by Stella Gray
I gripped the marble countertop, my body humming with anticipation as he came up behind me. He started tracing my entrance with the tip of his cock and I pushed my ass back to help guide him inside, but once again he stopped me, taking full control.
“You want this big fucking cock?” he asked, smacking it against my ass.
“Yes,” I moaned, a rush of adrenaline coursing through me. God yes I did.
“What do you want?” he asked. “Say the words.”
“I want your cock,” I begged, my voice cracking. “I want your big fucking cock.”
His voice was hot in my ear as he grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back, bringing me to the sweet intersection of pleasure and pain. “You want me to fuck you like this? From behind? While you watch in the mirror?”
“Yes,” I moaned. “I want to watch. I want to watch you fuck me.”
With a low groan, he thrusted hard inside me, both of us moaning at the deep connection. He released my hair so I could fulfill my pledge to watch our reflection, his hands sliding down to grip my hips tightly. For a moment we just stayed there like that, our eyes locked in the mirror, Ford’s cock buried in me, my hands gripping the counter, my breasts swaying heavily, my pussy throbbing.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”
Then he began to move.
He slowly pulled out, giving my ass a hard, stinging slap. Then, with a growl, he slammed back inside, taking my breath away. Somehow, he was able to fill me up even more. His thrusts were fast, frantic, pushing me against the edge of the vanity. It felt animalistic and out of control and absolutely hot.
“Look at those tits bounce,” Ford said, pounding rhythmically. “You like that?”
“I love it,” I groaned.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he gasped, fucking me even faster and harder, and I realized that my dirty talk was just as intoxicating to him as his wicked words were to me. I saw my chance to push him over the edge, so I did it. I took control, arching my back so he could pump even deeper, rocking my hips in time to meet every thrust of his cock.
I wanted to make sure he never forgot this night. I started moaning louder, letting loose everything I felt inside, giving voice to all the pleasure building up. I let it all out, glad we had an entire house to ourselves to fill with the sounds of our fucking. I wanted him to know what he was doing to me, wanted him to feel it from his head to his toes to his fucking balls.
“Fuck me, Ford,” I moaned. “Fuck my tight little pussy. Make me come on your cock.”
“Jesus, Em,” he groaned, breathing so fast and heavy that I was sure he had worked up a sweat all over again.
“Yes, Ford, yes,” I yelled, pitching my voice high like a porn star. I loved what I was doing to him, making him lose himself, his eyes closed as he let out a breathless stream of curses.
It was clear that the sex we’d had last night—decent, but so “bare minimum” as to be forgettable—wasn’t worth it. Especially when I was reminded of what I was missing. I wouldn’t resort to it again. Not a chance.
This was what I wanted. Hot, dirty, passionate sex. No inhibitions, no shame. The kind of sex that would be seared into Ford’s memory and my own.
The sound of sex filled the bathroom, the chorus of our grunts and moans along with Ford’s hips hitting the back of my legs with solid, hot slaps. I could feel every inch of him inside of me, could feel another climax building with every thrust.
Still gripping my hip with one hand, Ford brought the other one down to my clit. As he speared into me from behind, he squeezed my clit, the dual sensation of his cock and his hand pushing me over the edge.
“I’m coming,” I said, my gaze still glued to our reflection. “Watch me come, Ford.”
But it was Ford who came first, gasping as he spilled into me, our eyes locked in the mirror. He was still coming when my own orgasm hit, my body clenching tight around his cock as I cried out my pleasure. When I finally stopped shaking, I realized that he was still hard and buried deep inside me. I’d expected him to pull out and collapse in a heap, but instead, he withdrew from my body and pulled me into the bedroom.
“How are you still hard?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.
“Magic,” he said with a laugh. “You want to go again?”
“Oh my God. Seriously?” My knees were weak, but when he pushed me down on the bed, I knew I wanted another round. “I want to be on top.”
His eyebrows rose with surprise, but his eyes went even darker with desire.
“Whatever my wife wants,” he said.
I tried to ignore the thrill I got from being referred to as his wife, and instead gave him a push so that he fell back onto the bed. I watched his face as I climbed onto him, his gaze going from my face to my breasts and then lower. He licked his lips, and I wanted to do the same. Seeing Ford stretched out on the bed in all his naked glory made me hot. It seemed impossible that I would still want more after the two explosive orgasms he’d already given me, but as I guided him back inside me, I realized that when it came to Ford Malone, I might be insatiable.
The feeling seemed mutual.
I straddled Ford, his cock sliding into me deliciously, his hands coming up to rest on my hips. I half expected him to take charge again, but he let me set the pace. I spread my legs wide, my knees on either side of his hips. Then I started rocking. His eyes were dark with lust, and I knew I was giving him a perfect view of his favorite parts of my body.
“Mmm,” I moaned, taking my sweet time to slowly pick up speed.
I fucked him hard but slow, reminding him wordlessly that I had control in this—even though it often felt like I didn’t have control over anything else in my life. As I sank lower onto him, I realized I wanted to make him come. Wanted him to shatter into a million pieces.
