15. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 15

A t two in the morning, we finally left the club. Ford and I slid into the back seat of the car he’d called to take us home, the plan being that I’d get dropped off first and then the driver would take Ford to his place.

I knew all our friends would assume we’d be going home together—that was the whole point of leaving in the same car, of course—which would keep up appearances and ensure this whole charade continued looking legit.

Friends .

I supposed I’d be seeing a lot more of them now. No doubt we’d all be getting together on the regular. Going out. Getting drunk. Having fun. It hadn’t exactly been fun for me personally, though I had enjoyed dancing with Ford…but then again, it hadn’t been as bad as I’d thought it would be. Hopefully it would all start to feel more natural as time went on. Maybe I’d actually feel like I was part of the group, instead of the awkward outsider that Ford was forcing his friends to be nice to.

Truthfully, it had taken me a while to warm up to Tori and Brooklyn, too. I’d never been the kind of person who opened up easily. Yet another residual scar from all the bullying I experienced at school.

I leaned back against the seat as Ford gave the driver our addresses. I was tired and more than a little drunk and after all that dancing, my feet were killing me. My boots were great to look at, but they were murder on my toes. I couldn’t wait to get home and take them off.

But I also knew that Ford and I had some unfinished business.

Ever since I’d overheard the tail end of that conversation Ford had been having with his friend at the VIP table earlier, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was going on behind my back. So the second the driver rolled up the tinted glass partition, creating a quiet little cocoon in the back seat, I turned to Ford to confront him.

He was slouching, leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed. Obviously tired, and probably more than a little tipsy still—but maybe those things would help me get my answers.

“What was that thing you guys were talking about earlier?” I asked him.

“Hmm?” His eyes were still closed.

Part of me thought about just letting it go, letting the evening go down as a success without poking Ford to answer a question that maybe I didn’t even really want answered.

But I also knew that if we were going to do this (and it didn’t really seem like we had any other choice, now that everyone in our lives thought we were getting married), I needed Ford to know he couldn’t just hide stuff from me and get away with it.

“The conversation I overheard when I got back from the bathroom,” I said. “When your friend was like, ‘Does Emzee know?’ What was that all about?”

“My dick,” he said, looking at me now. “I told you that.”

There was a smile playing on the corner of his lips and it was impossible not to be a little charmed by the whole thing, but still, I pushed.

“That wasn’t it,” I said, though I was pretty sure it did have something to do with sex.

My suspicion was only reinforced when he grabbed my hand and gave me a wicked grin.

“You know I have to save a few secrets for the honeymoon, Em,” he said.

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was hammering in my chest at the thought of it. “We’re not a real couple, remember?” I reminded him. “The honeymoon is just for show.”

“That’s not what our friends think,” Ford said.

“Fair enough. But while we’re on the topic…” I shifted to face him, my knee up on the seat between us, the hem of my dress inching higher.

I saw Ford’s eyes dart to where all that skin was showing, and felt a little thrill at the heat I saw in his gaze. I cleared my throat and he looked back up at me.

“Why the hell do you keep making all those sex jokes?”

Ford shifted, a more serious expression crossing his face. “I think the real question is, why does me talking about sex make you so uncomfortable?” he said. “It’s an honest question.”

He put his hand on my knee, the heat from his palm, spreading through me like a fire.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking away.

“I think I know why. In fact, I’d bet money on it,” Ford said, his thumb drawing a slow, sexy circle on the inside of my knee.

I swallowed hard, waiting for him to go on.

“I think you secretly like it,” Ford said, his voice dropping into a low, seductive whisper.

My throat was dry as Ford’s hand moved upward, just an inch, but I felt his touch like a shock through my system.

“And that you’re uncomfortable because you like it—the sex jokes, thinking about sex, imagining having sex…with me—and you’re ashamed of that,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be.”

His voice was like velvet over my senses, his hand stroking the inside of my thigh.

Fuck him for hitting the nail on the head so perfectly. All of Ford’s sex jokes, all of his dirty comments, the innuendo, all of it had led to me thinking almost nonstop about having sex with him this entire night out. How it would feel, how good it could be with him—with someone who knew me so well, who had as much experience as he did.

And I did feel ashamed. Even more so because he knew exactly what was going on with me. It was hard not to be humiliated by my interest, my obvious horniness.

Not that I was going to admit it to him. Because Ford didn’t need to know he was right. He didn’t need the satisfaction. His ego was already big enough.

His dick too, apparently.

I shook those thoughts from my head.

“You’re wrong,” I said, but my throat was so dry that my denial came out breathy.

