The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (301 page)

“Is that Leslie on the dance floor with Dean?” he asked.

“Yup.”

Another grunt from Casey. We sipped some more. “You cross him off the list yet?” Casey asked finally—and all at once I knew this was the real question he’d come to ask.

Instead of snapping a retort—which was what the alcohol in me wanted—I thought about what he was asking. About whether I’d decided to do as he’d asked and take a chance. Live a little. Not be so tied down to a plan. And I thought of my mother. Of the way I’d perceived her and the way she’d actually turned out to be.

Ford was nothing like anyone I’d ever met. In fact, he was the complete opposite, and in a few months he’d be nothing more than a ghost. In the meantime, he incited feelings in me I never knew existed. And now Casey was asking whether I was brave enough to do anything about it.

“The list is void,” I said, setting my empty glass aside.

“What do you mean?” Casey asked.

I didn’t have time to explain it all. The decision had already been made the second Ford walked into the kitchen that night for dinner. All I had to do now was put it into action. And I didn’t want to wait any longer to do it. I didn’t want to lose my nerve. Or my buzz.

“Tell Leslie I’ll get my own ride home,” I said, pushing my way through the crowd toward the back doors.

“Where are you going?” Casey called after me.

“To take a risk,” I called behind me. My words were lost to the music but it didn’t matter. Casey would figure it out soon enough. I hoped he’d driven here on his own and not with his “date.”

I found Ford outside underneath a spray of white string lights, holding a red carnation in his palm. He looked deeply involved in whatever explanation he was giving my mom and her friend as he gestured to the different parts of the flower.

They all three looked up at me as I approached. My mom’s face lit up, but I ignored it. And her. “Can I talk to you?” I asked Ford.

He looked back and forth between my mother and me before answering tentatively, “Sure.”

“I’ll catch up with you another time,” my mom said to him, waving her hand like it was no big deal. I purposely avoided her eyes in case there was anything in them that would incite guilt for my slight. Anger was easier. Her friend, a woman named Edna I’d met a few times at my mother’s women’s group, nodded a polite hello at me. I returned it before leading Ford down the steps and onto the grass.

“Everything all right?” Ford asked when we’d left the lights of the party behind.

I kept walking, veering away from the lake and keeping to the unlit paths that wound closer to the trees. “Fantastic,” I said. “I just want to talk.”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “What’s up?”

I stopped walking, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him hard on the mouth. I knew the alcohol was responsible for my courage, but I didn’t care. That was probably the alcohol too. Martinis were like water to me. I always forgot that until after.

“Whoa. What’s this for?” He pulled back just enough to talk but not enough to end the embrace. I took that as a good sign.

“It’s for looking so gorgeous tonight,” I said, impressed with myself for the easy way I’d complimented him. “And for being such a poor aim at mud ball fights,” I teased.

His smile tipped higher on one side of his mouth, and I knew I’d hit the mark. “I can promise my aim’s better when it comes to other things,” he said into my ear.

I opened my mouth to answer but no intelligible words came. I made a small noise under my breath as his lips trailed their way down my neck and back up to some spot behind my ear. His arms around me tightened and I pressed against him—an invitation for more. His lips found mine again and his tongue massaged my own. The next noise I made wasn’t so subtle. Neither was his body’s reaction.

“Ford ...”

“Yes?”

I hadn’t realized I’d said his name until he prompted my unfinished sentence. Half-formed words came to mind. I brushed them off in favor of more kisses. Then, slowly, the words themselves coalesced. I sighed and took a step back, putting some distance between us while still resting my hands on his toned chest. I wanted this. My body wanted this. And something in my mind—I wasn’t ready to admit my heart—wanted this. But I needed some answers first. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I’d become someone I wasn’t, simply because I wished it to be.

“What are we doing?” I asked before he kissed me and the question was lost in a sea of lust.

He leaned forward, nuzzling my ear when I turned away from his mouth. “Why does it need a label?” he asked quietly. He pulled away and frowned at me. “Are you worried what people will think?”

