5. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 5

A s soon as I woke up to Munchkin’s little head butting against my side, urging me to get up and give him his walk and his breakfast, I knew I was out of time. Today was the day I’d said I’d give Ford an answer by. And after ignoring his calls yesterday, I knew I couldn’t hide. I had to face him. Soon.

Drat.

Groaning, I rolled out of bed and let my furbaby lead the way to his leash, his chubby little butt wiggling with excitement. Sure, it wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet on a Sunday, but there were two males in this world that I couldn’t say no to—my French bulldog, and Ford Malone.

After making Munchkin sit and stay like a good boy, I clipped his leash to his studded collar and took him for a leisurely trot around the neighborhood. No matter how many times we took this route, he always seemed to get a kick out of sniffing the same exact spots. I spent most of the walk trying to psych myself up for the Talk with Ford.

Could I say no to him? Did I want to? What was the best course of action?

Would I have more regrets about not going through with this and missing my chance to “date” Ford, or about agreeing to the fake-dating plan and then having my heart crushed later?

In the end, there was no point in pretending I wasn’t going to go along with his foolhardy plan. I knew I could either own my decision and do my best to enjoy our short time as a couple, or I could spend the entire course of our faux relationship worrying about my emotions.

You got this , I silently pep-talked myself. Just have fun and keep your heart out of it.

Easier said than done, obviously.

By the time Munchkin and I were back at the loft, his attention fully focused on his food dish, I was as ready as I’d ever be. But I planned to make it very clear that this would be the last time. After this favor, things would have to change. I couldn’t keep thinking of him as my hero, and he couldn’t keep treating me like his wingman. We needed to be equals going forward. Assuming, of course, that our friendship managed to survive this farce.

I hoped Ford realized that a fake relationship could have just as many real consequences as a legitimate one, especially if anyone found out what we were up to.

Feeling like I was readying for battle, I dried my hair, pulled it up into a sky-high Ariana Grande ponytail, and then put on my Most Serious Makeup: my winged eyeliner, smoky shadow, three coats of super volumizing waterproof mascara, and a delightfully intimidating shade of burgundy lip gloss. Then I put on my power suit: black pinstripe with a matching vest and blazer that had slightly puffed sleeves. Instead of a button-up shirt, I wore a lacy camisole underneath that just barely peeked out from the V-neck of the vest. It was a combination of sexy and fierce; the outfit I wore when I needed the kind of confidence that I usually only got when I was behind the lens on a photo shoot. Time to kick some culo .

Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I dialed Ford.

“Hey!” he said, picking up on the first ring. “Glad you called. I couldn’t reach you yesterday.”

My heart leapt. “Yeah, about that. I was thinking we should talk some more.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Ford said breezily. “What’s up?”

“I, umm…” This was no time to be losing my nerve.

But then I heard the sound of other voices in the background. Where was he?

“Why don’t you meet me here at the club?” he said. “Tennis and lunch. You’ll love it.”

Then he hung up. Deflated, I looked at my reflection. So much for my makeup and outfit.

After swiping off my dark lip and toning down my eye makeup, I grudgingly changed into my tennis whites (thanks to my family, I did indeed own some). I might not enjoy going to the country club for sport, but I knew how to dress for it. Even if I hated wearing all this white.

I drove over, valeted my convertible, and then walked inside. It was easy enough to find Ford. He was sitting at the bar with a martini in his hand, and he wasn’t alone. Instead, he was surrounded by a group of guys, loudly holding court—all of them were laughing and drinking and having a great time. There was no way we’d be able to talk about our faux-lationship.

Sighing, I almost turned and left, but then Ford’s face lit up as he spotted me across the room. I couldn’t help obeying when he waved me over.

“Guys,” Ford announced, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me against his strong, hard body. “This is the new girlfriend I was telling you about! Emzee, these are some of my colleagues from the real estate office.”

Ah. So, just like always, Ford had taken me for granted and assumed I’d agree to his plan. I never said no to him, though, so why would I this time?

