Page 61 of Keeping the Score

He freezes.

I glance over at Tilly in her little bed and bite my lip.

He follows my gaze. “She’s asleep.”

“Yes. But…” I meet his eyes questioningly.

“Will we scar her for life if we have sex in the same room as her?”

I almost want to laugh. Or maybe cry. “I’m sure parents do it all the time.”

“Yeah.” He glances her way again. “If she wakes up, we can stop.”

“Right.” I wrap my arms around his neck while he kisses me again. And again. I’m on fire, heat burning from pussy into my belly, spreading over my entire body, and my pelvis lifts helplessly against him. I want to part my thighs and welcome him between them and I’m moving ineffectually, wishfully.

Maybe he knows what I want… he moves over me, knees on either side of my hips, his mouth moving over my cheek, my jaw, my mouth again. His tongue slides deeper into my mouth and our mouths are feverish, frantic. He fondles my breast and I reach for his butt, cupping my hands around his tight ass and pulling him close. “Mmmm.” I’m making needy sounds of excitement and want. “Oh God, I need to be quiet.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, then licks my bottom lip. “You taste good. And you feel so good.” And he moves his legs so he’sbetween my thighs now and presses his thick erection right to my center.

I give a soft cry at the sensation of having him right where I want him. I lift my knees and my hips roll against him, finding the pressure I crave on my clit. He meets my movements, and we’re kissing and grinding together and panting.

He presses his face into the side of my neck, his breath warm and tickling, his mouth sucking gently, his tongue gliding over the spot. Heat surrounds me and tension coils inside me, tightening almost painfully and then shattering, consuming heat bursts low in my pelvis and spreads to my curling toes and fingertips. I whimper and make muffled, nonsensical noises as I shudder through my climax.

“Wow.” He rubs his mouth over mine, inhales my short breaths. “Andi… you…”

I’m trembling, hands gripping his suit jacket. Jesus. We’re still fully dressed and I just had an orgasm.

“Please,” Ford murmurs against my lips, then brushes them over my cheek.

“Please what?”

“Please… can I rip your fucking clothes off?”

My belly flips, and a moan leaks from my lips. “Yes.” I find his mouth and kiss him again. “I want yours off, too.”

“Fuck, yeah.” He rises onto his knees and, with his eyes fastened on mine, he removes his suit jacket and tosses it aside. His fingers move to the buttons of his shirt and I watch in fascination as he opens them one by one, excruciatingly slowly. I’m throbbing from my orgasm and from reawakening need. With the shirt gone, the pale light outlines his lean, athletic shape, the curves of muscles and angles of bone.

My T-shirt has ridden up and he grazes his fingers over the skin of my stomach. I shiver. His hands move higher, under the shirt, up to my breasts, and he cups them both through my lacebra. All the while, he’s watching me closely, judging my reaction, which is to suck in a sharp breath. My nipples are painfully tight and my abs contract.

“Is this okay?” he whispers as he pushes my T-shirt higher, up over my breasts.

I swallow. “Yes.”

He traces the scalloped edge of the bra cup, his gaze following his finger, down between my breasts, back up the other side. “This is so pretty. And look at your tits. Jesus.” A low groan rises in his throat.

I can only stare up into his face, my entire body burning, my belly flipping at his attention. His admiration.

He slides a hand under my back and I shift to the side to give him access. His fingers snap open my bra with ease.

“You’re good at that,” I tease breathily.

“Good hands.” He smiles. “Hockey player, remember?”

“Ah.” A smile pulls at my lips. “Right.” Our eyes meet with shared amusement that is hot and intimate.

“Still okay?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

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