“No, it’s not about them. It’s for me.”

“But why?”

I fumbled for words, unsure of an honest answer when I hadn’t fully admitted it to myself yet. “Ford, with you ... I
feel
. Something I can honestly say I haven’t done much of in the last six months. And on this scale, well, I haven’t ever felt this way. It’s bigger than I ever thought it would be. It’s too much to take and still keep a level head.”

“Passion has never been about keeping a level head.”

“Is that what this is? What you feel for me? Passion?” I desperately wanted an answer that resonated with the two warring parts of me: logic and lust.

“Yes.” He bent so his nose was only inches from mine. His breath tickled my face as he spoke. “Don’t you feel it too?”

“Yes, but ...” My eyes searched his. “Is that enough?”

“If all you had was this moment, would you still live it?”

His question surprised me. And challenged me. And somehow I knew my answer decided everything that happened next.

My parents had been such an example, a blueprint almost, for love and life and what to seek out in a mate. I’d seen—perceived—what it was they’d had and tried to get it for myself. It hadn’t worked for any of us. Now it was time to figure out what happiness meant to me. And this is how I’d start—by experiencing moments.

“Yes,” I answered firmly.

His lips curved into the softest of smiles. “Thatta girl,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.

***

I
kicked off my heels at the door, adding them to the pile of shoes that littered the entryway. I’d been inside Casey’s living room enough times to lose count. But this time felt different. In this moment, it wasn’t Casey’s living room. It was Ford’s. The nightlight illuminating the way to what I knew was Ford’s room softened the ambience and made my heart pound. I led the way with my chin high, suddenly too nervous to let him see my face.

Once inside, he tugged on my hand and when I turned, he captured my cheeks with his hands and brought his mouth down to mine. After the heat between us at the lake, the softness of the kiss surprised me. His lips moved against mine cautiously, as if asking a question.

The alcohol had run its course. Now, it was “sober me” trapped inside my thoughts. For a split second, I hesitated. I knew once this happened there’d be no going back. What if I got hurt? What if I hurt him? The only truth I knew about love anymore was the pain it caused. And the gentle way Ford held me only magnified my doubts. If it’d been the sizzle, the almost crazed passion that was usually there, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

Passion has never been about keeping a level head.
Did passion work differently than love? Would it keep out the hurt?

His lips moved over mine again. Slowly. Cautiously. Asking permission. Good Lord, when he kissed me this way, the possibility of hurt didn’t matter. And I realized that’s what he’d meant. Passion was about experiencing the moment, damn the future. Everything about the way he held me, the softness in it, compelled me. I couldn’t tell him no. I didn’t want to.

He held me tight. I loved that about him. Like he wasn’t afraid of breaking me. And his kisses didn’t feel polite or calculated, like Aaron’s always had. There was nothing well-mannered about the way Ford kissed.

In answer to his unspoken question, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing against him, and opened my mouth for his tongue to flick inside.

Ford would smile if I told him I’d just made a decision based on passion, on feeling instead of thinking. But that would require stopping the kiss long enough to talk. I didn’t much want to talk right now. Judging by the way he reacted when I scraped my teeth against his lip, neither did he.

The softness between us gave way to intensity. His hands loosened their grip on my hips and fell lower to cup my ass, pulling me closer. A sudden punch of fire shot into my stomach and settled between my legs. I pushed my hips against him and rose up onto my toes so I could better reach his mouth—and better align our bodies.

I slipped my hands underneath his shirt and ran them over the contours of his chest and abs. The hard planes of his skin were smooth under my fingertips. I went lower, feeling for his belt buckle. I unhooked it and yanked it free, the motion rocking his hips against mine as the belt slid through the loops.

Ford’s hand trailed down my chest and dipped underneath the fabric of my dress, pushing my bra aside before finding my nipple. It pulled taut between his thumb and finger as he gently squeezed and massaged the point. I ran my own fingertips over his nipples and found them hard as well. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly, enjoying the way his skin revealed itself inch by inch. When the fabric fell open, I kissed his nipple, letting my teeth graze lightly over the firm point. In response, Ford cupped my breast and massaged, his thumb running back and forth over the tip.

