Chapter 62
Ford
“Thank you for coming,” Corinne proclaims the moment the elevator doors part. “She’s been in her playroom for almost four hours now. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried talking to her, even took her some tea, but couldn’t make her drink it. She’s never been like this after…”
She trails off, but I put the pieces together. She’s saying that the murder of a client has never affected Gen like this before. I would’ve pulled the trigger for her if she would’ve let me.
“I’ll see what I can do.” My hands in my pants pockets, I nod, striding for the glass door of Gen’s office.
When I shut the door behind me, the glass becomes opaque, obscuring Corinne from view entirely, and I move toward the bookshelf behind Gen’s desk.
I hate to admit that I know this office relatively well, better than I should, since I helped comb through the contents of this room, but I chose to stay out of her playroom, leaving that for the other agents.
I wasn’t interested in replacing the few memories I had with Gen in that room with the images of her drawers being rifled through as the forensic team collected evidence.
That’s why I opted to be the one to cart her back to headquarters. Well, that, and I wasn’t ready to let her out of my sight.
According to the FBI file, there’s a powder bathroom on the other side hidden by a twin shelf.
When I pull the chain on the lamp on the shelf at eye-level, the door pops open, and I slip into the dark corridor that’s illuminated by gold sconces.
I shut the door behind me and prowl down the hallway until I reach the end, wrapping my fist around the hardware and accessing Genevieve’s playroom.
Genevieve’s head doesn’t so much as twitch in my direction as I step inside. She’s perched on her couch, still dressed in thigh-high lace-up black boots and a fitted leather bodysuit.
She’s undeniably beautiful like this, oozing decadent eroticism. While I’m not interested in kneeling for her to whip me, I can certainly appreciate why other men would bow at her feet and beg for her cane.
Right now, there’s a cold sadness that radiates from her. She stares straight ahead at the St. Andrew’s cross on the other side of the room, but I’m not entirely positive she’s seeing much of anything.
Her full, red-painted lips are pinched, the lines on her face deep, and my heart aches.
“Gen,” I venture, moving fully into her space.
She’s silent until I sit down on the sofa, wrapping my arms around her. She softens in my grasp, and I kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay to mourn Henry.”
A piece of me wants to ask what she did with his body, but I choose not to. I have to believe she has that handled. She’s clearly cleaned herself up to a certain degree too, since I don’t see any blood on her hands. I decide not to inquire about that either.
“That’s stupid, though, right?” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “He betrayed me. He made me vulnerable and weak. While I don’t regret taking his life, I’m…sad about it.”
“It’s perfectly human to mourn someone you cared for, even if they disappointed and hurt you. We both understand that better than most people.”
She knows I’m referring to our parents, and since she hasn’t mentioned them, I have to assume that they’re still as estranged as I am from mine.
Gen is silent for several minutes, her head on my shoulder. Eventually, she explains, “He sold me out to Percy York, so he could run his own sex ring with me out of the way.”
So, Drake was right. Damn, I hate to admit that it makes sense. But this raises a host of questions, including: Does York know Gen is onto him? What are we going to do with this information? And how do I keep Gen safe since the attorney general clearly hasn’t gotten what he wanted?
I’d expect nothing less from a man like Percy York. Disguising his agenda as cleaning up the city and tasking the agencies that report to him to do his bidding is honestly impressive. Diabolical, but still impressive.
“Are you going to publicly out him for operating a solicitation ring of his own?”
She sighs, untangling herself from my arms and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
“No. I can’t do that if I want to keep my own business running.”
Carefully, keeping all judgment from my voice, I ask, “Is that really something you want? To keep being a Madam?”
Facing me, her expression turns dark and stony, like the wall of an impending storm.
Fuck, I hadn’t wanted her to think I was condemning her; I was merely wondering.
I know she loves the sanctuary of safety she’s created, but she could abandon things now.
She could walk away from sex work, if that’s what she craved.
I simply want to know what wheels turn in that pretty mind of hers.
“Are you going to ask me to give it up?”
I shake my head earnestly. “Not if it’s something you want to do.”
Her features soften, but an umbrageous glimmer of her strength remains as I press on.
“But I will ask something else of you.”
She simply arches an expertly groomed eyebrow, sitting up fully now.
“I’m the only one to fuck you, the sole person you kneel for, your nakedness reserved strictly for my eyes. I want a piece of you that’s only mine.”
After she curled up in my arms next to me in bed two nights ago, I think the two of us have turned a corner, or at least I’m clinging tightly to that hope with both hands.
I’d never ask her to give up her career, but I’m selfish.
If I’m right about her granting me permission to fuck her, I want assurance that I have a part of her that’s solely for me, for us.
Her hardened gaze melts to murky pools as she peers up at me through black lashes. “Alright.”
Shock and desire roll through me as the realization that the one thing I’ve wanted for fourteen years is finally in my grasp. My chest constricts, and I long to permanently fuse our lips together at her admission, but she beats me to it.
She leans forward as dainty fingers slide around the back of my neck, tugging gently on the short strands of hair as she drags my head to hers until our foreheads are pressed together. Five fingers splay across the dip in her waist, clutching her tightly.
“Ford,” she breathes against my lips. “Can you distract me? From Henry, from York, from figuring out what to do next? I trust you and I need to…escape.”
Her words feel like stepping into the sunshine after spending months in the dark.
She’s not simply requesting a distraction, she’s asking me to remind her that she’s safe with me.
She needs me to prove that I’m not a Dom, I’m her Dom, a man who cares for and protects her while giving her what her body craves.
I smirk, my cock hardening in my pants as a plan takes shape in my mind, one that’s going to give her far more than an escape.
I intend to claim her.