Hello Quarterback (Hello #8)

27. Mia

27

MIA

I operated well with a mission. With a plan. A purpose.

But now that the evening was over and Ford and I were alone in the car, the privacy window rolled up, separating us from Zeke, I had no idea what to do. Especially with the way our conversation ended earlier with Trent’s interruption.

We looked at each other for a moment as the car drove away from the convention center, so much hanging between us.

Ford’s hands were linked in his lap. He looked down at them, saying, “Thank you for that.” He met my gaze. What little light was in the back of the limo caught in his eyes, washing out the blue to make them look gray. “You were incredible, Mia, truly.”

My smile lasted half a second before faltering. “I’m glad it helped.” An ache weighed heavy on my chest, because I knew I’d crushed it in there. I could see Felicity softening, Trent getting frustrated when he couldn’t pick apart my relationship with Ford. My fake boyfriend’s relief at our charade coming across as sincere.

And throughout the conversation, he’d held my hand under the table. His touch was a blessing and a curse, supportive but making me wonder if he resented the connection at the same time.

I sat back in my seat, rubbing my temples. Faking a relationship with Ford was so much more complicated, more difficult, than I thought it would be. I was nearly forty, and I thought I’d worked through so many of my insecurities, but being with Ford brought them back, despite the kind words he sent my way.

“About earlier...” he began.

I closed my eyes, not ready for what was to come next. Thinking the worst was easier than having my worries confirmed.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

I blinked my eyes open to see him coming across the limo, sitting next to me. Then he reached up, cupping my face to hold my gaze in place. The touch made my heart ache more because I wanted so badly for it to be real.

How had I gone from hopeful he was asking me out to wishing I’d never agreed to this farce in the first place? My eyes stung as I looked at him.

“Mia, my job is about control,” he said, stroking his thumb over my cheek. “My control over my body and mind is what helps me succeed at this level.”

Where was he going with this?

“But when I kissed you...” He trailed off.

“What?” I breathed.

He drew his hand from my face to my shoulder, twisted a strand of my hair around his fingertips. When he met my gaze again, he looked tortured. “When I kissed you, I lost control.”

The air around us held a charge, and my breathing shallowed.

His voice was hoarse. “I can’t lose control, Mia.”

“Not even once?” My voice came out a whisper.

I could see his eyes on my lips, and all I wanted was a do-over. A chance to kiss him without holding back, without an audience, without worrying that he was doing it out of obligation or any reason other than he wanted to kiss me back.

“If I start with you, I won’t be able to stop,” he said. “And my contract with the Diamonds, my home, my charity is on the line. It wouldn’t be fair to give such a small sliver of myself to you, knowing you deserve the world.”

Something rebellious rose up inside me. “Isn’t that my choice?”

His brow creased slightly.

“I have a career, goals, as well. I wouldn’t want you to put the team second, because I’d never accept you asking me to set my career aside after all the work I’ve put in to build it.”

He wet his lips. “Mia...” he warned. “My self-control has had about all it can take.”

I leaned closer to him. So close, a tilt of my head would bring our lips together.

“Please,” he whispered. But it didn’t matter what he was asking for because he answered his plea by drawing me to his hard body and kissing me like I’d never been kissed before.

Desperately.

Hungrily.

Like no amount of my touch would ever be enough.

Breathless, I broke apart from his embrace, staring at him.

“Shit, Mia, I’m sorry, I?—”

But before he could finish his sentence, let me know what he was sorry for, I kissed him back, taking exactly what I wanted from him, feeling his strong hands grip my hips bringing me closer to him.

I straddled his lap in the back of the limo, grinding against him while he kissed my neck, my exposed collarbone. His erection strained against his pants, tempting and taunting in equal measure.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

And I knew what he meant. I wanted more of him. All of him. “Give in,” I breathed.

In response, he guided me down, laying me on my back on the long limo seat, and began unbuttoning my pants. I lifted my hips, wanting to see how he would feel when he lost control. He ripped off my pants, pulling them down until he brought his mouth to my clit, eating me out like a man possessed.

I gripped at his hair, writhing on the seat beneath him.

“Ford,” I moaned.

He responded with a growl of his own that had me pushing close to the edge.

“Ford!”

He lapped at me harder, inserting a finger, then two, inside me, filling me up and then curling the pads of his fingers toward himself.

The unexpectedness of it urged on my orgasm, and I cried out as my walls crashed around his fingers. He didn’t give up, licking and sucking until every last wave had pulsed through my body and left me liquid under his touch.

My breath came out as tired pants as I lifted myself up to stare at him. He tugged his polo free to clean his face, then looked at me with heat in his eyes.

Only then did I realize the limo had stopped moving.

Wordlessly, he handed me my thong, my pants. But I put on the pants without my underwear. I handed the lacy material back to him.

He stared at them in awe as I went to the door of the limo. I stepped outside before saying, “To remind you how good it feels to lose control.”