Still, he didn’t have to make it so damn obvious that he was in the driver’s seat—again. I was already feeling on edge, and even his little public display of snuggling (as good as it might have felt) wasn’t going to completely erase my irritation. At both him and myself.

I didn’t know who I was more annoyed with.

“So nice to meet you all,” I simpered. “I’ve heard such great things.”

As they returned to their conversation, I tried to act interested, already playing the part of doting girlfriend just like Ford had obviously assumed I would. I always bailed him out, covered for him, lied for him, everything—of course I did. I was in love with him. But it was starting to occur to me that loving Ford had a higher cost than I realized.

Namely, my own well-being.

But I kept up my smile, fully committed to playing along as the guys joked and laughed. Because that’s what I do. Meanwhile, Ford’s hands never lingered too far from my hip or my shoulder. He started playing with my ponytail at a certain point, giving it these taut little tugs that I kind of liked. Okay, that I really liked.

My body was at complete odds with my mind.

“You look great in that tennis skirt, babe,” Ford said loudly, dropping a kiss on my temple. “Good enough to eat.”

I flushed. “I was actually surprised I could still get into this outfit, I haven’t played tennis in so long.”

“She looks amazing, doesn’t she?” Ford took my hand and made me do a little twirl in front of the guys. “All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on a Sunday morning.”

They all nodded and voiced their agreement.

“Can’t even tell that I had her up. All. Night. Long.” Ford offered a leering wink and all the guys laughed.

I could feel my face getting even hotter.

“Oh you,” I said, gritting my teeth, giving him a harder-than-necessary swat on the arm.

“Look at that,” Ford said, rubbing his arm as he grinned back at me. “She can still blush. Gotta love a girl that’s innocent in the streets and wild in the sheets, am I right?”

Everyone chuckled. Ford raised his glass—he obviously wasn’t the only one who’d been doing a little day drinking—and his coworkers did the same, all of them clinking their glasses together with frat boy-esque solidarity.

Who the hell was he trying to impress? These guys were all technically his employees, since Ford was already VP at Malone Real Estate Holdings. Despite his age, which probably rankled them since they were all twice as old (and twice as experienced), they had to pretend they liked him. He was the boss. There was no need to parade me—or “us”—around like this.

Without warning, his hand snaked around my waist, sliding down until it rested on my ass. Then he gave it a firm squeeze. I jumped. Ford had never touched me like that before.

“Ford!” I hissed, less than discreetly.

“What?” he asked, all innocence.

Enough was enough. Time to either take control of the situation or get the hell out of there.

“Well, honey , it’s obvious you’ve had more than enough drinks to loosen you up,” I told Ford, pretending to appreciatively squeeze his bicep while purposely digging my nails into it. “So why don’t we go play that tennis match you promised me? Or would you rather I go find someone else to play games with?”

Despite my teasing tone, my warning was clear. He could get up right now and play nice with me, or I was done with this charade. Which had lasted all of twenty minutes so far.

I dug into his arm a little harder for emphasis as he rose from his seat.

“All right, all right, easy there tiger,” he said, reaching over me to give one of the guys a high five. “I like a woman who knows what she wants. Let’s go.”

Even with a few drinks in him, Ford was able to easily beat me at tennis. Which was fine with me, since I wasn’t actually there to play.

“Okay. I’ve made my appearance, we’ve officially been seen on the court together, and now I’m going home,” I told him from the other side of the net.

He frowned. “Wait, but what about lunch? You just got here.”

“I’m really not hungry. But you should probably eat something before you embarrass yourself in front of your coworkers any worse,” I said. “And do yourself a favor: take an Uber home.”

With that, I stalked off the court.

Later that night I was still frustrated and annoyed, even after I’d edited a round of recent DRM photos and made lemon pasta and salmon for dinner. I tried to walk it off by taking Munchkin on a jog afterward, but if anything I was even more wound up by the time we got home. Exhausted, he plopped down on his bed in the living room and started snoring almost instantly while I cleaned up all the dinner dishes in the kitchen. After I showered, I burrowed under my covers, replaying Ford’s actions at the country club in my mind.

