“Dance with me, Em,” he said with a grin, tugging me out of my seat.
I couldn’t resist.
He led me to the dance floor, and I clung to his hand as we wove our way through the crowd. It was hot and steamy with all the people crushed together, dancing and sweating and singing along with the music. I could barely hear myself think, swept up in the hectic verve of it all, and I loved it. As we hit the floor, I let the music take over. I felt free and alive and unself-conscious, anonymous in a way I never would have if we were home in Chicago.
Dancing, it turned out, was therapeutic. I could finally get all my wild, pent-up energy out. I spun and thrashed and swished my hips, trying to work it out of my system. In the dim light, I could see Ford’s eyes glued to me, and it just made me even more wild. In fact, I felt powerful. My husband could watch me all he wanted. Let him eat his heart out.
When the song ended, I was sweating and out of breath. I’d never felt better. I was just about to ask Ford if we could head home when the music slowed to a sultry beat, and he spun me around and circled his arms around my waist. His body was pressed so close to mine that I let out a little moan, and that’s when he started grinding against me from behind. Almost without thinking, I pushed back, sliding my hips side to side, my ass brushing his crotch. It was less like dancing and more like giving him a lap dance standing up. He didn’t seem to mind.
I could feel his cock—hard and throbbing—through the fabric of his pants, and his hands slid down to my hips, holding me in place as he thrusted against the crack of my ass.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered into my ear, his husky voice barely audible above the music.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured.
I circled my hips again, slower this time, loving the way his grip tightened when I did, loving the way he pulled me even closer. And then he started saying the dirtiest things…
“You’re gonna come so hard tonight,” he growled, “there won’t be anything fake about how loud I make you scream.”
I shivered with anticipation, turning in his arms so we were face-to-face.
“Tell me more,” I mouthed, letting him read my lips.
“I’m going to ruin you for whoever you fuck after me,” he went on, his hands sliding up my ribcage, thumbs brushing my tingling nipples through my dress.
I arched against him, wanting so much more.
A riot of emotions tumbled through me. I was upset at the mention of future sex partners, but aroused at the way he was rubbing it in—the fact that he probably alreadyhadruined me for anyone else I might ever sleep with. He wasn’t just good in bed, he was…intuitive. It was like he always knew exactly what I wanted, what felt good to me, what would get me off.
But two could play at that game, I decided. Because if Ford thought he was going to ruin me for all other lovers, then I wanted to ruin him, too. I would make this night—hell, our whole honeymoon—something he could never forget.
Sliding my hands into his front pockets, I looked up at him as I stroked his length with my fingertips, just enough to tease him. When he let out a helpless groan, I spun around and swirled my ass against his cock, grateful that the dance floor was too packed for anyone to see what we were doing.
His hands were tight on my hips again, holding me so firmly that I would probably have bruises tomorrow, but I didn’t care. All of a sudden, I got an idea. A dirty one.
I leaned forward with my hands on my knees, slowly shimmying my way up until my back was pressed to Ford’s chest. What he hadn’t noticed was my hand darting under my dress, between my thighs, lightning quick. Giving me just enough time to slide a finger inside my pussy.
Turning in his arms, I smiled naughtily. Then I brought my wet finger to his lips, pushing it into his mouth.
His eyes widened instantly, and then he was sucking my finger, licking it clean, hungry for more. Later, once we got home, I would give it to him.
There was no way we could go back to being friends once this was over. We would have to go our separate ways, and we might not even speak again. But no matter what, I was going to make sure that Ford’s memories of me would be searingly erotic.
He wanted to ruin me for others? Two could play at that game.
Emzee
Chapter 5
We were barely through the door of our villa before Ford had flung me up against the wall to attack me with kisses. I moaned into his mouth, the feel of his lips—hot and firm and aggressive—making me ache for him. I’d missed this. His hunger, his touch.
How I ever thought I’d be able to resist him indefinitely was beyond me.
I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt while his hands slid under my dress and up my ass, his short nails gently scraping my skin and giving me goosebumps. I felt the cool brush of air against my thong as he shoved his thigh between my legs, pinning me to the wall. Somehow, amidst all the frantic groping, I managed to tug his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.
We were both still damp with sweat from the hot dance floor, and each other.
“Come on,” Ford said, pressing a kiss against the hollow of my throat. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” It would be my second shower of the day. Not that I was complaining.
