“Swear he gives the Shaw name a bad reputation,” Oliver grumbles from his seat at the table directly across from us.
“Nah,” Big Foot argues from his middle position, Dawn settled on his lap the same way I am on Ford’s. “The whole town knows Blake’s the Shaw that chases skirts. Always has been.”
My eyes continue to stare at Blake, who has one hand in the back pocket of the woman he’s talking to at the bar, and the other stroking her cheek.
He’s charming. There’s no denying that. Just because I have the courtesy of seeing life behind the shameless efforts to sweep women off their feet and into his bed, doesn’t mean it’s not true. It simply means I’m smart enough to realize he’s giving them a show…often the show I think he feels they need as much as him.
“And you’re the grumpy one,” Big Foot continues, now amused with himself.
“I’m not grumpy,” Oliver grouses.
Dawn gives him a sympathetic look. “Bless your heart…You couldn’t even say that without being grumpy.”
We all chuckle, but it seems to infuriate him as opposed to ease. Oliver abruptly stands, sighs, and snaps, “I’m gonna go…away.”
“Aw come on, Oliver,” Big Foot tries to dial back his laugh. “It was in good fun.”
He waves us off and storms to the left, the direction of the bathrooms.
“You know, he seemed really fun when we were chatting this afternoon,” I interject, looking over at Big Foot. “He seems…different around all of you though. Is that normal?”
Big Foot shrugs. “Pretty much.”
“You probably made him feel comfortable,” Ford says, grip noticeably tightening. “You like the same shit. In our family, he’s the odd ball.”
“Is that bad?”
“We don’t think so, but I think part of him hates it.”
“He damn sure hates to be called odd ball.” Big Foot tips his beer at me. “Mama tried that from the time he was about two until Runt was born. It was hell. Partially because Blake, being an obnoxious shit even as a kid, rubbed it in his face.”
I shake my head in slight bafflement.
It’s strange to me. Despite as close as they all seem and appear to get along, there is clear division among them. I mean, to a degree it makes sense, I guess. Siblings fight. But in their family with the amount of closeness constantly displayed, I have trouble understanding the dynamics or why it exists more harshly at sometimes than others.
The song changes and Dawn demands, “We have to dance to this song, Big Foot! This was the first song we ever danced to!”
He gives her a crooked smile. “It wasn’t.”
“It was.”
“That’s the beer talkin’.”
She pauses, contemplates, then sweetly says, “Maybe it is…Maybe it isn’t…Either way, I wanna dance to this and if you wanna see me naked in the next thirty minutes you will whisk me off to that floor right now.”
He lets out a hearty laugh while Ford and I try to hide our snickers.
“Alright,” he puts his beer down, “but I’m warning you now, if my feet crush yours you can’t use that as an excuse for an extra foot rub.”
Dawn pecks him on the cheek, yet victoriously winks at me afterward.
He said extra! I caught that! Man, I would kill for one tonight when these boots get the fuck off of my poor feet. I think I’m going to take up flip-flops only for at least three months to balance this out. They make winter flip flops, don’t they?
My eyes drop down to Ford’s, which is when he kindly asks, “You wanna dance too?”
“We weren’t just going to sit here all night?”
The hope in my voice causes his already wide smile to stretch. “You don’t put on shorts that tight and boots that sexy not to show them off, Darlin’.”
Fair point.
I hesitate to confess, “I don’t…I don’t think I’m coordinated enough to dance out there.”
His head tilts at me sarcastically.
“What! They’re spinning and looping and clicking.” My overdramatic movements seem to revive his previous chuckles. “I don’t know how to do any of that. My legs and arms had a coup early on in my life. I never managed to take the control back.”
Ford’s laughter continues until my own helplessly joins his.
It’s amazing how his laughter is even more intoxicating than the liquor I’ve been drinking.
All of a sudden, a woman’s voice says, “Ford Shaw!”
We turn to view a petite brunette with her hair in low pig tails and chest displayed in a striking low, cream colored halter top with fringe at the scoop.
A wave of ‘Save a Horse’ jokes start tumbling around in my head forcing my lips to press tightly together in hopes of trapping them inside. The last thing I need is to get kicked out of their favorite hometown bar for being drunk and disorderly. And by drunk and disorderly, I really mean tipsy and trashy.
