I’d completely lost my mind around him. “Look, Ford, I’m sor—”
His glare stopped me midword. “Don’t.”
“But—”
He narrowed his eyes. Damn, he had an intimidating glower.
“Scowl all you want,” I told him. “I’ve got to say this.” I paused to see if he was going to interrupt again with either word or facial expression. He just lifted an eyebrow and waited. Okay. Good. Now to find the words again. “I know you don’t want to hear it. Obviously. But I am sorry. I’m sorry I seem to keep falling apart on you. It’s not fair to keep expecting you to pick up the pieces when I do. But thank you for that too. I’m also sor—”
He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Don’t you dare,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word, “apologize for what happened here.”
“But I’m a professor. You’re a student.”
He shook his head. “If I were an undergrad, it would be completely inappropriate.”
“If you were an undergrad, I’d get fired.”
“But I’m not. And this”—he gestured to the surrounding chaos—“has nothing to do with what happens at school.”
“That’s good in theory—”
“Theory is good enough for now. In any case, we should table this particular discussion until after we hear what Donnie found out.” Ford nodded to the hallway, where Donnie leaned against the wall.
“Don’t stop on my account.” He smirked and winked. “This was about to get interesting. I’ve never seen Ford quite so… invested… in someone before.”
Now if that didn’t pique my interest.
“Tell us what you found out,” Ford demanded before I had a chance to follow that intriguing, though still inappropriate, trail of inquiry.
“I found your car easily enough,” Donnie said, crossing the room to plop into the saggy couch. “There were a few unique scents around it. None the same as those here.”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved that the scents were different or not. On the one hand, I’d rather not have assassins—or people even loosely connected to assassins—messing with my car. On the other hand, if it was someone else, that meant someone else was messing with my car. Just how many people could I really have giving me a hard time? If the vandals in my home were different than the vandals at my car… just how many vandals was too many vandals before it became too much coincidence?
“But,” Donnie said, interrupting my convoluted inner monologue, “they were connected.”
“In what way?” Ford got the words out before I could.
“They weren’t the same individuals, but there were certain underlying markers that were the same. Like people who spend a lot of time together, but who aren’t necessarily related.”
“So there’s a chance there is a connection between the stolen journal, the slashed tires, and my living room?” I knew what Donnie had been saying, but I still had to ask the question. Maybe to make sure I wasn’t leaping to conclusions. Or maybe out of some misguided hope that I was wrong.
“I’d say there’s a pretty darned good chance they’re related. The scents are too close to be random.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I knew that. I think part of me is hoping this is all some kind of bizarre misunderstanding.” I met Donnie’s eyes. “So, assassins?”
Donnie’s face twisted in sympathy. “Maybe not.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know where to go from here.” I looked around my destroyed house. “I guess I should call the cops. It’ll probably look suspicious if I wait much longer.”
“No cops.” Ford surged to his feet.
I scrambled up after him. No way was I having this conversation
while sitting eye level with his boots. “What? Why not?”
“What are you going to tell them? You said the cop you talked to last night seems to think you’re some kind of wacko looking for attention.”
“So you’re suggesting I just let them get away with this?” I waved my arm at the torn and discarded books, knickknacks, and photos. “Some of these books are antiques. Some are family heirlooms.”
Regret darkened his eyes, but he didn’t relent. “Do you honestly think the police are going to take this seriously? That they’ll be able to help?”
I raked my fingers through my already disheveled hair. “Okay. Probably not. But I can’t just sit and do nothing.”
“You won’t do nothing. You need to go through the books and documents and see what, if anything, is missing.”
Donnie—who’d been watching Ford and me go back and forth like he was a spectator at a tennis match—stood. “And with that, I’m off. I’ve got to get to work.” He clapped Ford on the back. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”
Ford nodded.
“Good.” Donnie held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll get all sorts of chances to get to know each other.” He slid his gaze to Ford. “All sorts of chances,” he repeated.
“Donnie,” Ford growled.
“Yeah, yeah,” Donnie said, waving as he bolted through the front door.
