20. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 20

E verest, the world-renowned French restaurant in the Chicago Stock Exchange, had one of the most beautiful views in the city. We were treated like royalty there, which I suppose wasn’t too far from reality; the Malones were revered by locals in the know. The fact that Ford had managed to secure us a table on such short notice proved exactly how well-respected his family was.

Chicago glittered below us as we dined on a menu of flawless dishes that were an instant aphrodisiac for a foodie like me: perfectly seared sea scallops, fresh Maine lobster with smoked bacon and maize bisque, Caspian Sea caviar, carnaroli risotto with forest mushrooms. Each plate came with its own pairing of wine, so by the time our dessert of decadent caramel tarte tatin came around, I was feeling warm and relaxed and happy.

Ford had gone all out. Beyond the meal, his undivided attention was focused on me the entire time. We barely talked about our fake engagement, or the increasingly stressful upcoming wedding—instead, it was like old times. He had me get him up to speed on See Yourself, and I spent some time describing the classes I’d taught earlier that day. Then he filled me in on his fundraising ideas and offered to pass around some of my students’ resumes at the Malone Real Estate Holdings office, since his company regularly hired photographers to shoot new property listings. We discussed Tori and Brooklyn and my upcoming position as Auntie Em and gushed about how much we both still loved our hometown of Chicago, all while perched above its sparkling beauty, enjoying some of the best food the city had to offer.

It was magical.

We stayed at the restaurant until closing, and then, instead of taking a car back to my apartment, Ford suggested we walk the mile and a half since the weather was so mild.

Even though I had no intention of letting the date end when we got to my front door, I was enjoying our night out together and happy to walk off some of my fullness. By the time we reached my block, most of the tipsy feeling from the wine had faded. I was clearheaded, and as resolute as ever about my decision to invite Ford upstairs.

Even still, as we walked up the pathway to my building’s entry doors, I was buzzing from the inside with anticipation. My hands were shaking a little, but I smoothed them down the front of my dress to hide my trembling. I was wearing a simple black sheath that clung to my curves, and had opted for a pair of sequined black designer flats for our date, which meant the top of my head barely reached Ford’s biceps as we walked side by side. Still, I was glad I hadn’t gone for the stilettos I’d been debating, or our walk home would have been a lot less fun.

“Come up,” I told Ford when we got inside the lobby.

There was a question in his eyes, but he didn’t verbalize it. My request wasn’t that unusual—we’d gone out to plenty of dinners that were followed by drinks at my place—though the late hour was a bit out of the ordinary, as were the distinctly date-like vibes of the evening.

We were both silent as we rode the elevator up to my loft, and the whole car seemed to crackle with tension, though I couldn’t tell if it was mutual or just me imagining things.

The second we stepped into my loft, Munchkin greeted Ford by running around him in circles, panting excitedly. It seemed that we were in agreement about Ford staying the night.

I just wished I knew how to proceed.

Ford sat on the bench in the kitchen area, leaning down to scratch Munchkin as I poured us two glasses of water.

“I need to take him out, actually,” I said, nodding at my dog. “You tired from our walk over here, or are you up for another lap around the block?”

“I’m not tired at all,” he said. Maybe he was secretly as keyed up as I was.

We headed back out, walking in silence. I felt it again, that tension between us. Like a taut wire, just waiting to snap. I had to quit stalling. It was now or never.

Time to make my move.

“So. The real stuff and the fake stuff you talked about,” I began. “What was tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “When you offered to help with the charity, and the funding, or when you mentioned finding jobs for the women…was any of that real for you? Or did you just get carried away with the fantasy of being the perfect fake fiancé? And the dinner date—was that real?”

Ford stopped, turning to face me.

“It was real, Em,” he said. “Everything tonight was real. And my feelings about the charity, too—about the photos you described Galina shooting—all of it. I really was moved by the whole thing and I’m glad to be a part of it in any way I can. Now and always.”

As he was speaking, Munchkin, who had already finished his business, was leaning up against Ford’s leg, getting scritched into full submission.

Okay. Done deal. I was his.

Ford’s words were exactly what I needed to hear. All my hesitations, my nerves, were washed away. He was a good man, the right man. And I trusted him like nobody else.

“How about a proper nightcap?” I said. I wasn’t ready to let him go. Neither was Munchkin, clearly.

“I’d love that,” he said, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew a drink wasn’t the real reason I was inviting him up.

My hands started shaking again as we reached my front door for the second time in less than twenty minutes, but the moment we stepped inside, Ford was on me.

He pinned me against the door, his mouth hot and hard against mine.

I sighed with pleasure, dropping Munchkin’s leash. Vaguely I heard the sound of the dog’s nails tapping across the kitchen floor and disappearing into the plush living room where I was certain that he was settling down in his bed. It was late, so he would likely curl up and go right to sleep.

But I wasn’t tired at all. I’d never felt more alive.

With Ford’s lips against mine, I felt like I was waking up…like my body was waking up.