My boyfriend sits up a little straighter. “Chastity.”
I grit my teeth harder.
Her name can’t really be Chastity. You can’t look like the stripper name you are…That’s not fair! How am I not supposed to make jokes like that? Oh thank God Camilla isn’t here. She would and then I would laugh and then a bar fight would almost certainly ensue.
“You look amazing,” she gushes, hands sliding into the back pocket of her jeans. “All things considered.”
He doesn’t bother hiding his grunt. “Thanks.” Ford motions his hand towards her. “Chastity is Carol Ann’s older sister.”
Ah.
Chastity’s brown gaze falls on me. “And you are?”
“Ollie.” I offer my hand.
“My girlfriend,” Ford emphasizes as we shake.
“Good for you!” She squeaks when we’re through. “Glad you’re not just mopin’ and pinin’ after my sister like you usually do between your break ups.”
The choice phrasing rubs something in the back of my mind I’ve been trying to ignore. They do usually break up and make up. Despite the fact I know he’s done because he says it and acts like it, a small part of me worries there’s still something there. Fourteen years of back and forth isn’t just something most people can brush off. I know Ford’s not most people but still….
“Nope.” He clears his throat. “I moved on and am much happier than I’ve ever been.”
I give him a sweet smirk.
“Good!” She squeals. “’Bout time. My sister never deserved you anyway…”
There’s a hint of flirtation in her voice that’s hard to miss.
“Well you two have fun tonight. Saw you and figured I would give you a quick hi before bailin’.”
“Better places to be?” Ford asks politely.
“Karaoke bar back in Highland. Meeting some friends from work. Just stopped by here to check out the crowd.” She glances over her shoulder the direction of Blake who is still sweet talking the woman at the bar. “Better luck next week.”
“Enjoy your night,” I kindly say only to receive a forced smile in return.
Once she’s out of view, I tease, “I think she really liked me.”
He chuckles, disregards the comment, and commands, “Up you go, cowgirl in training. We’re headed to the dance floor.”
Ford ushers me out of his lap and drags me to where people seem to be having an outrageous amount of fun dancing to a cover band. The two of us take a position closer to the outskirts. Immediately, he starts moving his body encouraging me to do the same. Regardless of my repeated head shakes, I somehow begin my avid search for the beat.
Dancing has never been something I was good at. I guess I never really had to be. I never went to school dances, including Homecomings or Proms. I never went out to parties in college or nightclubs. Thankfully, Camilla realized early on I wasn’t that type of friend, and never tried to make me into it.
With a smile bigger than the state, Ford slips his fingers through my front belt loop loops, and tugs me closer to him. His hips lead mine while his hands assist from their settled position on my ass. We move and chuckle through the music, though Ford spends more time mindlessly singing along than bothering with instructions. Before I know it, I’m doing better than I was. However, as I should’ve predicted, he decides to mix it up with a couple spins in place and a couple spin outs I’m not coordinated enough to return from. My face continuously burns in embarrassment yet the fact he never stops trying, never stops grinning, never takes his eyes off mine, smothers the flames flawlessly. His loving actions are always quintessential.
By the time a slow song finally greets us, I’m breathless, and utterly grateful to be able to rest my flailing limbs.
Ford tips my chin up at the time his arm curls around me tighter. “My little geeky cowgirl…”
“Farm Boy…”
Our eyes dance together the same way we do. They stayed locked tight. Completely devoted to only each other. Inseparable.
His hand moves to stroke my cheek, and the feeling of his rough thumb against my soft skin sparks a familiar ache I’m not sure I want to go long without soothing.
He instantly recognizes the response. “You ready to go home?”
My heart swells at the term.
Home. My apartment. His house. Both are home now. Both are where we belong together. I’ve never had anything like this before. Sometimes it feels too damn good to be true.
Unable to speak, I nod my desire, which is rewarded with his lips on top of mine. The faint hint of beer invades my mouth courtesy of his eager tongue. With his hand keeping me sealed to him, he relentlessly ravishes every bit available and groans his hunger for more.
Ford abruptly abandons the kiss in such a manner I know it’s a way to maintain control. “Home.”
“Now.”
He groans a second time and darts the direction we came. On our way out the door, we swing by the bar where he informs Blake if he’s crashing in his guest room or on the couch to use the spare key. The threat of what will happen if he rings the doorbell instead brings a deep blush to my cheeks.
