Butterface (The Hartigans #1)(40)
Hoping her jelly legs would hold her, she hopped down from the kitchen counter and swiped the foil packet from him. “Take you pants off and sit down.”
One eyebrow went up in question, but being the smart man that he was, Ford took off his jeans and sat his fine ass down on the kitchen chair.
“I’m at your mercy,” he said, his hot gaze tracking her every move.
Still on the orgasm high, she considered making him squirm. After all, it wasn’t every day that she had a man like him sitting half-naked in her kitchen. The temptation he offered was so much better than the possible satisfaction of dragging it out, though.
She slipped her dress the rest of the way off, unsnapped her bra and let it fall to the floor, and then walked in her heels to his chair, where she tore open the condom wrapper and rolled the condom on his hard, hot dick. His quick inhale of breath when she touched him probably put the I’m-the-stud-of-the-week smile on her face, and she didn’t care. They could co-own the moment. She was a giver that way.
So when she put her hands on his shoulders, stepped wide so she straddled him in the chair, and then lowered herself down onto his cock, it was for both of them. Okay, the second she made contact with the head of his dick, that changed to being all about her, because oh my God had she had a drought and this was never going to happen again, but she’d had the best intentions to be a good sharer. Moving her hands from his shoulders to the back of the chair because she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t leave nail imprints on him despite the fact that he was still wearing his shirt—poor planning on your part, Miss Gives The Orders Regina—she took him all the way in.
“Fucking A, Gina.” The words came out half groan and half growl while he grasped her hips.
He was very not wrong. This was so damn good. She rocked forward, swiveling her body a bit and changing the angle as she fucked him—and that’s what it was, uninhibited fucking, the kind that only happened when she wasn’t worried about what weird expression was on her face or how her stomach looked at the moment or if her body was making a weird noise.
For some reason, she was too overwhelmed by sensation to figure out at the moment, none of those usual thoughts happened when Ford touched her. They both just were. Later, she’d examine that, but not now, not when the man she’d spent the past week dreaming about was making that tormented growly rumble that did things to her very minimal—at the moment, okay, really any time she was around Ford—sense of control.
He reached up and cupped the back of her head, bringing her mouth down to his. Her body’s response was a huge hell yes when his tongue swept into her mouth in the kind of overwhelming kiss that made her think oxygen was totally superfluous.
Sensation shot through her, pleasure making every nerve in her body vibrate. All of it grew with each twist of his tongue around hers and each undulation of her hips as she rocked against him until she couldn’t take it any more. Everything inside her tightened and expanded in the same breath, and her orgasm washed like a wave over her, and she broke the the kiss and threw her head back with his name on her lips.
His hand dropped from her head to her hips again, and he gripped her tight, pumping her up and down on him in a series of short, hard thrusts before he came with a harsh groan.
Minutes, hours, days later, her brain came back online. “Wow.”
Ford’s tired chuckle brushed across her bare shoulder. “Seconded.”
They stayed like that for a moment before the realities of the situation demanded attention. After they’d both gotten up, he’d disposed of the condom, and she’d gathered up her clothes, he followed her up the stairs to her big fluffy bed, which felt a lot smaller with Ford in it.
He told her stories about being the smallest brother in his family. She told him about being the tallest girl in her class. They laughed and swapped more stories and fell asleep snuggled against each other. At o’dark hundred, she woke up to Ford kissing that spot on her neck guaranteed to make her entire body zing, and that led to a whole lot of fun before sleep overtook them again. And once the sun finally did break through the night? Ford did what she’d asked earlier and left after a sweet goodbye kiss.
And that, she figured, was that.
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday night was Paint and Sip night with the girls. With the exception of last week, when she was in virtual house arrest/protective custody/Lustville, Gina never missed it. Tonight, she almost ditched, but that would have led to more questions than she wanted to answer, so she put on her big-girl panties—not the little black lace ones—and made her way down to Evanston Avenue and the art studio that sat above the hardware store down the block from Marino’s Sports Bar. It had seemed like her best option, right up until she walked in and faced down the two women in the world who knew her best.
“You look different.” Lucy cocked her head to one side and gave her a long up-and-down look while she sipped her rosé. “What have you been up to? Was being up to your elbows in house renovations code for finally getting naked with someone tall, dark, and epically talented with his tongue?”
Gina stopped herself from looking at her reflection in the mirror behind the counter, where Larry, who owned Paint and Sip, was serving up small plastic cups of the best cheap wine money could buy. Did she really look that different? It had been two days. Surely they couldn’t see that spot at the base of her neck where Ford had nipped her.