Page 149 of A Sweet Destruction

“You’re hurt,” he protested, even as his other hand moved down my back and over my ass, squeezing once.

“The doctor said I was fine,” I returned the same move on him, pulling our hips flush together.

“I can still hear it in your voice, Esme,” Ford weakly protested.

I bit him on the side of the jaw, earning a sharp exhale that made my insides feel like liquid fire. “My voice will just sound like this now.” There was a little part of me that wondered if he didn’t like it, then I remembered the scar that ran down his face. That scar didn’t change the way I loved him, so I could only trust that it would be the same with his love for me.

“Make me feel better,” I said against the skin of his neck, not caring how much it sounded like I was begging. “Please. We can go slow.”

I felt Ford’s laugh against my temple. “Esme…”

Well, clearly I was going to have to take matters into my own hands. I stepped away from him, almost losing focus at the adorably offended look that crossed his face. He was downright pouting.

By the time I’d ripped the flannel over my head—his shirt, handed to me before I left the hospital by Bellamy with a knowing look on her face—exposing my bare chest and our Mark, Ford’s expression had quickly dropped into desire.

“If you don’t come over here right now, I’m taking my pants off next.”

Ford scoffed, a cocky grin curving his mouth. “Don’t take that privilege away from me.”

Pride split my lips into a wide smile. One that was quite quickly kissed right off my face.

I wasn’t sure quite how we got there, but suddenly we were on the floor and I was straddling his thighs. My hips were rolling down, seeking any sort of friction. Lucky for me, they found it in the zipper of Ford’s jeans, a spot that only grew harder with the growing pressure behind it.

“I love you,” I said into Ford’s mouth, feeling my body run away from me a little. My hands were all over him, pawing and grasping messily.

Ford smiled, knocking our teeth together, before his hands settled on my hips, forcing them into a slower, controlled roll that made stars spark behind my eyes.

There were still so many things I wanted to do with him, to him, make him do to me. Ford could feel that panicky eagerness in my movements and kept my movements brutally slow.

He was hard already and with each press of my hips downward, he hit a bullseye of sensation that made a moan slip from my mouth. I was so focused on trying to fuse our mouths together that my orgasm took me by surprise, hitting me with a sharp spike of pleasure that had me biting down on Ford’s lower lip.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I said, licking over his mouth to try to smooth the pain.

Ford’s hand came down on my ass in a light slap. “No apologies. That was fucking hot.”

I was really going to have to find a way to deal with these new compliments from him. As silly as it sounded, beautiful and pretty had always seemed like facts when they were directed at me, so much so Ford had even said them a few times himself—even before.

It was the words of desire that made my stomach flip, knowing that I was affecting him deeper than some dispassionate observation.

A few days prior, when he had me pressed to the wall of our shower, he’d whispered the word sexy in my ear and I’d come on the spot.

I had a rather similar reaction now, trying with all my might to push him down to the floor so I could properly maul him.

Ford just laughed, rising to stand with me in his arms in a physical feat I was too addled to really comprehend, and walked us to the bed in the back of the cabin.

Somewhere along the way, he seemed to remember that I was shirtless, and his movements finally started to match mine in desperate pawing.

We only paused to engage in a minor battle of wills over the order that clothes should be coming off—which was really my fault because I’d gotten a little distracted in the middle.

Eventually, Ford’s hips settled flush against mine and his formerly eloquent protests regarding my health and well-being devolved into pretty love words that made me burn hot.

By the time he finally slid inside me, I was already a pile of mush in his willing hands, tipping over the edge again with little more than a single push of his hips.

In reality, it was all over rather quickly, all of our movements quick and frantic. It felt like an eternity, lost in the steadying embrace of his eyes, in his hold.

By the time we both caught our breaths, Ford had moved us on our sides, one of his hands at my throat, stroking softly over the skin there.

“I don’t care, you know,” he said after a while. “I know I was a little freaked out at first, but it was just because, well, shit, I was fucking freaked out. All I could see was the blood pouring down your neck. I don’t care about the scar.”