Ford’s hands were everywhere—in my hair, against my hips, sliding down to grip my ass. He was firm and confident and I loved it. Loved that he knew exactly what he was doing and that I had no doubts about what I was doing. I wanted him so bad I could hardly stand it.

His mouth moved from my lips, down my throat, kissing and nipping as he went, leaving little sparks of pleasure as I gasped. His grip was tight in my hair and it hurt a little, but in the best possible way. I’d never known kissing could be like this.

It wasn’t that I had zero experience, of course, but I knew without a doubt that Ford was different from the other men I’d hooked up with. That this would be a world apart.

It would be better. It would be incredible. We were already so connected.

I knew I’d made the right choice before our clothes had even begun to come off.

Ford and I stumbled down the hallway, kissing even more deeply as we went, his tongue exploring every corner of my mouth as his hands stroked every part of my body through my dress. I was on fire, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me, too.

His cock was straining against his pants, pressing against my belly. I could tell he was huge, and I silently prayed that he would feel good to me, that we would fit together just right.

With complete ease, Ford lifted me up, my arms circling his neck, my legs wrapping around his hips. His hardness pushed even more firmly against me, and I couldn’t help grinding my hips into him, drunk on the feeling of his cock, so ready for me and so close. Despite my anxiety, the pleasure I felt being near him, his body against mine, overrode everything else.

“I want you,” I panted into his mouth.

Groaning, Ford carried me, never breaking our kiss, into my bedroom.

It was dark, the only illumination being the moonlight streaming in through my window. It made the whole thing seem romantic and dreamlike, much like the whole evening had been.

Ford tossed me down on the bed as if I weighed nothing. I reached out my arms, wanting him to follow me, but he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. I was suddenly paranoid about my likely state of disarray: my ravaged hair, my streaked eyeliner, my?—

“You’re beautiful,” he said, melting all my worries away.

I shivered from the pleasure of his words, the husky sound of his voice.

“So are you,” I said, taking in the familiar, perfect angles of his face, his broad shoulders, his tall, well-built body. Everything I wanted.

He laughed, and then his smile turned wicked.

“What are you wearing under that dress?” he asked. “Are you wearing good-girl panties, or a bad-girl thong?”

I looked up at him, my heart pounding. “Why don’t you look and find out?”

His grin grew even more wicked.

“I think I will,” he said, climbing up the bed, up my body, until his lips met mine again.

As he did, his hand found my thigh, and he began to push the hem of my dress up my leg, while his mouth moved to my ear, catching my earlobe between his teeth with exactly the right amount of pressure.

I felt his hand moving up, that confident slide of his hot palm. Finally he found what he was looking for, the roughness of his fingers brushing against my most intimate part.

Ford froze. “Are you wearing nothing underneath this dress?” he demanded.

I gave him a grin of my own.

“You naughty, naughty girl,” he said.

He shoved my knees apart, finding my already wet opening with astonishing speed. Then he stroked my outer lips first, circling with his thumb. I could feel my pleasure building even before he slipped a finger inside of me, and then another, stretching my body deliciously. This was how it had been in the back of the car and I responded in the same way, my hips jerking as he began fucking me with his fingers. God, he was good with his hands.

Bright lights started swimming in front of my eyes and I reached for his hand, gently easing his fingers aside. I wasn’t ready to come yet. Not like this.

“I want you,” I told him for the second time, meeting his gaze. “ All of you .”

I hoped he understood what I was saying, but before I could clarify further, Ford was kissing me again, working my dress up my hips with one hand while unzipping me with the other. In seconds, the dress was over my head. I was naked beneath him, heart pounding anew. The look on his face made me glad I’d decided not to wear anything under the dress.

“Look at you,” he said, his eyes grazing my entire body. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I could feel myself blushing. I’d always been self-conscious about the size of my breasts, how big they were in proportion to the rest of me, especially in comparison to most of the women who modeled for Danica Rose. And I was definitely a lot curvier than Claudia.

But now, with Ford staring at me like a dessert he wanted to lap up, I felt sexy, powerful, and maybe—like he’d said—perfect for him. Propping myself up on my elbows and arching my back, I gave him an even better view.

“Fuck,” he said, filling his hands with my breasts.

I felt like I was on the verge of an orgasm again, just from the way his fingers grazed and tweaked my overly sensitive nipples. When he lowered his hot mouth to capture one between his teeth, I caught my breath. It felt so good, the way he lavished them with attention, sucking and teasing each one in turn, his straining cock pressing between my naked hips.

“Ford,” I moaned in a half whisper.

He was still fully dressed. Unacceptable. As he played with my nipples, I used my remaining strength to get his shirt off and then pressed my palms to his bare chest, relishing the feel of his firm pecs, the ridges of his six-pack, the fine dusting of hair below his belly button, until my fingers reached the edge of his waistband, his belt, his zipper. I paused, breathing hard.

This was it.

Taking my pause as an invitation, Ford lifted off the bed to shed the rest of his clothes.

