Page 38 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

“Hardly.” He pushes himself against me and makes one thrust of his hips—even with the duty belt and vest, I don’t miss that he’s as turned on as I am.

And there it is: my first whimper. He pulls away; my whimper turns to a whine.

“Stop interrupting me. Where was I? Right, peeling the little panties down your legs. I taste you first. I want to be gentle with you—just a kiss. But that flavor of you on my tongue?” A growl rumbles somewhere deep in him, and I writhe between his hands, gripping his vest so tightly he staggers toward me a step.

“I can’t be gentle—I’ve been hungry for the very thing you have for years.

I’m starving; you let me eat. I use my teeth; you like it.

Love it, because you scream.” His hands travel from my hips to my waist until they wrap around my ribs; his thumbs rub across the bottom curves of my breasts until my nipples get so hard it feels like my skin is cracking open.

With one hand firmly gripping my hips, he uses the other to lift my shirt up, high enough on my chest it renders me fully exposed.

He moves so slowly that the anticipation physically hurts. Whatever he’s about to do, yes, please. And then some.

He rounds his spine.

Lifts his chin to give me a wolfish grin.

Stills .

And breathes—gently—across the peaks and valleys of my breasts.

I need his mouth. His hands. Anything more than the air between us.

“How’m I doin’, Scotty?” he asks, low. I fight his grasp to get closer; I get nowhere. He releases my shirt and pins me in place with both hands. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You know what it means,” I grit out, struggling to keep looking at him or stand upright.

“Say it, Scotty,” he says, breath hot on my earlobe. “Tell me right now how you like what I’m saying. How you wish I’d peel those pretty little panties down your legs.”

Oh, God.

He takes a small step back, his hands pulling away. I need him touching me like I need oxygen.

“Fine,” I confess out of sheer desperation. “I like it.” My fingers claw at his vest as my hips struggle to rock in his grip. I look him dead in the eyes. “And you damn well know it.”

He smirks. “Good.”

One word and my body is set ablaze.

“Tell me you think of me when I’m not here.” The words sound like they've been dragged across gravel. “Tell me it’s me when you’re alone in bed with your hand between your legs.”

Through clenched teeth: “Yes.”

My mouth opens. He notices.

In my mind: Kiss me, kill me, or make me come; something’s gotta give .

He pauses.

Moves his mouth to my neck.

Breathes

a

single

hot

breath.

And licks.

My moan is instant, guttural, and does absolutely nothing to feed the angry bitch between my legs.

And with the build of pending pleasure, there’s an instant shot of panic.

A trapping. In a frantic motion, I release his vest, fight against the strength of his hold on me, and spin away from him to face the wall.

He doesn’t seem to care because he adjusts his grip and presses into me, pushing me flat against the wall.

My head turns so my cheek is flush with the cool wall, the front of him against my back.

Despite every distracting accessory on his belt, against my ass, he’s hard as a steel pipe.

In my ear: “And when I finally slide into you from behind—so slowly you beg me to go faster—your body shakes.” His voice is so low and deep it’s like he’s penetrating me with a phantom appendage.

Oh, God .

“And that’s when I know it’s happening.”

His fingers find the hem of my underwear, once again sliding his fingers along the line so gently yet so achingly far from where I want them. I slam my palms against the wall with a grunt, fingers uselessly clawing at the smooth surface.

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. “Are you Octoman?”

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.

When his 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 face with 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.”

I brave a look at him, and he smiles, and it’s so kind and so gentle I wish I had a camera to take a picture of it. “Well, Scotty,” he says, “I’ve missed you for twenty years.”

Same.