Page 28 of Bossy Mountain Daddies (Reverse Harem Mountain Daddies #3)

"Just a hunch. It's what the woman who ran my pensione made too. Maybe it's a Florence thing." He wraps the dough in plastic and sets it aside. "It needs to rest now."

While the pasta dough rests, Ford shows me how to make a simple tomato sauce with fresh ingredients. The kitchen fills with the scent of garlic and basil as we work side by side, our conversation flowing easily from Italy to books to music.

I tell him about getting lost in the narrow streets of Florence and ending up at a tiny restaurant where no one spoke English. He shares a story about accidentally ordering tripe when he meant to order a bowl of soup.

By the time we roll out the pasta dough and cut it into perfect fettuccine strips, I'm laughing more than I have in weeks. The anxiety that's been my constant companion since Daniel's betrayal—compounded by his vindictive post—has receded to a distant hum.

We eat at a table overlooking his back yard, the pasta perfectly al dente, the sauce rich and vibrant.

Ford tells me more about his decision to leave his corporate life, filling in details he'd only hinted at before.

The pressure, the emptiness, the moment he realized he had everything he thought he wanted and none of what he truly needed.

"It was during a board meeting," he says, refilling our wine glasses. "I was presenting quarterly projections, and I suddenly decided none of it mattered. They were numbers on a page that meant nothing. I resigned the next day."

"That took courage," I say.

His eyes meet mine across the table. "Not as much as you might think. The hardest choices are the ones where both paths have real value. Leaving that life was easy once I realized it had none."

After dinner, we move to his couch, wine glasses in hand. The fireplace casts a warm glow across the room. Outside, night has fallen, turning the windows into mirrors that reflect our images back at us.

"Thank you for inviting me over," I say, setting my glass down. “I really needed this.”

Ford studies me, his gaze thoughtful. "Something you want to talk about?”

I hesitate, then tell him about Daniel's social media post, the humiliation, my fears about what might happen if he discovers I'm seeing all three of them.

Ford listens without interrupting, his face growing serious. When I finish, he takes my hand, and presses his lips to my palm.

"He's trying to control things," Ford says softly. "People like Daniel can't stand when others escape their orbit. They need to rewrite the story to make themselves the hero."

"It still hurts," I admit.

"Of course it does." He moves closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "But his story isn't yours. You're writing your own story now."

“True. I just wish all this didn’t hurt so much.”

“Your shoulders are all up around your ears. Are you up for a little backrub?”

“What girl would say no to that?” I ask.

I turn around on the couch, presenting my back to Ford. His hands settle on my shoulders, and I nearly gasp at how good it feels when his thumbs press into the tight muscles at the base of my neck.

"You're carrying a lot of tension here," he murmurs, his fingers finding a particularly painful knot behind my right shoulder blade.

"Mmm," is all I can manage as his strong hands work their magic. He applies just the right amount of pressure—firm enough to release the tension but not so hard it hurts. His fingers knead methodically across my shoulders, up my neck, and back down again, finding every single point of tension.

I let my head drop forward as he works, my eyes fluttering closed. "Where did you learn to do this?" I ask, my voice coming out embarrassingly breathy.

"I dated a massage therapist for a while," he says, his thumbs pressing in small circles along my spine. "She taught me a few things."

"Remind me to thank her if I ever meet her," I murmur.

He chuckles. "I doubt that’ll happen. She's in Tibet now, studying with monks."

"Of course she is," I laugh softly. "Everyone in your past sounds fascinating."

I turn toward him and he kisses me gently. I answer by deepening the kiss, my hands sliding up to frame his face. He tastes like wine and basil.

We make our way to his bedroom, where I quickly undress. His sheets are soft against my bare skin as he lays me down, his eyes never leaving mine.

His hands are everywhere, mapping my body like he’s memorizing every curve. His lips trail down my neck, making my pulse race. I feels his teeth graze my collarbone, nipping lightly, and I arch into him, eager for more.