Completely undermining the point I was trying to make.

“Am I?” Ford asked. “So if I keep going right now, if I keep sliding my hand up your skirt, I won’t find anything, will I? Because I think I’d like to test my little theory.”

I gulped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I could have pressed my knees together. I could have stopped him. But I didn’t.

“Oh no?” Ford gave me that wicked grin again. “So you’re telling me that if I put my hand under this slutty little skirt of yours, I won’t find a soaking wet pussy waiting for me?”

I was speechless. Ford had never spoken to me this way.

And I fucking loved it. I was eating it up. His words were beyond hot, and so was the hand moving slowly and surely up my inner thigh, mere inches from my hot core.

I could have easily pushed him away. Could have put my purse on my lap. Could have crossed my legs.

Instead, I let them fall open. I gave him full access.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Ford said, his hand moving up. “I think I’m about to find out that I am absolutely. Fucking. Right.”

I shook my head, even though I knew how wet I was. For him. I could feel it.

“No?” Ford asked.

I could tell that he liked teasing me. And as turned on as I was, it was also infuriating that he could read me so easily. I decided not to make things too easy for him. The parted legs were about as much encouragement as he was going to get.

Not that he seemed to mind.

His hand kept sliding higher, his fingers hot and sure of their destination. I took a deep breath as he neared the apex of my thighs. This wasn’t the first time someone had fingered me, but it had only happened once before, and it hadn’t been all that good. In fact, it was awful.

The guy’s fingers had been too rough, too fast, and when it started to hurt I’d blurted out some random excuse about how I had work early in the morning and then bolted from the guy’s apartment, never to return again. Not that I’d ever admit my inexperience to Ford.

This was different, though. I could already tell. Ford had barely even touched me yet, and already I could feel my thighs trembling. I wanted him to do more to me.

“Oh, now what is this?” he asked.

His fingers brushed against the damp lace of my thong, and I nearly bucked off of the seat with the potent pleasure of it.

He grinned. “I knew it,” he said, his finger stroking me through the lace again. Up and down, tracing my pussy lips through the fabric, applying just enough pressure to make me shiver.

“Is that a thong under there?” Ford asked, running his finger along the length of it. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

I sucked in a breath as he pulled it aside, his fingers touching my opening.

“So wet,” he murmured, his eyes locking on mine. “You are so fucking wet for me.”

All I could do was let out a little gasp, letting my head fall back as his finger parted me, teasing my slick entrance. I gripped the seat for dear life, worried I’d punch holes in the leather with my nails as Ford slid his finger inside me. Smooth, strong, and sure. Pushing deeper into my wetness, feeling so good I could barely stand it.

“This pussy wants me,” he said, moving his finger in and out, pumping softly.

I shook my head no and he laughed.

“You can lie to me, but your pussy can’t,” he said. “You want this.”

He slipped another finger inside, stretching me a little bit, starting to move faster. I liked it. No, I fucking loved it. His fingers felt incredible as they fucked me. In and out, getting faster but not too fast, curling just enough to rub my walls, sensations sparking through me, the hot friction building with every thrust.

My legs were wide open now, my body humming with pleasure, and yet I wanted more. I wanted his mouth on mine, covering my nipples, sucking, biting, trailing kisses up to my neck.

I wanted him, all of him, inside of me.

Two fingers weren’t enough.

As if he could sense my need, he slipped another finger inside me. I was stretched to the max, his fingers finding a rhythm that had me right on the edge.

My hips began moving in time with his thrusts, meeting each one. The back of the car was filled with the wet sound of Ford finger fucking me, and our shared, heavy breathing.

“That’s it,” Ford said. “Give it to me. Fuck me. I want you to come in my hand.”

I gasped at his words, closing my eyes, head thrown back. I was close. So close.

Then Ford slid his thumb up, pressing against my clit.

“Mmm, God,” I whimpered as my body clenched around his fingers, and I came harder than I ever had in my life. I was panting for air, riding out the waves of my orgasm, too caught up in the moment to even think about what was happening, or who it was happening with.

When I finally opened my eyes, Ford was wiping his hand on his jeans, a satisfied grin on his face.

“You were saying?” he asked, looking at me smugly.

I blushed, pulling my dress down, my pulse still sky high.

What the hell had Ford just done to me? It was a revelation. Nothing like before. A total fucking home run.

Not that I was going to say anything to him. He didn’t need to know how new this was to me, how fucking incredible it had felt, how little experience I had to compare it to.

But there was no more hiding how much I wanted him.

Which meant I had to find a way to regain the upper hand.

As soon as possible.