I was grateful for the darkened room, hoping it hid the fact that my jaw nearly dropped to the floor. His cock wasn’t just big, it was…well, it was gorgeous. Perfectly proportioned. And perfectly hard. I had no idea how it was going to fit. Suddenly, I was nervous all over again.

“Wait,” I said.

Even though I had made my decision, I didn’t know what to do regarding the matter of my inexperience. It would probably be better if I told Ford that I was a virgin, but I was also worried that the knowledge would be too much for him—that he’d realize I had Feelings for him, and then decide we shouldn’t go through with it.

“You okay?” Ford asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We can stop.”

Even in the moonlight, I could see the concern in his eyes, the questions there.

“No! I—I just wanted to make sure you had a condom,” I said.

Ford gave me that devastatingly handsome grin of his.

“Of course,” he said, digging a foil packet out from his pile of clothes.

I watched as he rolled it on, the thin latex stretching over his impressive length. Once he was sheathed, he pressed himself against me again, his body hot and heavy above mine, his tongue sliding deep into my mouth.

I kissed him back eagerly, my body tingly and taut and electric. I knew I was soaking wet, I could feel it, and Ford slipped a hand between our bodies, letting out a groan of appreciation when he slipped a finger back inside me.

“You’re going to feel amazing around my cock,” he said. “So hot. So wet.”

I didn’t respond, just let myself focus on the feel of his mouth and his body as his cock nudged against my entrance. I tried to relax, spreading my legs wide, looking into Ford’s eyes in the dark, feeling his lips curve into a smile against mine.

Then he pushed inside me, in one sure, deep thrust.

I bit my lip as I cried out, and then Ford was moaning along with me as he started to move. We were kissing again, both of us making soft sounds, the moment between us—after all these years—so completely unbelievable and yet so right all at the same time. It was happening. I was having sex. With Ford. And it was amazing and incredible and maybe a little uncomfortable too, but it wasn’t the kind of pain that hurt, it was the kind that felt good.

It was also different from how it had been with my vibrator inside me, better, hotter, but I also knew that my active self-love practices had prepared my body for this, and I was glad.

“Fucking hell,” Ford groaned, picking up the pace. “You feel so fucking good. Such a tight fucking pussy.”

His words made me even hotter. Wetter.

I moved with him, and we found a rhythm, straining against each other, chasing our own pleasure as we gave ourselves to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was exactly what I wanted, Ford pumping harder and faster, me trying to take all of him inside me, connecting with him on this new level we’d never experienced together before.

His hips drummed against mine, and then he was wrapping my legs around his waist, the new angle helping him sink even deeper inside. We groaned together at the pleasure.

“God, you’re hot,” Ford said. “So hot and tight.”

I loved the words he was whispering in my ear as he fucked me. It was just one more way he was getting me off, beyond the miracle of his body and my emotional ties to him.

“So good,” I murmured, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good.”

Most of the goodness, I knew, was because it was Ford. The man I’d loved for so long. He might not feel the same about me, but maybe he did. It felt like he did. And not just because he knew exactly what my body wanted. It was more than that. Our connection was so much deeper than just being friends, even Ford couldn’t have denied that.

His strokes started getting slower and out of sync, his grunts louder, and I realized he was starting to approach his climax before he even told me, roughly, “I want you to come first.”

Rolling onto his back and taking me with him, I suddenly found myself on top of Ford, his cock thrusting up inside me at a whole new angle. His hands went to my hips and he gripped me tight, pushing and pulling me back and forth over his length. Even still, I was in control of how deep he was, how fast, how hard. My hips moved in time, pleasure flooding my body as I rode him, my orgasm building to a crescendo with every passing second.

“Oh my God. More. More,” I moaned, head tilting back as his thrusts sped up again.

“Fuck, I want to feel you come,” he nearly growled, shifting his hand so his thumb was pressing against my clit as I fucked him.

Every stroke was pleasure, agony, sweet and hot, sending sparks from my clit to my toes.

“Ford,” I panted, my voice trembling. “Ford, fuck, oh fuck?—”

I leaned forward onto his chest, clinging to his shoulders, burying my face in his neck as I started to slip over the edge. It was happening. I was coming hard, so hard, moaning uncontrollably as the orgasm rippled through me, stronger and deeper inside than I had ever experienced before. I could feel my pussy clenching tight around him with every contraction of sheer, pulsing ecstasy, and I knew he felt it too because he let out a groan and suddenly he was slamming into me, wild and fast, cursing and whispering my name as he found his own release.

“Em,” he moaned, the sound making me shiver even as I started to recover.

Our bodies were tangled as we caught our breath, our hearts racing in time, our skin slick with sweat. I didn’t want it to be over, so I shifted onto my side next to him, my body in a position more comfortable for both of us, and rested my head on his chest.

I’d done it. I’d had sex. With Ford Malone.

The man I’d always loved.

And in that moment, I realized there was no point in worrying that I would lose my heart to him. Because I accepted the truth: that I already had. A long, long time ago.