He’s not rushing, though. He’s taking his time, savoring every inch of me, and it’s such a fucking turn on.

His lips move down my chest, circling my nipple before he takes it into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.

I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, holding him there like I’m afraid he’ll stop.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he switches to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, his hand cupping the first one, squeezing and rolling it between his fingers.

Ford’s hand slips lower, tracing the curve of my hip, dipping into the softness of my belly before sliding between my legs. He pauses, his fingers just brushing against me, and I whimper, begging without words.

He slowly kisses his way down my stomach. His fingers finally press against my pussy and I’m so wet it’s almost embarrassing. But Ford definitely doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he groans, low and throaty, like he’s the one being pleasured.

He drags a finger through my slickness, circling my clit over and over again with just the right amount of pressure.

His mouth follows his hand, his tongue replacing his finger as he licks me like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. My moans fill the room, loud and unfiltered. His tongue flicks against my clit, fast and relentless, and I grab the sheets, twisting them in my fists as I writhe beneath him.

Ford’s cock is pressing against my thigh now, thick and heavy, and I can feel the heat of it even through my jeans.

I reach for him, fumbling with his belt, but he catches my hand, pinning it above my head.

“Not yet,” he growls, his voice rough, and I almost come just from the sound of it. He’s in complete control.

His mouth moves lower, his tongue sliding inside me, and I bite my lip.

He’s relentless, fucking me with his tongue, his nose pressed against my clit, and now I’m gasping, begging, and pleading for more.

He adds a finger, then two, and I’m gone, collapsing into his touch as I come hard, my body trembling with the force of it.

Ford keeps going, licking and sucking until I’m squirming, oversensitive but still craving more. Finally, he pulls back, his chin wet with my juices, and it’s so damn hot.

He stands, stripping off his clothes with a slow, deliberate ease, and my eyes zero in on his cock.

It’s huge, thicker than I expected, and I feel a jolt of anticipation mixed with a hint of fear.

After rolling on a condom, he kneels between my legs, his hands on my hips, holding me still as he lines himself up.

“Be gentle with me—you’re huge.”

He smirks at me. “Aw, I’m not so big.”

“The hell you’re not,” I reply. “And you know it.”

He smirks again as he pushes in slowly, inch by torturous inch, and I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. It’s tight, almost painful, but then he’s fully inside me, and the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching pleasure.

He stills, giving me time to adjust. “You good?” he murmurs, and I nod, my breath catching in my throat. He pulls out, then thrusts back in, and I moan, as he starts a slow, steady rhythm.

Ford’s hands roam my body, squeezing my breasts, gripping my hips, threading through my hair, and I’m completely lost in him.

His cock stretches me, fills me entirely, and every thrust sends sparks through my body. I clench around him, and he groans, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he picks up the pace. I’m right there with him, teetering on the edge.

One of his hands slips between us, his fingers finding my clit again and it sends a jolt through my body.

"Stay with me," he murmurs against my lips as I begin to come apart. "I want to see you."

I come hard, my body convulsing around his cock, and he swears, his thrusts growing erratic as his own orgasm starts to emerge. He buries himself deep inside me, his hips stuttering as he comes, his moans muffled against my neck.

We stay like that, tangled together, breathless and shaking, until he finally rolls off me. He pulls me close to him and I put my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal.

"I've been thinking about what you said," I say into the quiet. "About writing my own story now."

"Yea?" His voice is soft.

"I think I needed to hear that. With everything that's happened, I've felt like life was happening to me, not because of me."

Ford shifts to look at me, his eyes serious in the dim light. "The best stories are the ones where the protagonist takes control of their journey, even when the path isn't clear."

I smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Is that from a book?"

"No," he says, pulling me closer. "Just something I had to learn the hard way."

I settle back against him, feeling more centered than I have in days. Daniel's social media attack still stings, but here, in Ford's arms, it seems smaller somehow. Less important than the story I'm creating for myself.