20. Emzee
EMZEE
Everest, the world-renowned French restaurant in the Chicago Stock Exchange, had one of the most beautiful views in the city.
We were treated like royalty there, which I suppose wasn’t too far from reality; the Malones were revered by locals in the know.
The fact that Ford had managed to secure us a table on such short notice proved exactly how well-respected his family was.
Chicago glittered below us as we dined on a menu of flawless dishes that were an instant aphrodisiac for a foodie like me: perfectly seared sea scallops, fresh Maine lobster with smoked bacon and maize bisque, Caspian Sea caviar, carnaroli risotto with forest mushrooms. Each plate came with its own pairing of wine, so by the time our dessert of decadent caramel tarte tatin came around, I was feeling warm and relaxed and happy.
Ford had gone all out. Beyond the meal, his undivided attention was focused on me the entire time.
We barely talked about our fake engagement, or the increasingly stressful upcoming wedding—instead, it was like old times.
He had me get him up to speed on See Yourself, and I spent some time describing the classes I’d taught earlier that day.
Then he filled me in on his fundraising ideas and offered to pass around some of my students’ resumes at the Malone Real Estate Holdings office, since his company regularly hired photographers to shoot new property listings.
We discussed Tori and Brooklyn and my upcoming position as Auntie Em and gushed about how much we both still loved our hometown of Chicago, all while perched above its sparkling beauty, enjoying some of the best food the city had to offer.
It was magical.
We stayed at the restaurant until closing, and then, instead of taking a car back to my apartment, Ford suggested we walk the mile and a half since the weather was so mild.
Even though I had no intention of letting the date end when we got to my front door, I was enjoying our night out together and happy to walk off some of my fullness.
By the time we reached my block, most of the tipsy feeling from the wine had faded.
I was clearheaded, and as resolute as ever about my decision to invite Ford upstairs.
Even still, as we walked up the pathway to my building’s entry doors, I was buzzing from the inside with anticipation.
My hands were shaking a little, but I smoothed them down the front of my dress to hide my trembling.
I was wearing a simple black sheath that clung to my curves, and had opted for a pair of sequined black designer flats for our date, which meant the top of my head barely reached Ford’s biceps as we walked side by side.
Still, I was glad I hadn’t gone for the stilettos I’d been debating, or our walk home would have been a lot less fun.
“Come up,” I told Ford when we got inside the lobby.
There was a question in his eyes, but he didn’t verbalize it. My request wasn’t that unusual—we’d gone out to plenty of dinners that were followed by drinks at my place—though the late hour was a bit out of the ordinary, as were the distinctly date-like vibes of the evening.
We were both silent as we rode the elevator up to my loft, and the whole car seemed to crackle with tension, though I couldn’t tell if it was mutual or just me imagining things.
The second we stepped into my loft, Munchkin greeted Ford by running around him in circles, panting excitedly. It seemed that we were in agreement about Ford staying the night.
I just wished I knew how to proceed.
Ford sat on the bench in the kitchen area, leaning down to scratch Munchkin as I poured us two glasses of water.
“I need to take him out, actually,” I said, nodding at my dog. “You tired from our walk over here, or are you up for another lap around the block?”
“I’m not tired at all,” he said. Maybe he was secretly as keyed up as I was.
We headed back out, walking in silence. I felt it again, that tension between us. Like a taut wire, just waiting to snap. I had to quit stalling. It was now or never.
Time to make my move.
“So. The real stuff and the fake stuff you talked about,” I began. “What was tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “When you offered to help with the charity, and the funding, or when you mentioned finding jobs for the women…was any of that real for you? Or did you just get carried away with the fantasy of being the perfect fake fiancé? And the dinner date—was that real?”
Ford stopped, turning to face me.
“It was real, Em,” he said. “Everything tonight was real. And my feelings about the charity, too—about the photos you described Galina shooting—all of it. I really was moved by the whole thing and I’m glad to be a part of it in any way I can. Now and always.”
As he was speaking, Munchkin, who had already finished his business, was leaning up against Ford’s leg, getting scritched into full submission.
Okay. Done deal. I was his.