“Ford,” I said breathily. “You feel so good.”
Arching my back, I thrust my breasts forward and tilted my head back. I wanted Ford to watch my tits bounce as I fucked him.
I began to move faster and faster. As I did, I used my inner muscles to squeeze Ford tightly. He let out a choked moan, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples. I knew he wanted me to come first, but I wasn’t going to allow that. He needed to know that right now, I was the one in charge.
And I was going to give him an orgasm he’d never forget.
“Em,” he choked out. I could tell that he was getting close, but didn’t want to let go.
Too bad I wasn’t giving him a choice.
I leaned into his hands, his fingers still squeezing my nipples as I began to raise and lower myself on his cock, taking him deeper each time. I could feel my own orgasm racing toward me and my fingers slipped down to my wet, slippery clit.
“You’re so deep,” I moaned. “So deep in my pussy.”
His breaths were getting more shallow and I knew he was doing everything he could to hold back.
“I want to feel you come,” I purred, egging him on. “I want you to come so hard.”
I was moving faster and faster, rubbing my clit while I squeezed my inner muscles around Ford’s cock, all the friction and heat between us reaching the point of no return.
“Fuck!” he gasped, losing all control, grabbing my hips and pulling me down on his cock as he thrust up inside me in hot, shuddering spurts. “Emzee,” he was moaning, over and over.
It was all I needed to send me over the edge. My orgasm began to crest, and I shut my eyes and whispered Ford’s name, bracing myself against his shoulders as the pleasure spread through me in rippling waves, my whole body shaking with the intensity of it. It felt endless.
Afterward I lay there, head against Ford’s chest. As I listened to his pounding heartbeat, I knew without a doubt that he would never, ever forget this night.
Emzee
Chapter 6
I was home in Chicago again, and thank God.
The romantic environment of St. Barts—and the fact that Ford and I had fuck
ed on nearly every surface in the villa—had made it impossible to keep my feelings at bay for the rest of our trip. But despite the fantasy, I’d known we couldn’t stay in our little bubble forever. Because no matter how hot the sex had been, no matter how romantic the honeymoon, none of that changed the reality of our situation.
In less than a year, I’d have to divorce Ford and walk away for good.
Which meant that I had to go back to protecting my heart.
Unfortunately, my head was still swimming with indelible memories of the two of us in paradise. We’d picnicked on the beach every day, marveling at the weather and the free-roaming iguanas. Most afternoons we windsurfed, swam, or went snorkeling, genuinely enjoying each other’s company all the while. And Ford had made my foodie dreams come true by taking me to the island’s best restaurants for dinner each night. Our concierge Phillipe had proven to be an invaluable resource for recommendations of both Michelin-worthy places offering leisurely, lavish, multi-course meals as well as the lesser known beachside spots where you could get insanely good ceviche, spicy Creole food, fresh mahi-mahi en brochette, and rum punch.
Sigh.
Now that we were back, things would return to normal. We’d settle into a routine. I had my job and Ford had his, so our days would be busy and spent mostly apart. The only time we’d really see each other would be at night, and though I figured neither of us would be avoiding sex, at least there wouldn’t be much time for romancing in between. Which I told myself was a good thing. I had to keep my head on straight.
If the next year of our marriage was basically just a lot of hot sex without too much emotion, maybe I could survive this whole thing with most of my heart intact.
However, before we could begin our new life, there was one big task that we needed to undertake.
We had to officially move in together.
Obviously, Ford’s apartment made more sense for us, being bigger and newer and more practical compared to my loft’s mostly open floor plan and complete lack of spare rooms. But for the past few months we’d held off, telling anyone who asked that I was a little old-fashioned about cohabitating and wanted to wait until after we tied the knot to move in. Since Claudia had lived with him before, it wasn’t an excuse Ford could have used, but everyone seemed to accept that he’d agreed in order to please me.
I was grateful for the distraction that the move gave me. Even though I was keeping my loft as a studio space for work (which was a legitimate need), Munchkin and I still had to make ourselves at home at Ford’s to really sell the charade of our marriage. But knowing I’d be moving right back in eleven months hence, I left most of my furniture at the loft. All I really needed were my clothes, toiletries, and a few other sundry items.
And then moving day was upon us. There was no turning back.
Following the movers into Ford’s apartment, I couldn’t help frowning. I’d been over plenty of times, so the uber masculine look of the place—clashing hideously with Claudia’s ultra-girly touches—was no surprise to me. And given the temporary nature of the move, I knew I shouldn’t voice my opinions about the furnishings and design. It wasn’t my permanent home, after all, so there was no point in making a big deal about the décor.
But I couldn’t help myself.
I’d always been loud and clear about my feelings regarding Ford’s bachelor pad. Both before and after Claudia’s hideous “styling” of the place, which had given me the overall impression that a Barbie Dreamhouse and a Ralph Lauren catalog had conspired to simultaneously explode all over Ford’s leather-and-brushed steel wet dream. It was a nightmare.
My very un-secret opinion of the place was partly why we always hung out at my loft.