Farm Boy wants me…And he wants me all night long, with absolutely no interruptions.
The drive home is a steamy blur. Like fiends, our hands and lips wander every chance we get. Stop lights. Stop signs. Brief unexpected slowdowns. As soon as we hit the other side of the threshold to the house, Ford’s restraint shatters. His mouth drops to the crook of my neck and begins to consume like never before. My hands paw at the buttons of his shirt unable to get them open fast enough. Without a second thought, Ford yanks it open, the sound of buttons falling down the stairs like tiny applause of approval for moving everything along. I allow my fingers to trail over his chest’s definition on our trek to the top. Once he realizes we’ve made it this far, he leads us off to the right, his mouth now toying with my fingers.
Bright moonlight illuminates his entire bedroom. My attention is only granted a brief moment of observation of my second night in it before Ford is commanding it’s his again. The beautiful basic style of his dark wooded bed, matching nightstand and bookshelves, are all things still worth fawning over in my opinion. Our mouths collide once more except this time our hands savagely shed the boundaries preventing us from the closeness we truly want. In a fury of reckless kisses and greedy grabs, we tumble onto his bed, my impatience to feel him deep inside reaching excruciatingly painful levels.
Ford breaks away to reach for protection from the side of the bed he’s closest to, however, my hand flies to stop him. “Wait.”
His heavy deep breath is filled with frustration. “Baby, please don’t tell me you wanna stop.”
I give him a sarcastic expression at the same time my hand lands on his chest. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Then I should-”
“We don’t need them.”
Ford’s uncertainty on how to respond pokes at the insecurity I have been feeling over the decision.
“I mean…I don’t think we do.”
He stays silent.
“I’ve been checked. You’ve been checked. I’m on the pill…”
His hand falls to my hip as he rolls over to face me.
“And if…something were to happen then…” my ramble gets away from me, “then I’m glad it would be with you.”
The green eyes I love more than life itself sometimes, begin to glow.
“Not that I’m saying, I want that now or tomorrow or-”
Ford’s mouth captures mine ending the conversation.
I’m not ready for kids at all. Raising Princess Pinky has been a handful and a half, but I do know someday I want them with Ford. I want the family life he grew up in. I want the closeness I never experienced with my own. I want all of Ford Shaw. Every. Last. Bit.
Our kiss deepens and he gently rolls me over onto my side. Ford’s body tenderly positions mine to be braced against his. He nudges my legs apart, tips our lips away from one another, and thrusts inside with such intensity, my pussy weeps for mercy. A breath is robbed from me, but Ford replaces the air with erotic rolls from his tongue to match the ones of his hips. His bare cock stretches me wide. Fills me with an unprecedented completeness. My muscles do everything they can to accommodate his size and praise its overdue return. I dig my nails into his forearm as all of my senses become overwhelmed with pleasure. Somehow I manage to pull my mouth away to catch a breath, which prompts Ford to pierce deeper. Each hard pump is sensuous and every heavy groan is gratifying. Our struggle to sustain oxygen turns into a sea of never ending panting. The constant prurient penetration of my g-spot causes my body to betray me, like usual, long before I’m ready.
My head angles back towards his just in time to whisper, “I’m coming.”
Ford clamps his hand on the back of my neck while the other bruises the spot it’s claimed on my hips. My pussy viciously squeezes his cock, anxious to complete the first condom free experience it’s ever had. His straining body that is trying to resist climaxing becomes an erotic sight all its own.
The longing to have his orgasm overpower mine, I whisper, “Come for me, Ford.”
There’s no question. No extra guessing. He relinquishes all control, pounds twice more, and finally feeds the greedy monster he’s turned my pussy into. Sweltering burst after burst surges inside and satisfied sighs are stripped from us both. Ford’s mouth nips its way towards mine, only stopping when they’re linked back together.
After a moment of our tongues lightly touching, he whispers, “I love you Ollie.”
“I love you too, Ford.”
Our lips mesh back together, and I allow myself to get lost once more in our life altering passion. Which is exactly what falling in love with Ford has been. It has ameliorated my life in every way. And as scary as I thought it would be, as scary as people make it sound, sometimes change can be incredible. Sometimes change can be easy. Sometimes change is exactly what you need.