Chapter 25
Ford
There’s a stony glint in Genevieve’s eyes. I’ve lost her.
I want to strangle myself for it. What was I thinking, pushing her that hard? Jackson’s riding my ass, but I could’ve had more finesse. Shit, I do have more finesse. I should’ve fucking used it.
Part of me wants to tell her everything and just ask for the client list and secrets. But I know better than to think she’d hand those things over to me willingly. Not to mention, I’d probably find myself on the wrong end of Jackson’s barrel if I did that. Or Genevieve’s.
I’m left with one choice: complete the undercover op. I’m going to need to solidify a plan of my own and ensure that it’s a damn good one.
“Please don’t go,” I implore, gently catching her wrist to stop her. To my surprise, she doesn’t yank her arm from my grasp, her eyes studying mine in a way that makes me wonder what she sees.
It’s a sad fact that this was one of the most pleasant evenings I’ve had in quite a while—probably since my grandfather passed. The conversation was easy and seamless, and her beautiful face made each time I met her eye a special treat.
She smiles, but it’s strained at the corners, as if she’s losing her patience with me. “I’ll ensure that you aren’t charged for the time we didn’t spend together.”
I snort. “It’s not about the money, Gen. I can afford for you to move in and live with me for years.”
When she pulls her wrist from my grip, I don’t fight it.
Her lips purse as she dips her chin in understanding, but how could she possibly comprehend this situation?
I have more money than one man could spend in twelve lifetimes.
I don’t give a fuck about how much it’s going to cost to have her join me for an evening.
She turns then, stalking toward the door that leads back downstairs as alarms ring in my mind.
I have to keep her here, for a couple of reasons: Drake may require more time to finish his task, and I need to get back into her good graces.
I wasn’t lying when I told her that I wanted her. I’m not ready for this night to end.
Which is why I find myself hastily catching her in two long strides. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention, I just… I want to know you.”
The full magnitude of that truth didn’t strike me until now, but it nails me in the chest like shrapnel, slicing into a corner of my heart, and I can feel the wound oozing blood.
Every sliver of honesty she fed me tonight wasn’t enough. I want to be privileged with everything there is to know about her. I want more than she’s willing to give.
Her black-coated lashes flutter delicately, and I can tell she’s weighing her options. She’s, of course, free to leave whenever she wishes—in spite of the fact that I’m desperate to tie her to any available surface.
“Stay.” The murmured word is an order, yet a plea.
She’s slipping through my fingers. I want what I can’t have.
I’m desperate to be the guy she likes to spend her free time with, the one she wants to play darts and eat dessert for dinner with.
The man who’s not the FBI agent planning to snap metal cuffs around her dainty wrists and take her to Quantico.
But that’s not reality. I may never get another chance with her again, not after I’ve spooked her, so I’m not going to waste a single moment until she walks out that door.
When she lifts her hazel gaze to mine, the brown is stark against the green hue of her irises in the glow of the twinkle lights. I don’t fully track my movements until she sucks in a sharp breath the second my hand snakes around her lower back as I tuck her body against mine.
“Dance with me.”
“What?” she protests and attempts to pull away from me again. “I’m not going to dance with you. That’s…ridiculous.”
“Doing the things you want to do is never ridiculous.”
Technically, dancing with her is a ploy to get her to stay, and the first thing that popped into my mind when 3 Doors Down began to croon through the speakers with their hit, “Here Without You.”
The song took me straight back to my bunk in Afghanistan, and suddenly, all I wanted was to hold her, even if it’s only for four minutes.
I never listen to this song anymore, blocking it from every playlist, so I don’t know how it snuck onto this one, but now that it’s streaming through the speakers, I have no intention of turning it off.
“Just stay with me a little longer.” I’m not above begging for what I want. For the first time in my life, I’m grateful my grandfather was so adamant that his grandson “would know how to be a gentleman.” Nevertheless, I don’t think a full summer of dance lessons was fucking necessary.
To my surprise, Genevieve doesn’t move away.
She relents, relaxing slightly in my hold.
I press her to my chest, memorizing the way her body fits against mine.
She even wraps her arms around me in return, making my heart pound.
