I slipped a finger into her easily, feeling her body clench around me. I wanted to feel that around my cock.
Kneeling behind her, I gripped her hips and positioned the tip of my dick at her entrance, easing myself into her inch by inch. She moaned as I did, arching her back to accommodate my girth. She was still so fucking tight, especially from this angle, but now I knew exactly why, and I felt satisfaction in knowing that I was the only man who had ever taken her this way.
Gathering her long, silky hair into a ponytail with one hand, I pulled her head back until she gasped and then began to fuck her, knees braced on the bed, my other hand tight around her hip as I slammed into her, each thrust making my hips hit her ass with a satisfying smack.
“Fuck,” she moaned, her hands fisting the sheets.
It was so hot, watching from this angle, seeing my cock spearing in and out of her. I slid my hand from her hip, down between her legs, until I found her tight, wet slit, my cock hammering into it below. She cried out as I stroked her, finding her clit and rubbing it as I fucked her from behind, harder and faster, relishing every desperate moan I drew from her.
I was close, but I wanted to feel her clench around me again.
“Get on your stomach,” I told her, releasing her hair. “Facedown, and cross your legs. More friction.”
She did as I asked. I lowered myself onto her and entered her again, digging my thumb into her asshole as I fucked her, making her squirm and pant like an animal.
“You like that?” I said. “You like how I’m touching you?”
“Yes,” she gasped in between heaving breaths.
“I want you to touch yourself, too,” I commanded. “I want you to feel my cock against your fingers while I’m fucking you.”
Her hand slipped down between her legs, her hips grinding harder as she stroked her own clit, and then I felt it—felt her orgasm rush through her as she cried out into the sheets, her pussy clenching and shuddering tightly around me.
I managed only two more strokes before I climaxed too, the two of us collapsing in a heap afterward, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces as we drifted off to sleep.
Emzee
Chapter 22
Let’s be honest. I had fantasized about hooking up with Ford Malone ever since I was sixteen years old. In my mind, we’d done it in every position possible, in every possible location, giving each other an infinite number of orgasms. Mine, real. His, imagined.
But no matter how extravagant the fantasies I’d conjured about having sex with Ford were, nothing came remotely close to the reality of what had happened between us a few days ago. Whenever I thought about that night, which was admittedly far too often now, I got wet instantly. My lower belly would tighten, and I’d have to squeeze my legs together against the hot ache I felt for him. For his cock. It was hard to focus on anything other than my vivid daydreams about all the things we’d done. Especially since the pleasant soreness between my legs had lingered, making me shiver with memories of Ford every time I touched myself.
He hadn’t left my place until early the next morning, though it was less a result of him falling asleep afterward than the fact that we couldn’t stop banging each other until the sun came up. We’d attempted to take a shower together at one point, intending to rinse the sweat from our bodies, but had ended up fucking against the tiled walls, Ford taking me again from behind.
Soon after that he had left, hair still damp, but he had been smiling. So had I. It was still hard to believe that my first time hadn’t turned into a complete and awkward disaster the way I’d always feared. There was definitely some wisdom to waiting for the right person instead of being in a rush to get it over with—at least, it had worked out well for me. I knew not everyone had the privilege of making that choice, though, and I was beyond grateful for it.
“You almost ready?” my assistant Brielle asked, bringing me back to reality.
“Yes. We’re good to go,” I said, resisting the urge to fan my face.
I had been standing by the equipment table for the last few minutes, completely lost in dirty thoughts. Brielle frowned, searching my face.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little pink. You’re not coming down with a fever, are you? I can’t get sick. I’m going on vacation next week. Can I get you a water?”
“I’m fine,” I said, feeling my face get even hotter under her scrutiny. Brielle was the perfect assistant for me, usually—high energy and attentive to every last detail. But she was a lot to handle when I was off my game. “Just sweating in here, is all. Water would be great.”
I had a feeling that I could dump that water over my head and it still wouldn’t cool me off enough. I gave myself a mental slap and tried to refocus on the work at hand.
Today I was running a standard photo shoot at Danica Rose Management. The agency kept a studio on one of the upper floors, mostly for taking headshots of newer models or updated photos for the portfolios of more senior talent. I occasionally used the space myself, but only when I needed more controlled lighting at my disposal than what I could manage at my loft.
With a cool bottle of water deposited in my hand, I got my lenses in order and prepared to start shooting. It occurred to me that Galina might like to be on set to practice working directly with new models, and I made a mental note to invite her along next time as an official photographer’s assistant so she could get some hands-on experience and punch up her resume.
The first half of the day was a complete success. We sped through our to-do list of new headshots, and I even got a few of the models to agree to come back at the end of the day for some more experimental shots I had in mind for my personal portfolio.
We were just about to break for lunch when I realized we had an audience.
It wasn’t Ford this time, but the visitors were just as unexpected.