When I went for the button on his pants he let out a soft growl and grabbed my wrists, directing them back to my sides. “Not yet,” he whispered.

He prodded me backward until I was pressed against the wall, one hand still teasing and massaging my breast. With the other hand, he reached for the hem of my skirt and pushed it up, his fingers trailing along the inside of my thighs. He moved my panties aside, the elastic pulling tight around my leg to give him access. His palm caressed me while one finger massaged in a lazy circle over my clit. I tensed, holding my breath to keep from whimpering in anticipation.

Every part of me ached for penetration, but I couldn’t bring myself to demand he hurry. This was tortured enjoyment. His fingertip stroked and teased before finally sliding inside me. His thrust was excruciatingly slow as he moved his finger in and out, the rhythm matching the dance of our mouths. I bucked, wanting faster, harder, but he kept it slow and steady no matter how much I squirmed for more.

“Ohh.” The single word came out on a sigh of pleasure while I barely held back a moan.

His finger increased the pace, pushing deeper inside. “Let go,” he whispered as if he knew.

My hips pulsed against the pressure of his hand. I gripped his shoulders, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. “Ford,” I began, but the rest was lost on a breath.

All I could do was hang on. His finger pushed in and out, sending me higher. Closer. When he pushed me over the edge, I opened my mouth to cry out and he swallowed the noise with a kiss.

I shuddered and finally went still.

Without breaking contact with my lips, he grabbed me and lifted me up, guiding my legs until they were wrapped around him. He walked to the bed, our bodies parallel as he lowered himself over me. His rigid length pressed through his pants and I arched my hips to meet it.

“Summer ...” Ford managed, his voice hoarse.

It thrilled me hearing him so turned on. With a confidence I hadn’t expected, I gave him my most inviting smile. “Do what you feel,” I said.

His hand shifted to cup my ass, holding me against him. “I want to feel you.”

My breath caught. The heat turned molten. “I want that too.”

He didn’t take his eyes off me as he stood and removed his shirt and pants and finally his boxers. There was just enough light to make out the definition of biceps and tensing muscles while he undressed. I drank in every inch of his toned torso, all the way down to his ample erection, licking my lips appreciatively.

I squirmed underneath his stare, feeling exposed despite the fact that I’d yet to shed any layer of clothing. His boxers removed, he lay back down and pressed a kiss to my lips, my cheek, my jaw.

When he reached the fabric of my dress, he stopped and pulled it over my head. I sat up to let him undo the clip of my bra. He smiled sheepishly as he fumbled with it for a minute before it popped free. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he tugged on the fabric of my panties until I was free of them. When my clothes were gone, he stared down at me, his eyes roaming every inch of my flesh.

Comfortable silence hung between us. I kept waiting for awkwardness or uncertainty to set in but there was none. It could take all night and it still wouldn’t be long enough. When he lowered his body to mine again, I knew I’d made the right choice; this moment was worth every ounce of risk.

Ford

“Don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens - The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.” ―John Steinbeck

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T
he static in the line was a constant buzz. My parents refused to get a cell phone and their landline wasn’t the sharpest way up in the hills of southern California. Community living meant plenty of people had a phone they could borrow but they never asked. They just stuck with the same corded wall phone year after year.

“Ford? Ford, I can’t hear you,” my dad said over the buzzing.

“Dad, turn the volume up,” I said.

There was some jostling while he located the button.

“Better?” I asked.

“Yes, much better, thanks. How’s the plant business? And that Virginia heat? I heard it’s like being slow-cooked in a sauna out there.”

“Plants are good. Making a lot of progress with Casey’s help. And Virginia is hot. That’s for sure.” My night with Summer unwittingly flashed in my mind. Hot wasn’t even the word. Boiling. Molten. Searing. Those were all better descriptions of what I’d experienced. I was pretty sure my dad meant the weather, though.

“Casey’s your roommate, right? The one good with engines?”