I didn’t understand what he was trying to prove. But while my rational brain still had misgivings about his methods, my body couldn’t stop remembering how it felt to be touched by him. The way his hands had trailed hotly over the curves of my hips, my waist, my ass.

He’d behaved himself during our tennis match, further proving that his comments had all been for show, but now, alone in my apartment, I couldn’t help pretending the sexual innuendos were real. That last night, the two of us really had done all the things he’d insinuated.

All. Night. Long.

I got hot just thinking about it, tension making my stomach tight, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together against the ache there. What would it be like for Ford to take my virginity? For him to push me against a wall and kiss me, his hands going up my skirt, palming my ass.

Rolling on my side, I dug around in the drawer of my nightstand, realizing that I still needed to put fresh batteries in my vibrator after it had abruptly died on me last time I used it.

Thankfully it let out a low, steady buzz when I switched it on.

Settling back against my pillows, head against the headboard, I closed my eyes and imagined Ford’s face. The intensity of his eyes, the wickedness of his grin. I imagined his smiling mouth against mine, kissing me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth. Getting more aggressive, moans coming from the back of his throat, showing me how much he wanted me.

I slipped the vibrator between my legs, letting it rest against the fabric of my underwear so we could both warm up. It didn’t take much to push me over the edge, thanks to my lack of experience, so I tried to take it slow whenever possible. Draw it out. Remove all expectations and any sense of pressure, just letting myself coast.

He’d press me up against the wall—in my fantasy it was after hours at the country club and we were alone, the bar empty and quiet, just the two of us and the echo of our desperate breathing. Ford would have one hand wrapped around my ponytail, tugging firmly, sending little shocks of pleasure across my scalp.

His other hand would dip under my waistband, straight down the front of my panties, stroking me. I traced the tip of the vibrator up and down against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, teasing myself until I had goosebumps, imagining it was Ford’s fingers.

Then he’d slip his fingers inside my underwear, discovering my wet, swollen lips.

“You bad girl,” he’d say. “You’re already wet for me.”

I pushed my underwear down and drew the vibrator slowly up my opening, letting it just barely rest against my clit, pretending it was Ford’s thumb. Shivering, I slipped a finger inside my pussy, then two, my hips undulating as I imagined I was grinding against Ford’s fingers.

In my bed, I let out a moan, stopping to adjust my position so I was facedown with the vibrator inside me. As I rode the gently pulsing silicone, I imagined us against the wall again, Ford still kissing me as my hands went for the zipper of his jeans. I could be bold in my fantasy, tugging his briefs down and taking his length in my hand. Giving it a squeeze.

Then I’d drop to my knees in front of him, wrapping my mouth around him and sucking softly, just enough to drive him crazy, then harder, until I tasted that first salty drop of precum.

“I have to fuck you,” he’d say, desperate. “I need you. Please.” And I’d nod.

As I squeezed my legs tighter around my vibrator, I imagined standing up, turning around, and spreading my legs. Ford would come up behind me to tear my underwear off and slip his thick cock inside, sheathing himself in me, filling me all the way up.

“How does this big cock feel inside that tight little pussy?” he’d ask.

“So good,” I whispered, clicking the vibrator speed up another notch. “Fuck yes, Ford.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes, daydreaming about getting fucked, now with my palms pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows at the club, my breath fogging the glass as Ford’s grip tightened on my hips, his groans echoing in my ear as we found our rhythm. Me, thrusting my ass back, him, pumping into me harder. Faster. Deeper. I turned my toy up to max speed.

Facedown in my bed, I felt the waves of pleasure building up inside me, my orgasm rushing closer. I was right at the edge, my clit hot and swollen, my moans pitching higher. Yes . Spreading my legs as wide as I could, I let myself go, gasping Ford’s name as I came in a hard rush, my whole body shuddering against the sheets, my vibrator wringing every last burst of pleasure from my body even as the battery finally gave out.

Spent and panting, I rolled over, staring up at the ceiling.

I was playing a very dangerous game indeed.