As I looked around, it was obvious that Claudia’s touch was still all over the place. From the cloying, heavy scent of her designer candles on the entryway table, to the metallic gold throw pillows on the armchair, to the flowery curtains and huge framed print in the bathroom that said, in a bright pink script font, “Hello, gorgeous!”
It had to go.
I had just finished unpacking my clothes into the dresser and walk-in closet Ford had provided for my exclusive use when I heard the front door open. Munchkin was off like a shot, panting as he scrambled to greet Ford. I was excited to see my new husband, too…because I was more than ready to discuss what would need to change if I was going to live here.
“Em?” Ford called out from down the hall.
“I’m in your room!” I called back.
“Our room,” he corrected, stepping through the doorway in his crisp work suit with my slobbery dog in his arms. “You all unpacked?”
God, could that man make me melt in an instant. That suit, that jawline, the obvious affection for my furbaby…the way he freaking smelled.
“Almost,” I said, recovering my senses. “Just a few more boxes.”
“Great,” he said, setting down Munchkin. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about decorating,” I said.
Ford looked around, clearly puzzled.
“Decorating what?” he asked. “The place is already decorated.”
“By you,” I said. “And Claudia.”
He looked at me blankly. “Are you serious? Claudia’s long gone. You know that.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “Besides, no girl ever moved into a new place without adding her touch. It would be totally obvious that this was an act if someone came over and saw that nothing had changed since your ex-girlfriend left.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Fine. What were you thinking?”
I had a whole list. We started in the living room.
“New paint in here,” I said, gesturing to the dark walls. “Don’t get me wrong, I obviously love black, but I prefer lighter colored walls. It helps a space feel more airy and open.”
“It’s called a man cave for a reason,” Ford shot back. “Besides, it’s not black. It’s navy. Makes it cozy in here.”
“A different shade of blue then, maybe cobalt?” I saw him visibly recoil. “Fine, what about slate blue? That’s cozy.”
“Navy matches the sofa,” he pointed out. “It’s a good contrast with the cognac leather.”
Was he planning to counter my every suggestion? “New sofa then,” I snapped.
Ford shook his head.
“Nu-uh,” he said. “I love this thing. It’s comfortable as hell and I’ve had it since college, so it’s perfectly molded to my body. The couch stays.”
Record scratch.
“You’re telling me you’ve had this since college?” I asked.
“Yep,” Ford said, looking proud. “Just look at the patina that’s built up over the years. You can’t buy that.”
I was horrified. Now all I’d be able think of when I looked at the couch was how many girls a frisky, younger Ford had fooled around with on that leather. Patina my ass. The last thing I wanted to do was sit on a surface where Ford had messed around with a bunch of sorority girls. Not to mention whatever he’d done on it with Claudia.
“We have to change something,” I said, feeling like this was going nowhere.
“No one hangs out in the living room anyway,” Ford said. “The den and the bedroom are where we’ll be spending most of our time.”
I hated the den. Mainly because of one thing.
“If you expect me to hang out in the den, you’ll need to get rid of the painting,” I said, crossing my arms. “That thing is god-awful.”
It was a huge oil on canvas done in an abstract style, depicting a naked woman kneeling in front of a fully clothed man. I could tell that it was vintage, and it had a nice gold frame, but I hated it. Not only did it seem kind of creepy and voyeuristic—not in a good way—but it practically took up the entire wall. There was no escaping it.
“That painting is art!” Ford said. “It’s an original Le Comte, and it cost me a fortune. It stays.”
He plopped down on the couch with his arms behin
d his head and I could tell there was no negotiating. For every suggestion I made, for every single room in the house, Ford had some dumb reason why we couldn’t change anything. By the time the conversation was over, I’d gotten him to throw out the cutesy print hanging in the bathroom and agree to let me pick out a new bath mat and shower curtain, but that was it. I felt exhausted and demoralized.
I retreated into the bedroom to finish unpacking, but for a moment I just stared at the boxes. Should I even bother? Would Ford actually let me put my own books and photos on his shelves in the living room, or would he have some excuse for why they couldn’t go there?
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I pulled Munchkin onto my lap and rested my chin on the top of his blocky little head. I was starting to realize that there was no hope for me and Ford at all. Even if his parents hadn’t given our marriage a deadline, it was obvious that Ford never had any intention of moving forward with me. He wasn’t even close to being ready.
He just wanted everything to stay the same.
That was the whole reason he had decided to embark on this charade with me in the first place—because he knew that with me, he wouldn’t have to make any changes in his life. He knew I would go along with whatever he wanted, no matter what. It was the reason he’d always wanted our friendship to stay the same.
I hated that I was essentially proving him right.
Ford was the kind of guy who was completely comfortable with what he had, and just wanted to maintain status quo. He wanted his couch to stay the same, the color of his walls, the painting in his den. Everything exactly the same, including our dynamic. And he wanted a wife who would let him live his life exactly the way he always had. The way he wanted it.
It was going to be a long year.
Emzee
Chapter 7