The more we sweep around the rooftop, surely looking like ceramic snow globe figurines, the less stiff she becomes.
“I hate this song,” she admits after several moments. “I’ve hated this song since 2002.”
My body flashes hot, and I swallow the lump in my throat as I tighten my hold on her, refusing to let her go.
“I don’t like it either,” I murmur.
Her fingernails curl into my skin through the thin fabric of my dress shirt. She smells so damn good, like Sakura, the flavor of cherry blossoms, with a hint of sugar.
“What are you doing to me, Genevieve?” I whisper, my hand sliding up the heated column of her neck and disappearing into her short blonde hair at the back of her head.
“The same thing you’re doing to me,” she echoes, craning her neck to look up at me.
The strands of her hair glide through my fingers like liquid silk as my other palm glides over her smooth cheek. It’s only now, as we regard each other, that I register that our feet have stopped moving.
With the raw, innate need to claim another piece of her for myself rushing through me, I lean down, unable to resist for another second.
As soon as I press my mouth to hers, her pillowy-soft lips immediately light my soul on fire. She melts in my arms, allowing me to lead, even as her mouth moves with mine like two ballerinas sailing across a stage with fluid grace.
I never thought I’d feel something like this again, but as I kiss Gen, I realize I was wrong about my heart having died fourteen years ago. Right now…it’s more alive than ever.
This powerful woman yields to me; her control slipping by the second, especially when she opens for me, allowing my tongue to slip inside, deepening the kiss. If I thought she smelled good, she tastes even better.
Electricity swarms us, static filling the air as we lose ourselves in each other.
My grip on her hair tightens on instinct, desire seizing command of my movements.
With our bodies melded together like a single piece of clay, she moans into my mouth, and the sound has my cock immediately lengthening behind my slacks.
Her fingers find their way into my hair, her breasts pressed to my chest, and then we’re completely unleashed, charging headfirst into the flames of desire that have been flickering for months.
My palm finds the brick wall before her head can slam against it, briefly cushioning her skull before finding her waist.
Our mouths stay fused together like white-hot electrical wires as we devour each other, her hands exploring, clawing, scraping.
Abandoning her mouth, my lips find her throat, and she arches her back, sucking in a sharp breath. Her fingers tug on the short strands of my hair, her other hand clutching my bicep tightly as she wriggles, wedging my leg between hers.
“Ford,” she whimpers. My cock throbs, harder than the wall behind her, aching for her touch.
The skirt of her structured dress inches higher as she begins to writhe against my thigh, and I groan. Her lips find the soft skin of my neck, gently sucking and kissing.
“Take what you need, doll,” I murmur against the shell of her ear.
She mewls softly, before throwing herself into my arms as she wraps her legs around my hips. I catch her effortlessly, her skirt now fully bunched around her waist, and I imagine what it’d be like to take her like this.
Moving feverishly, she grates against my crotch with the same urgency that I feel, and I pray I’ll be able to hold out before I come in my pants. Although, I’m nothing if not controlled, and there’s no way I’ll coming anywhere but inside her.
“Are those pretty lace panties of yours wet from grinding against me?” The pitch of my voice is husky and low.
We move together with ease, my mouth absorbing her little sounds. Too soon, her body is quivering as she pants heavily, one of her heels clattering to the concrete as she tightens her legs around me.
The wetness between her legs becomes wholly apparent as it seeps through my pant leg; the threat of coming, untouched, into my boxer-briefs is increasing as the damp patch grows.
“You’re such a messy doll.”
She moans, her eyes finding mine as she works herself harder against my leg. Her pupils seem to dilate further until the hazel hue of her irises is nearly obsolete. I smirk.
I’m not sure what prompted me to degrade her a little, but the words fell from my mouth without much consideration, perhaps because I knew on some innate level that she’d like it, that it’d be the push she needed to find rapture.
She cries out my name then, her eyes falling closed. Her body tenses, then shudders, as pleasure rolls through her like a breathtaking tidal wave. “That’s right, you’re coming for me.”
I hold her through it, not letting her body slip an inch as she comes down from her high.
I’m smiling as her eyelids flutter open.
“Oh, my God,” she breathes finally, a little giggle escaping her.
“You look exquisite when you come,” I whisper against her lips.