“Didn’t he want pizza?” Yes. I’d rather think about pizza than people so dangerous the cops would be ineffective.
“Donnie’s fine.” Ford shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone and started punching at the screen. “You start on inventorying your books and documents. I’ve got a couple of calls to make. Then I’ll help.” He looked up from his phone. “I hope you’ve got a spare pillow. Until this is resolved, you’re going to have a roommate.”
“What? Who?”
Ford pressed the phone to his ear and followed Donnie’s path. He stopped to glance over his shoulder before passing through the front door. “Me.”
Chapter Nine
I COULDN’T do it. I couldn’t fall asleep knowing Ford was in my house, lying on my couch. Crazy questions—complete with my imagination’s show-and-tell contributions—kept my brain on edge. The main question—the one that kept repeating itself over and over again—had to do with pajamas. More specifically, did Ford wear them? He hadn’t brought in a bag of any kind, so he didn’t have any to change into tonight. But did he wear them in general? As for tonight, was he wearing his clothes or did he strip down to a T-shirt and underwear? Or, by the gods of all things sensual and hormonal, was he naked on my couch?
My bedroom was suddenly way too hot. I pushed aside my comforter to let the air in my room cool my flushed skin. I pulled off the long-sleeved T-shirt I’d paired with flannel pants, hoping that would help cool me down. It didn’t. Sweat beaded my forehead and prickled my skin.
I wished Ford snored. Or farted in his sleep. Something to distract me from how very distracting it was to have him in my house in the middle of the night. But no, I lay there, staring at my ceiling, hyperaware of the manly presence in my living room. The possibly naked manly presence in my living room.
Heat blazed through me, and I did my damnedest to not picture him naked. I failed miserably. No idea where the blood that heated my cheeks came from, not when the majority of the life-giving substance had pooled in my crotch, making my hard-on throb.
I flopped to my side, taking a second to flip my pillow so my flushed face could rest on the cooler fabric. I tried to ignore my straining erection, but the damn thing refused to subside. I was never going to get to sleep with that punching out against my flannel sleep pants. Not that I could take care of it. Masturbating while the object of my lust slept down the hall seemed like a bad idea.
I flicked the head of my cock, hoping it would get with the program. The sting did little to help with the situation.
Maybe if I was really quiet? I slid my hand down my stomach, pausing when I hit the elastic waistband of my pajama pants.
I couldn’t.
Could I?
A pulse of heat, like a bomb detonating, blasted through the room. Jesus, had Ford cranked up the temperature? I usually kept the place at a comfortable seventy-one degrees, but by the feel of the things, my house would temp in at a hundred. Maybe more. Maybe the thermostat was malfunctioning?
I groaned, pulling my hand away from my abdomen, and stood. I didn’t turn on the bedside lamp so when I opened my bedroom door, the light wouldn’t disturb Ford. Holding my breath, I edged the door open. I tiptoed to the acid-green glow of the digital thermostat, my hard dick leading the way like the prow of an ancient Viking ship.
According to the display, the temperature was seventy-one degrees. I tapped the little box, which was the extent of my thermostat troubleshooting techniques. The number didn’t change, but then again, neither did the nearly suffocating heat of my house.
“What are you doing?”
An embarrassingly high-pitched squeal escaped my throat as I spun toward the voice. I ran smack into a wall of hot, hard muscles. My hands, which I’d raised in an instinctive bid to defend myself, slapped against Ford’s very naked chest. Instead of pulling away, my fingers—practically of their own volition—pressed into the thick ridges of muscle. I could barely make out Ford’s shape in the ambient light coming in through the front window, but not being able to see the details was probably a good thing. If I saw the smooth skin I touched, I might have lost my ability to speak.
Speaking of which, I wasn’t vocalizing well at the moment. Wrangling my scattered thought, I glared up at Ford, not that he could see my expression. “What are you doing up? You nearly scared me to death.”
“What are you doing?” he repeated.
“I’m checking the thermostat.”
“What’s wrong with the thermostat?”
