by Stella Gray
Suddenly, I understood why that combination of affection and dopamine inspired poets and musicians to immortalize it.
But like the fathomless ocean beneath us, I knew, love was just as fraught with danger.
Emzee
Chapter 4
Who would have ever thought I’d have such an instant love affair with windsurfing?
When Ford had first woken me up to tell me it was our activity for the day, I’d been anxious. The honeymoon activities I’d been dreaming of consisted of going out to eat at the fanciest restaurants, snorkeling in the shallows, and maybe booking a couple’s massage. Stuff that was more relaxing than athletic.
But windsurfing was more amazing than I could have imagined.
It definitely wasn’t the type of activity I would have done on my own, but Ford had been so into it that I couldn’t turn him down—and wasn’t that what I’d always loved most about him? That he pushed me to try new things? And thank God he had.
Even though I’d paid more attention during the lesson, Ford had more natural skill and strength. After our official instruction was over, our teacher—a warm, older woman with box braids named Angie—left us to our own devices.
Yes, I had expected it to be challenging and scary. But I hadn’t expected it to be so fun. So thrilling. So…freeing. I could have stayed out on the water until the sun went down. Unfortunately, my growling stomach had other ideas, so we’d given our concierge a call and arranged for a ride back to our private villa. We still had yet to figure out dinner plans.
As I dried off after my shower, all I could think about was how blissful the day had been. It was almost romantic the way Ford had helped me learn during our lesson with Angie, coming up behind me on the beach while I stood on the board so he could wrap his arms around me and help me practice steering the sail. In fact, with all the touching and closeness of the past few hours, my guard was fully down. Which was why I was hoping for a quiet night in, since that meant there’d be less of a chance of me doing something I would regret…like giving in to the simmering sexual tension that had been building ever since Ford put his arms around me earlier.
After hours out on the ocean, I expected him to suggest giving the concierge a call to put in an order with our personal chef for dinner at home. But when I walked back out to the living room, I saw that he’d changed into a crisp linen shirt and slacks, his hair freshly combed and his eyes bright. The scent of his cologne wafted over, and the urge to throw myself at him increased.
“You look nice. Got a hot date?” I asked teasingly.
“I want to take you out,” Ford said.
I felt a low tug in my belly, and a smile played at my lips. “Where to?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said.
“Hmmm…” I deliberated. “Does this surprise include dinner?”
“Indeed it does,” Ford said with a grin. “And I know how much you love sushi.”
“Done,” I said. “Just let me put on something nicer than sweatpants. Give me a minute.”
So much for that quiet night in, but I was still buzzing and exuberant from our day out on the ocean. And how could I insist on calling it a night when every part of me wanted to keep up the good vibes we’d built back up between us? Sure I was exhausted, but this was my honeymoon. Fake or not, I should take advantage of it. Especially if good sushi was involved.
I whipped off my loungewear and changed into one of the many beautiful dresses I’d brought with me, which was a rich shade of teal, short and tight and totally not my usual style. While shopping for this trip, Tori and Brooklyn had insisted I buy a few things that were outside the box for me.
“You can’t wear all black on the beach in St. Barts,” Tori had said. “You’ll roast.”
“Plus you need to mix it up a bit,” Brooklyn had said. “Surprise yourself.”
“Surprise Ford!” Tori had added and the two of them had giggled.
I’d taken their advice and picked out several flashy little dresses in actual colors, dresses that could be worn to a nice restaurant or out to a club depending on how I accessorized. The one I had on sported a deep neckline and no sleeves. I paired it with strappy heeled sandals and my favorite gold bangle, then tugged my hair out of its ponytail and shook it out into damp waves. I didn’t do too much with my makeup, just a simple smoky eye and clear gloss over my lips.
When I came out of the bathroom, Ford’s gaze swept appreciatively over my body.
“You look good enough to eat,” he said, his voice husky. Then he cleared his throat, as if snapping himself out of his lust trance. “You ready?”
“Ready,” I said, feeling myself blushing.
I didn’t know how much longer I could resist him—or if I even still wanted to.
The place Ford chose was one of the island’s most prestigious bars, a harborside night club with live music and, he swore, a killer sushi and tapas bar at its center. Walking through the doors, I could tell instantly that it was the place to be in St. Barts.
It was an intimate venue, crowded with an eclectic array of beautiful people dancing to the Caribbean jazz, drinking brightly colored cocktails, and having a great time. I knew the island was a haven for the rich and famous, so it wasn’t a surprise to see what looked like a few models and a young male pop star amidst the revelers, a mix of locals and tourists. Warm red lighting gave the ambiance a sensual haze. It matched how I was already feeling.
Once we were seated at the bar, I was dazzled by the array of options on the menu. Windsurfing had given me an insane appetite, but I couldn’t decide on anything.
“What’ll it be?” Ford asked.
“Gah! I want it all,” I blurted.
“We can swing that,” he said with a laugh, motioning over a waiter and telling him to bring us a sushi boat for two.
“An entire boat full of sushi?” I gasped.
“It’s a small boat,” Ford said, a gleam in his eye. “I’m sure you can handle it.”
As we downed our first course of hot miso soup, I tried not to stare at my husband. He just looked so delicious in his crisp white shirt, and my stomach did this little flip whenever I glanced over at him. Occasionally, our eyes would meet, and I’d feel the heat from his gaze spread through my entire body. It was impossible not to blush, though I was certain he couldn’t tell in the red light of the bar.
And then the boat arrived.
Hot damn.
