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Like months.
“I don’t think I’m going to let you leave my bed once you step foot in my room.”
“Mmm,” she moaned. “How do you plan to spend that time?”
Her voice was as good as her silky, wet tongue licking down the center of my shaft.
“I’m going to start with rope, making sure you can’t move.”
“Tell me more …”
“Or handcuffs,” I clarified. “Whichever I end up bringing with me, but I want you chained to the bed, your legs spread wide open.” I adjusted my dick as it hardened in my suit pants. “I want you available for my mouth, my hands, my cock—whichever one I want to use.”
“Jenner …”
“Are you wet?”
“Oh God, yes.”
I couldn’t control the need erupting inside me, the urge, the craving coming out through my voice. “How fucking wet?” When she went to answer, I cut her off and said, “I want you to put your hand down your pants and dip into your pussy and tell me just how wet you really are.”
There was movement, like she was balancing the phone with her shoulder to free up her hands. Her breathing increased and hitched. “It’s on my inner thighs.”
“Fuck,” I hissed.
“And it’s dripping along my pussy. My finger is sliding down my slit.”
I rubbed my hand over my hard-on. “Goddamn it, yes.”
“That’s what you do to me, Jenner. You make me soaked.”
“That tight, little, wet cunt so fucking ready …”
“For you.”
My dick was throbbing, wanting to be freed from my pants, to sink inside Jo’s pussy.
“Touch yourself for me,” I ordered.
“You’d better be doing the same.”
Just as that thought started to resonate, to really take shape in my head, and I went to reach for my zipper, my door opened, and Ford peeked his head through.
“Fuck me,” I groaned as I stared at him. “My brother just walked in …”
She laughed. “Now, that’s shitty timing. Tell Dominick or Ford I said hello. As for you, I’ll be seeing your sexy ass tomorrow. I can’t wait.”
“That makes two of us,” I said and hung up.
Ford closed the door and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk and said, “Jo?”
I nodded. “She says hello.”
He smiled. “Interesting.”
I rolled my chair forward, pushing my legs under the desk to hide my raging erection. “What is?”
“That the guy who wasn’t going to start anything beyond Vegas is talking to her the morning after he returns.”
“Did you come in here to give me shit? Or did you stop in for a more important reason?”
He pulled at his tie, shaking his head before running both hands through his hair. “The latter. I’m fucking overwhelmed, man. I’ve got this four-year-old who can’t survive without me, and, fuck, I don’t want to fail her, but I feel like I am.”
“Are you really doubting your parenting right now?” I lifted my coffee, wrapping my hands around it. “You’re the best father I know.”
I took a quick glance at the photo on my desk of Everly and me. It was about six months ago when I’d taken her to Disneyland. She was still so little, but we’d had the best time, her face lighting up whenever she saw a character, her little jaw dropping when the fireworks went off.
“You don’t know what it’s like, being responsible for someone and being their everything.”
“You’re right; I don’t, but what I do know is that you do a hell of a job at it. I know how good you are to her. I know how much she loves and admires her daddy.”
He leaned forward, crossing his hands between his legs, his head hanging low.
“You’re doing the best you can, Ford. You should be proud of that. I know I’m proud of you.”
He finally lifted his head. “How can I be when something like this happens?” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper, placing it unfolded on my desk.
I took the sheet into my hands, seeing that it was a drawing Everly had done. Not that I could distinguish her art from anyone else her age, but pink was her favorite color, and almost the entire drawing was done in magenta. The picture was of a table, two stick figures sitting in chairs around it.
But there was a third placement—a section that was scratched out in black crayon.
A spot where her mother was supposed to be sitting.
You didn’t have to be a psychologist to understand what was happening here.
“She’s angry,” I said, looking up at him.
“And resentful.”
I knew how much this was hurting him. I needed to say something that would make my brother feel better.
“Listen, she doesn’t understand. She’s too young; her mind can’t process this yet. But when she sees that empty spot at the breakfast table, dinner table, wherever, she has feelings, and I don’t blame her. I have feelings about it too.”
“That’s my fault.”
I folded my arms over my desk. “That you’re not with her mother anymore? Don’t you dare start blaming yourself for that shit.” I took a drink of coffee, trying to calm myself down. “One day, Everly will see the whole picture and understand the layers, and it won’t just be pink and black to her.”
“And until then?”
“Take your daughter on vacation and let her play in the sand and boogie-board across the waves. Let her drink virgin strawberry daiquiris and eat McDonald’s and not all that organic, unprocessed, unbleached bullshit you fill her with.”
He gripped the armrests of the chair, but his posture was becoming slightly more relaxed. “You know, that isn’t a bad idea.”
