Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Neely
We stay up until two in the morning. Ford finally gets a chance to feed me, and we pepper each other with curious questions as Christmas Eve slides into Christmas Day.
“What happens if you go on vacation?” I ask him as he makes me a grilled cheese sandwich in the kitchen that is probably twice as old as I am.
“The weather service would find a temporary replacement.”
“Would? Have you ever taken a holiday?”
He shrugs. “No point.”
“We’re going to change that.”
“Are we?”
I give him a wicked smile. “Think of the teeny tiny bikini I might wear on the Mexican Riviera.”
“On a private beach? Because I don’t want anyone else to see that,” he growls.
“But what if I want people to see the wolfish way Daddy looks at me?”
He grunts. “If you want it. . .”
But I’ll save the most scandalous bathing suits for a private swim.
“Do you like your job?” he asks me after I feed him the last bite of my sandwich.
“I do. It’s. . . the residents are a lot of fun. And I was happy I didn’t have to leave town to find work. I thought about it, though.”
He frowns. “Where would you have gone?”
It's my turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t get far in that thinking. It was more about if the grass might be greener.” I chew on the corner of my lip. “Or if it might be easier to not work literally next door to where you were locked up, all brooding and hot and off-limits.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “If you keep working there, it’s a pretty short commute from here—although I’ll need to walk you there and come get you in bad weather.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, whatever, on that point.”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you passed out.”
“Maybe it was all an elaborate ruse to get in your bed,” I say, laughing as he hauls me into his lap and lazily spanks my ass three times.
I’m the first one to wake up in the morning. Ford is sprawled out on his back, an arm thrown over his face, and he’s breathing deeply, evenly.
It’s my first chance to really look at him without him growling or distracting me with orgasms. Not that I’m complaining.
But this is a wonderful Christmas gift. I rake my gaze over his heavy torso, seeing a few scars here and there I’d never noticed before.
Careful not to wake him, I gently fold the blankets back, revealing his heavy cock lying against his thigh.
“Having fun?”
I jerk my hand back just before touching him. “You’re awake.”
“I’m a light sleeper.” His voice is rough and warm.
“Good to know.” I scramble up his body and press a kiss on his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”
“It sure is.” He carries me into the bathroom, cranks the shower on, and then washes my hair and body. Once I’m squeaky clean, he lets me play with his cock as he gently rubs me to a quick and very satisfying morning orgasm.
“Can you show me how you. . .”
His eyes light up. “You want to watch me jerk off?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He’s rough with himself, more than I thought, and efficient. His eyes flutter shut as his cock grows, then open again, locking on my face as he mutters my name and comes in a long, arcing spurt.
“You think of me?”
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, baby.”
“Any specifics you want to share? You know, for inspiration. . .”
“You’re the fucking inspiration.” He licks his lips as he rinses off, then kisses me roughly, backing me up against the tile wall. “You want to know?”
“Always.”
“I think of you as Daddy’s little girl.” His eyes glitter as he rubs his thumb at the corner of my mouth.
Then he pushes against my lips, and I open for him, pulling the digit in and against my mouth.
“You did that last night. In your sleep. That’s what I remembered just now.
It’s better than any fantasy I’d had in the past.”
“That’s so hot.” I kiss the end of his thumb, then give him what I hope is a seductive look. “Speaking of so hot. How do I get you into a Santa suit this morning for a visit over to the retirement home?”
He laughs. “I’ve already said yes.”
“Just trying to nail down the specifics,” I say brightly as he turns off the shower.
He gets out and grabs two towels, wrapping one around me before using his to dry off his hair and beard.
Which reminds me. . . I tug on the dark brown curls closely cropped to his jaw. “We’ll need to do something about this. It’s shorter than I remember.”
“Santa felt like a trim.”
“I have some white hair dye at home. It’s a temporary spray.”
He laughs out loud. “Oh, sweetheart. No.”
“Ford, please—”
“You wanted Santa, Neely. I can play Santa. But a young Santa. Nobody wants jovial bullshit from me, anyway.”
“Do you have a suit?” I’m trying to remember if my parents dressed him up when he played Santa for us.
“I have a hat and a red Henley. Add some black suspenders and red work pants, and it’s a good approximation.”
“That’s really hot.” I tug my towel around me to keep warm and gesture out of the bathroom. “What a perfect way to start Christmas morning. Yes, let’s get you into that.”
He wraps his towel around his hips and steps into the main room—and promptly stops.
I push him from behind.
He doesn’t move.
“Ford.”
“Neely.” He clears his throat. “Your parents are here.”