The huge platter was oblong and held a selection of sushi, sashimi, maki, and seaweed. Salmon, yellowfin tuna, mahi, smoked eel (I’d been late to the eel party, but once I’d given it a shot in my early twenties, it had quickly become one of my favorite types of sushi)—everything was fresh, and the sweet, salty, tangy flavors exploding on my tongue had me dancing in my chair. Or maybe that was the music.
I liked jazz generally, but the energy of this band was something else. The drums, the guitar, the saxophone, the thump of the bass that was so strong I could feel it vibrating from the floor up through my barstool. As the songs washed over me, I soaked up the vibrant sounds and let loose a series of shoulder shimmies that had Ford laughing and joining in.
We ate until we couldn’t stand another bite, getting tipsy on sake all the while. I was sure we’d be heading back to our villa afterward. We’d just spent the entire day pushing our bodies to their limit, and I knew we’d both be sore in the morning. But as Ford signed the check, he began nodding along with the music, looking over toward the stage area where people were cheering and writhing together on the dance floor.
He slapped the pen down, tucked his wallet away, and held out his hand.
“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 al
l, 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 already had ruined 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.
The villa’s master bathroom was approximately the size of my first studio apartment. There was a huge glass-walled shower with multiple showerheads, all going in different directions. It was luxurious and tasteful, with wall-to-wall marble and gleaming brass fixtures.
Ford made short work of the rest of my dress, pulling it over my head and leaving me in nothing but my scrap of a thong. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and he let out a groan of appreciation when my breasts were bared to him. Looping his finger into the waistband of my underwear, he gave a sharp tug and the delicate fabric ripped, causing the whole thing to come off in his hand.
I gasped with surprise and pleasure. “What have you done?” I said with a teasing grin.
“I regret nothing. You should never wear panties,” Ford said.
He was kissing me again before I could reply, pulling off his shoes and pants until he was naked too. I could feel his cock—huge and hard and hot—jutting against me. Reaching down, I gripped it in my hand and gave him a long stroke. Once upon a time, I would have never been so bold, but the day had given me a new sense of power and confidence. First with the windsurfing and then with the dancing. It felt like I had a new connection to my body and I wanted to take advantage of it.
Ford seemed more than eager to let me do what I wanted, but after a few more strokes of my hand, he was leading me toward the shower and twisting the taps so hot water came out.
“Get in,” he said. I obeyed.
The water was the perfect temperature, sluicing down on us to wash away the sweat from the club, glistening deliciously over the hard planes of Ford’s body.
“Come here,” he said. So commanding.
He grabbed the soap and started working up a lather, never taking his eyes off me.
“I think there’s a very dirty girl in here that needs to get clean,” he said.
“Not too clean,” I purred.
Without a word he pulled me closer, trailing handfuls of soapy, bubbling foam from my shoulders to my wrists. The parts of my body that ached most for him—my breasts, between my thighs—went untouched as he lathered up my back, down my legs, even my feet. God, this man was good with his hands. Getting a massage from Ford Malone was like a little slice of heaven.
Finally, finally, he began to massage my breasts, making big circles with his firm but slick hands. I leaned my head back against the wall, letting out a full-throated moan as the sensations overwhelmed me. The warmth of his hands, the slide of the water, the slip of the soap, it all felt incredible. My nipples were tingling, emerging from the bubbles only to be stroked by Ford’s talented hands. He gave my nipples a firm, punishing twist that I loved, and then began moving downward.
Eager to be touched, I spread my legs wide as he knelt between them.
Looking up at me, he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
This game again.
“You,” I said, trying to pull his hand between my legs, and failing.
“Say it. Say the words,” he goaded.
“I want you to finger me,” I said, my cheeks going even hotter than they already were.
“Mmm, that’s good,” Ford
said approvingly. “You want to feel my fingers in your sweet little pussy? My hot tongue, lapping you up?”
My knees buckled at his dirty talk, but I placed my palms on the wall behind me to keep me upright.
“Fuck yes,” I said, swallowing thickly. I was so ready. So needy. “Do it. Please.”
But Ford didn’t touch me yet.
“Tell me exactly what you want,” he said, grinning wickedly. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”
This wasn’t what I had planned at all. I wanted to seduce him, to ruin him. But I couldn’t resist what I knew he could give me. Not when I knew how good he was at…everything.
“I want your mouth on my pussy,” I said. “I want you to eat me out until I come.”
“Good girl,” Ford said, and then he lowered his head to taste me.
I cried out as his tongue speared me deep. There was no gentleness now, no teasing. He was going hard and fast, using his tongue to fuck me against the shower wall, and I loved it. I wanted more. I widened my stance and he used his fingers to spread my lips, his tongue circling my clit before diving back inside of me.
“Yes,” I panted. “Yes, fuck yes.”
I was moaning now, my hips rolling toward him, unable to control myself. My body was his to command, to control, to pleasure. And just like always, he knew exactly what I wanted.
He stretched me even wider with his fingers and then one was pumping inside of me, then two, his hand fucking me while his tongue lapped at my clit. The water was spilling hot and fast around us, but I barely noticed, I was so caught up in what Ford was doing to me.
Then, without warning, my orgasm slammed into me. I let out a deep, helpless moan, the sound echoing off the walls, holding on to Ford’s broad shoulders as I rode out the waves.
Once I’d caught my breath, I started to lower myself to my knees, but Ford stopped me. He shut off the water and then spun me around and pushed me toward the glass door. I could feel his cock, hard and ready against my ass. We grabbed our towels, but had barely started to dry off before Ford was bending me over the vanity.