“Ford,” I moaned. “Hurry.”
“You want this cock?” he whispered, his voice in my ear.
I nodded, loving the feel of him stretched out on top of me, of being pressed down against the cool surface of the table, my hips braced against the edge.
“Were you paying attention in class? Or were you thinking about my cock? About me fucking you here, at work, where anyone could walk in and see us?”
All I could manage was a breathy moan.
“You’re going to have to be quiet,” he warned me. “Very, very quiet.”
I’d never considered myself an exhibitionist before, but I was starting to realize that I really, really liked it when we had sex in a place where we might get caught.
Even though I’d locked the door, there was always the possibility that someone could walk by and hear us. And it was going to be very, very hard to be quiet with Ford teasing me mercilessly with his cock.
He was right there, brushing up against my entrance but refusing to fill me up the way he knew I desperately wanted him to.
“Tell me you were thinking about me,” Ford demanded.
“I was thinking about you,” I gasped.
He pushed forward, just a little bit, just the head of his cock slipping inside me.
“Come on, Em,” he said. “You can do better than that.”
“Please,” I begged, my voice hoarse. “Please fuck me, Mr. Malone.”
With a groan, Ford sank deep inside me, filling me up, stretching me. My head went back and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. It felt so good. So naughty and dangerous and perfect.
My underwear was still drawn to the side, but Ford gripped the silky fabric in his hand and used it to rub my clit. The sweet, slick pressure was too much and soon I was muffling my cries with my hand.
Ford began fucking me harder, faster, whispering dirty nothings in my ear, clearly doing his best to make good on his promise to make me come in five minutes.
It only took three.
Emzee
Chapter 13
Cocktail parties were probably my least favorite way to spend an evening. I’d have to get my hair done, my nails done, take at least an hour to do my makeup and decide what to wear, and then spend the entire night in what was usually a too-tight dress and too-high heels trying to make small talk with people I didn’t know. Not the most comfortable environment for me.
Honestly, I’d much rather stay at home in my coziest pajamas, watching a movie on the couch with Munchkin and a full glass of wine.
But tonight’s shindig was a work event for Ford. It was one of those “schmooze a bunch of high-dollar investors” types of parties. The kind of thing he loved. And since he’d stepped in wherehewasn’t comfortable—teaching that real estate class for See Yourself, helping mentor my girls—I owed it to him to be the consummate plus one. His help had meant a lot to me, and I was happy to return the favor. And maybe receive an equal reward for myself afterward…
Besides all that, I was his wife. Fake or not, it was my job to be at his side for stuff like this. So I did what I had to do.
Went to the salon to get a fuss-free updo, consisting of a blow-out followed by a sleek ponytail, got my nails done in a nice, respectable neutral beige. I did my makeup, nothing too fancy, and even traded my go-to black liquid liner for a subtler dark brown.
Then I picked a dress: a black Kate Spade sheath with an open triangle in the back. It wasn’t too showy, but it was definitely sexy, with cap sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knee. After some deliberation, I paired it with my Jimmy Choo stilettos that made my short legs look a mile long. Grabbing my trusty Prada clutch, I checked myself out in the mirror.
Hot. Ford would appreciate the outfit, especially my exposed back.
But when it was time to leave for the party, he barely paid attention to me. He didn’t comment once on how I looked, or the effort I’d put into my appearance. And when we arrived at the ritzy art gallery where the event was being held, he beelined over to some short guy in a suit and seemed to forget I was even there.
I mean, I understood. To an extent. It was a work event. He had to put his best professional foot forward, not spend the evening flirting with his wife.
Yet as I stood in a corner, trying to look like I was happy to be there, I couldn’t help wondering why I’d been invited in the first place. Ford certainly didn’t need any help working the room, judging by the looks of it.
