Chapter 70
Ford
SIX WEEKS LATER
I glance down at my watch when I hear the chime of the elevator and smile.
Genevieve never disappoints me, and tonight is no exception.
She works a lot, occasionally with strange hours, so when I suggested that we start having dinner together every night at seven, I thought she might protest. She didn’t.
Instead, she’s shown up every night for the last month right on time.
“Hello, Superman,” she greets me, striding into the kitchen with a bright smile on her lips.
Abandoning the meal I’m plating, I meet her halfway, snaking my arm around her lower back and cupping her face as I press my lips to hers. “I’m glad you’re home, doll.”
As I finish garnishing the fish I’ve made, I observe her setting the table, her toned quads flexing as she moves. “Is that a new dress?”
I left before her this morning, so I didn’t see what she was wearing, but I’m thoroughly enjoying the sight of the short ruby-red hemline and miles of porcelain skin that I’m dying to sink my teeth into.
Reaching for one of the plates I have ready, she smiles, the edges dripping with seduction. “Yes, I saw a new client today.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Alastair Kendrick.”
I pull out the chair for her, and as we both settle in at the table, I arch an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure if it’ll work out yet, though. He’s…hesitant to hand over a meaningful secret. He wanted to meet today to discuss the potential.”
“Ah, the director of the CIA. Interesting.”
She smirks. “It helps to be connected. Even if it doesn’t pan out, it’s helpful to know that he’s not going to be someone looking to take me down.”
“That it does.” I chuckle. “Speaking of corrupt politicians running corrupt organizations, the FBI blamed their portion of the raid on your office on York half an hour ago in a press conference.”
Over the last six weeks, the news of Percy York’s suicide has been all anyone can talk about. This latest development is the final thread being tied up in the eyes of the public.
Thanks to the investigation headed by Homeland Security—and a reluctant FBI—York has been pinned for everything, including the murder of Vera Choi, who didn’t commit suicide.
Thanks to Elliott’s digging, it was uncovered that Vera was going to expose her husband’s habit of paying for sex, and York couldn’t have that since Samuel was recruiting clients for him.
“Marcus told me about that,” she says after taking a bite of the buttery white fish. “So long as they continue to leave me alone, we’ll be able to coexist in relative harmony, but I’m still working on digging up some dirt on Aubrey…just in case.”
“That’s probably a good idea. It doesn’t hurt that Elliott is still on your books either now that he’s been promoted to the Attorney General position.”
She huffs a laugh. “Corinne is calling him Henry two point oh. I suppose she’s right, but everyone wins in that arrangement. He’s kept me safe from any ties that could’ve been linked back to me.”
We’ve quickly fallen into a routine. Most mornings, we work out together, and Drake still drops by occasionally to use my equipment, but he’s been busy with his new job with the ATF.
Each night, we have dinner and fall asleep nestled against each other.
Our Sunday afternoons are spent watching movies while Gen devours copious amounts of cookies.
It’s painfully normal, and I’ve enjoyed every second of it.
When we both finish our meals, I settle back into my chair and smirk. “I got you dessert.”
She titters softly. “For the last time, your dick is not the same thing as a slice of cake.”
“You’re right.” My lips twitch. “It’s better.”
Genevieve’s laughter makes my blood fizz, and my chest tighten, the beautiful sound wrapping around each rung of my ribcage like ribbons of joy. Now that she’s out of danger, she’s become freer with her revelry. If that ever changes again, I’ll move mountains to get that back for her.
I wink at her before taking our dishes to the sink. I really did get her dessert—a slice of her favorite strawberry cake—and I’m looking forward to watching her hazel eyes glitter when she takes a bite.
As I rinse the dishes, the scent of cherry blossoms is the only warning I get of her approach as she hugs me from behind, her fingernails scraping over the grooves of my bare abdomen. Her fingertips are cold, making me suck in a breath.
“What if we saved dessert for later,” she murmurs against my back, snaking her hand lower.