Ford’s words were exactly what I needed to hear. All my hesitations, my nerves, were washed away. He was a good man, the right man. And I trusted him like nobody else.
“How about a proper nightcap?” I said. I wasn’t ready to let him go. Neither was Munchkin, clearly.
“I’d love that,” he said, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew a drink wasn’t the real reason I was inviting him up.
My hands started shaking again as we reached my front door for the second time in less than twenty minutes, but the moment we stepped inside, Ford was on me.
He pinned me against the door, his mouth hot and hard against mine.
I sighed with pleasure, dropping Munchkin’s leash. Vaguely I heard the sound of the dog’s nails tapping across the kitchen floor and disappearing into the plush living room where I was certain that he was settling down in his bed. It was late, so he would likely curl up and go right to sleep.
But I wasn’t tired at all. I’d never felt more alive.
With Ford’s lips against mine, I felt like I was waking up…like my body was waking up.
Ford’s hands were everywhere—in my hair, against my hips, sliding down to grip my ass. He was firm and confident and I loved it. Loved that he knew exactly what he was doing and that I had no doubts about what I was doing. I wanted him so bad I could hardly stand it.
His mouth moved from my lips, down my throat, kissing and nipping as he went, leaving little sparks of pleasure as I gasped. His grip was tight in my hair and it hurt a little, but in the best possible way. I’d never known kissing could be like this.
It wasn’t that I had zero experience, of course, but I knew without a doubt that Ford was different from the other men I’d hooked up with. That this would be a world apart.
It would be better. It would be incredible. We were already so connected.
I knew I’d made the right choice before our clothes had even begun to come off.
Ford and I stumbled down the hallway, kissing even more deeply as we went, his tongue exploring every corner of my mouth as his hands stroked every part of my body through my dress. I was on fire, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me, too.
His cock was straining against his pants, pressing against my belly. I could tell he was huge, and I silently prayed that he would feel good to me, that we would fit together just right.
With complete ease, Ford lifted me up, my arms circling his neck, my legs wrapping around his hips.
His hardness pushed even more firmly against me, and I couldn’t help grinding my hips into him, drunk on the feeling of his cock, so ready for me and so close.
Despite my anxiety, the pleasure I felt being near him, his body against mine, overrode everything else.
“I want you,” I panted into his mouth.
Groaning, Ford carried me, never breaking our kiss, into my bedroom.
It was dark, the only illumination being the moonlight streaming in through my window. It made the whole thing seem romantic and dreamlike, much like the whole evening had been.
Ford tossed me down on the bed as if I weighed nothing. I reached out my arms, wanting him to follow me, but he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. I was suddenly paranoid about my likely state of disarray: my ravaged hair, my streaked eyeliner, my—
“You’re beautiful,” he said, melting all my worries away.
I shivered from the pleasure of his words, the husky sound of his voice.
“So are you,” I said, taking in the familiar, perfect angles of his face, his broad shoulders, his tall, well-built body. Everything I wanted.
He laughed, and then his smile turned wicked.
“What are you wearing under that dress?” he asked. “Are you wearing good-girl panties, or a bad-girl thong?”
I looked up at him, my heart pounding. “Why don’t you look and find out?”
His grin grew even more wicked.
“I think I will,” he said, climbing up the bed, up my body, until his lips met mine again.
As he did, his hand found my thigh, and he began to push the hem of my dress up my leg, while his mouth moved to my ear, catching my earlobe between his teeth with exactly the right amount of pressure.
I felt his hand moving up, that confident slide of his hot palm. Finally he found what he was looking for, the roughness of his fingers brushing against my most intimate part.
Ford froze. “Are you wearing nothing underneath this dress?” he demanded.
I gave him a grin of my own.
“You naughty, naughty girl,” he said.
He shoved my knees apart, finding my already wet opening with astonishing speed.
Then he stroked my outer lips first, circling with his thumb.
I could feel my pleasure building even before he slipped a finger inside of me, and then another, stretching my body deliciously.
This was how it had been in the back of the car and I responded in the same way, my hips jerking as he began fucking me with his fingers. God, he was good with his hands.
Bright lights started swimming in front of my eyes and I reached for his hand, gently easing his fingers aside. I wasn’t ready to come yet. Not like this.