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My muscles tighten.

“That you’re about to feel as good as you’re making me feel. And when every slam of me into you is harder than the last—”

My breathing stops.

“You chant my name, loving every single—”

My thighs clench.

“Second.”

Rub once. Twice. Three times . . .

“Then you beg—”

My cry cuts him off as an orgasm rips through me and makes me peak with a scream, smashing my forehead against the wall.

A wave of pleasure starts somewhere deep before washing over every square inch of my body like a filthy baptism. I press my palms into the wall, but they get me nowhere, the leverage only slamming me against Ford’s chest and makes me want more of what he’s refusing to give me.

Finally, I feel his mouth on the nape of my neck, line of kisses trailing up toward my ear.

I spin around in his arms, panting as I face him. He smirks a wicked shape; it’s as devious as it is pleased. “Jesus,” I say with a breathy laugh. “AreyouOctoman?”

He chuckles into my hair and rubs his chin against my cheek. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”

For the first time all night, he kisses me. He wraps his arms around my waist—tight and like he’s holding me together. Whenhis tongue dips into my mouth, my fingers trace the line of his jaw, slip into his hair, and interlace behind his neck. He tastes like Coke from Mexico, and I suck his tongue like I’m trying to suck the flavor off him, my body still buzzing from the euphoric high he sent rattling through me.

“You turned away from me,” he says in a murmured voice between kisses. “Why?”

I did not expect him to notice.

“Sexual instinct,” I lie, kissing him back. “I thought you’d feel good behind me. I was right.”

“Hm.” Another kiss.

“I sleep in your shirt every night,” I confess. He hums in approval, not taking his mouth off my skin. “And I’m wondering if you can define what take things slow means because my body is a bit”—I whimper as he bites my ear—“eager.”

“Just waiting on you to say those four easy words of ‘I’ll be your girlfriend.’” He teases with a sing-song voice, making me roll my eyes as he pulls away to check his watch. “But Wren should be home from her friend’s. I at least need to text her.”

I shake my head, kissing him lightly. “No, go.”

“You sure?” Another kiss.

I nod, scratching my fingers in his scruff. “No.” Another kiss. “But I have light.” Kiss. “I don’t like her being alone. Go.”

His eyebrows pinch just slightly. “She say something to have you worried?”

Any remnants of pleasure completely dissolve, replaced only by guilt. I shake my head and force a small smile, tracing his facewith my fingers. “No. Fine. Just, you know, I think she likes being around you for some reason.”

He laughs with an exhale as he releases my waist and adjusts his pants with a grin. “Walk me out?”

At his patrol car, our kiss is long, the way teenagers kiss squeezing the last minutes out of curfew: tongues too deep to be sensical, hands too busy to latch on to anything.

“I guess I have no use for you now that I know I don’t need a dick to feel that good,” I tell him as he gets into his patrol car.

“Ah, I see how it is.” He starts the ignition as I lean into the space of his open window. “Give me something real. Anything.”

“I like what just happened.” It’s too obvious to be enough. Wiggling my toes into the gravel driveway, I add, “And I miss you when you aren’t here.”