“What did you want to do instead?” I ask, humoring her as I shut the dishwasher and turn to face her.
She smirks. “Something…else.”
I chuckle, my amusement slowly disappearing as a small army of sordid thoughts invade my mind while her fingertips trace the outline of my now-hard dick.
“I think I like these sweatpants,” she muses, and I grasp her wrist as begins to play with the drawstring. She grins as I pin her arm behind her back and lift her onto the counter with the other. I’ve let her be in charge for long enough.
She leans back until she rests on her forearms, her lips curling mischievously.
My touch glides up her leg until I’m gripping both of her knees, parting them as wide as her structured dress will allow as I step between them, gathering the hem in my fist and shoving it higher. Leaning over her reclined body, I demand, “Tell me what else you like.”
She sits up, her hand caressing my cheek as she presses her lips to mine like that’ll be a sufficient answer. I kiss her back, my tongue sweeping into her mouth as my hand moves to cup her skull, my fingers laced into her silky hair.
Her own fingers tug at the short strands at the back of my head, her fingernails scratching at my scalp. When her other hand finds my waistband, her breaths coming harder, I pull my lips from hers.
“Try again,” I order, my voice low and domineering. “Good dolls use their words, but that’s not you, is it?”
She frowns, and I smirk, gripping her hair by the scalp and forcefully shaking her head as if she really were a ragdoll. “No, you’re the best doll. Now use that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what you want.”
The swell of her full breasts rises and falls deeply, her pupils blown wide. “I want you. I need you to fuck me.”
With a satisfied grin, I drop to my knees as I yank her to the edge of the counter, making her gasp. Gripping the skimpy fabric of her black lace panties, I drag them down her legs, tossing them over my shoulder as I lean forward.
“You have to earn that,” I declare against her wet pussy.
Canting my head, I close my eyes as I lick a stripe down her center, coating my tongue in a thick layer of her arousal. The taste of her is more decadent than any dessert, headier than any drug.
She moans, squirming on the counter, her heels digging into my shoulders as I continue to feast between her legs.
Curling my arms around each of her thighs, my thumb finds her slick, swollen clit as I continue to stroke her cunt with my tongue.
Kneeling on the floor between her legs, I’m exactly where I should be.
My tongue laps at her clit, and I suck and lick until she’s grinding her pelvis against my face, writhing on the countertop with needy whimpers.
“Please…shit, I’m—can I…” she trails off, her body coiled tightly. “Fuck.”
“Ask for it, Gen,” I command against her hot little cunt. We both know what I want and that’s her submission.
“May I come…please, Sir?”
Goddamn. I nearly come in my pants.
“If you want me, you need to crawl to the bedroom, ass in the air,” I tell her, climbing to my feet and scooping her into my arms before setting her on the ground.
“Ford,” she breathes my name like it’s her form of oxygen as I tug on the bow at her waist and pull the dress over her head.
The moment my fingers find the clasp of her bra, she cups my jaw, pulling my face to hers as her mouth crashes against mine.
Her tongue slips between my lips, desperate and hungry.
Fingers threading into my hair, she tugs and claws at my scalp.
I toss her bra across the room, my hands digging into the flesh of her hips.
Gen pants as I untangle our mouths, my lips still hovering over hers. Keeping the urgency from my voice, I declare firmly, “I’m making you work for it tonight.”
She smirks. Her descent is slow as her tongue maps my torso, dipping into each groove and gliding over the planes. Once her knees are on the floor, she reaches for my waistband, but I catch her wrist.
When I simply shake my head, she giggles lightly before dropping to her hands. She begins to crawl, rounding the corner, where she dips her hips a bit and glances back at me.
“Ah, ah,” I admonish her, grinning as I slap her ass. “Stick your ass in the air. Higher…yeah, like that.”
Her hips swivel as she slinks toward the bedroom, her milky skin touched by the warm light of the sconces. Finally living the life we both used to dream of together, I follow my wife down the hallway.