My fingers had not left their resting spot on his body. I couldn’t seem to make them do my bidding. At least, I couldn’t remove them from his body. They were quite content to continue exploring the hills and valleys of his form.
Ford sucked in a breath. “Fun fact,” he muttered into my ear. “Shifters can smell arousal.”
Oh shit. Luckily there was no room for more than the quickest spark of embarrassment as my hands continued to map out the massive expanse of his chest. He had almost no body hair, so the first real change of texture I found was the transition from the broad curve of his pectoral to pebbled nipple. He growled something low in his throat. The temperature in the hallway rose another few degrees.
I liked the sound he made. I liked it a lot, so I brushed my thumb over the tight nub. Ford swayed into the caress, which brought his body into contact with mine. Which meant… damn, which meant my cock, now twice as hard as it had been a couple of minutes ago, was pressed against his thighs.
“Oh fuck.” He surged against me, angling our bodies until I backed into the wall. He braced his arms on either side of my head, and his hair fell forward, a silky, herbal-scented curtain that caressed and tickled my bare shoulders. I dragged my hands down his chest and along his sides, trying to capture with my fingers what it was too dark to see with my eyes. I needed light, but if I interrupted the moment, he might come to his senses and stop. Damn, I so didn’t want this to end.
I followed the line of obliques with my hands, and he squirmed, pressing even tighter into me. The rocking motion caused my grip to slip a bit, and I ran into the elastic band of his underwear. That answered one question. He had most definitely not been sleeping naked on my couch. The cloth was too tight for boxers, so briefs or boxer briefs. I inched lower and got my answer. Briefs. The bottom seam ended a few inches below the band. Now, the next question, one that would not be answered in the dark: tighty-whities or something sexier?
“Your hands travel much farther and I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
“It’s so sexy when you growl like that.”
He
leaned in to nuzzle at the side of my neck. “Yeah?” The word vibrated against my skin with the roughness of his growl. Bastard.
My head fell back, granting him even more access.
He didn’t disappoint. I felt the damp pass of his tongue; then he bit down, pinching skin between his teeth. It wasn’t a hard bite, but the slight edge of pain sent little shock waves rolling through my body. My reaction spurred him on. He moved to another sensitive patch of skin and repeated the action. Damn. I’d had no idea someone biting me would be such a turn-on.
“Shit, Ford.” I clutched at him, trying to press even closer. My fingernails dug into the hard muscles of his sides, searching for purchase. I was probably leaving scratch marks on him, but I couldn’t seem to care long enough to release my hold.
Ford moved his hands from the wall and cupped my face, tilting my head before diving in. His kiss was rough, desperate, and sexy as hell. A needy moan escaped between us, and I had no idea if it came from him or me. Or maybe both of us. He thrust his tongue past my lips, and I opened up to him, letting him dominate the kiss. I reached up to bury my hands in his hair, not to direct his motions or take control. I was hanging on for dear life, as desperate as him.
He explored my mouth, my teeth, biting and thrusting, demanding I keep up. It was wild and crazy, and I couldn’t get enough. He pulled back a little, maybe to catch a breath, but I didn’t care about air or breathing. I stretched to my tiptoes to keep us connected and sucked his tongue back into my mouth. The whole thing was uncoordinated and messy, full of grappling hands and banging teeth, but nothing had ever felt so right.
He growled again, and my knees went lax. If it wasn’t for the wall behind me holding me up, I would have slid to the floor. He dropped his arms and grabbed my ass, hitching me up until I had to wrap my legs around his hips. The new hold mashed our cocks together, and the combination of friction and gravity was nearly enough to send me into orgasm right then and there.
Ford backed up and walked, with me clinging to him, to my bedroom. He carried me as though I weighed no more than a toddler, and the awe of that distracted me enough to keep from jizzing in my pajamas. He leaned down, laying me onto the bed without losing contact with me. I slid my hands down the smooth skin of his back, undulating below him. The soft flannel barrier between us irritated me. I wanted more skin-on-skin contact. I wanted to feel the hard length of him against me.
Chasing Thunderbird Page 10
