He smiled, then kissed it again. “Good.”
He worked his way up, mouth and hands learning every mark, every difference. He never flinched at the other scars—he treated them like road signs, like proof I’d made it this far. When he reached my bra, he glanced up, seeking permission.
I nodded, and he slid the straps down my arms, slow and patient. My breath caught, but not from nerves. From want.
Ford cupped my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. He bent, licking and sucking, the sensation turning me inside out. I gasped, arching into him, and he laughed softly against my skin.
He moved down, kissing my ribs, my belly, the sharp edge of my hip. When he reached the waistband of my leggings, he hesitated.
I raised my hips, wordless, and he peeled them off, taking the panties with. He trailed his fingers up my leg, marveling at the length, at the shape of my knee. He kissed the inside of my thigh, open-mouthed, and I felt my whole body go electric.
He paused, just looking at me.
“Ford, I swear to god, if you stop now, I’ll bite you,” I said, and I meant it.
He grinned. “I like that.”
He slid a finger inside, gentle but sure, testing the waters. I was already slick, and he knew it. He curled his finger, brushing just right, and I gasped, grabbing his wrist. He added a second, pumping slow and steady, watching my face the whole time.
“Want you,” I said, desperate.
He sat back, stripped his jeans and boxers off, and I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling with anticipation. I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his cock. He was thick and hot, and when I stroked him, he shuddered, eyes rolling back.
He rolled on a condom and settled between my legs. He lined himself up, but paused, the tip just barely parting me.
He leaned in, forehead against mine. “I needed you tonight,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Needed to feel you. Hold you.”
I wrapped my arms around his back, nails digging in. “You have me. I’m yours, Ford.”
He slid inside, slow and deliberate. He was big, and I felt myself stretch to accommodate him, but it wasn’t pain. It was perfect. He buried himself deep, groaning into my neck.
He set a rhythm, slow at first, then faster. He never broke eye contact, never looked away. Every time he thrust, he checked for my reaction, like he wanted to memorize every flicker of pleasure.
I met him, hips rolling, seeking more. The bed creaked below us. I felt the orgasm building, tight and sweet, and when it hit, I cried out, clutching him hard enough to leave marks. He followed, shuddering, pulse thundering against my chest.
We collapsed together, tangled in sheets and each other. My face was wet—I realized I was crying, but it wasn’t from sadness. It was relief, release, maybe joy.
Ford kissed the tears away, holding me so tight I thought we might fuse together. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, speechless. He didn’t press, just stroked my hair, my cheek, my shoulder. For a long time, we lay like that, his head pillowed on my chest, his arm draped over my waist.
When our breathing slowed, I traced his tattoos, finger following every line. I thought about what he’d told me—about his father, about Ty, about all the secrets he’d carried alone. I understood now, really understood, why he’d called me his hero. He’d grown up in the same kind of pain I’d married into. My heart broke at the thought of young Ford being beaten, abused, and perhaps worse—not able to admit it to anyone.
I kissed the back of his neck, the spot where a tiny arrow pointed up toward his hairline. “You’re not your father,” I said, voice shaky. “You’re nothing like him. And he can’t hurt you now. You’re so strong.”
Ford exhaled, the breath warm against my skin. “You think?”
“I know.”
He squeezed me tighter.
We drifted, the sheets cooling beneath us, the window filling with the pale light of the moon. He pulled the comforter over us, tucking me in like I was something precious.
I let myself be held.
In the dark, I thought about how lucky we were—to have found each other at the exact right moment, to be alive, to have survived. I thought about Noah, asleep down the hall, dreaming of dinosaurs and stuffed horses and a future I wanted to give him.
And I thought about Ford, the man who made me feel safe, and brave, and whole.
