Revenge Era (The Revenge Games Book 1)

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

Normally, walking out of a hotel feels like a secret mission. Men talking into headsets finding the safest route. Heads bowed, smiles hidden and absolutely no talking or stopping to sign an autograph.

Ford is a different animal. The man stalks out, chin high, proud as a peacock, smiling at me like what we’re doing doesn’t have the potential to tank his label or piss off his son. Like even if it did, he doesn’t give a fuck.

And I’m beginning to believe he truly doesn’t. He wasn’t giving me lip service to appease me. When he speaks, he doesn’t just string letters of the alphabet together like so many people do. He puts thought into what he says, makes calculated decisions, and takes risks.

I haven’t taken a risk since I launched my career. Since the moment I had the audacity to send tapes to every person even remotely related to the music industry, hoping that one of them would actually listen and be blown away by my rendition of “Kiss Me” by Six Pence None the Richer.

In the end, what got me onto Music Row in Nashville was singing in a tiny café on open mic night every week, without fail. And waitressing in said café so that I knew precisely when record execs would be there.

Somehow the girl who left home at sixteen to follow her dreams went soft. Or maybe I’d just frozen. My star rose too quickly. All the critics had strong opinions. Whether good or bad, I couldn’t get their words out of my head.

So much so that the words that mattered most, my own, had dried up.

Too concerned with upsetting someone with a lyric or being laughed at when I poured my heart out, I allowed others to guide my decisions. First with my wardrobe, then with my music. It’s only now that I’m realizing I no longer make even the smallest decisions without the approval of someone at the label.

Until today when Ford said fuck it. Even now, am I using his approval as my guide?

I shrug away that uncomfortable thought, because that’s not how this feels. For once, I’m not stifled by someone else’s opinion. He’s giving me space to choose.

Ford rests a hand on the small of my back as he ushers me down the sidewalk, and that’s when I spot the first camera. Used to forcing a smile, I do just that, but as I go into people-pleaser mode, Ford tenses beside me.

I knew it was going to bother him. It isn’t easy being photographed at all times. Being forced to always be on.

People who crave the limelight, who only want to spend time with me for the attention they’ll get out of it, love the constant spotlight. But people who are more concerned with living genuine lives, who appreciate me for me? Time and time again, this has been the deal-breaker.

Ford grasps my hip and pulls me closer as the photographer calls out to us. “Lake, what’s going on?”

And with that, the vultures appear, circling their prey, one squawks, and suddenly more surface.

Another photographer shouts, “Have you heard from Paul?”

“Wait, isn’t that his father?” One mutters loud enough to make the others do a double take.

In moments, we’re being followed down the street as question after question is lobbed our way.

“What’s going on here?”

At the audacity behind those words, I stop in my tracks and whirl around to face the short, pudgy man who asked.

Ford circles my waist and brings his head close to mine. “What are you doing?”

Without breaking my smile, I reply, “Giving them something to talk about.”

His breath tickles my ear, but he doesn’t object, so I take that as his consent.

“We’re headed to breakfast. I’ll probably walk on the wild side this morning. Have a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich with home fries, since I had a few cocktails last night.”

When I wink, the paps eat it up, laughing together.

“With your ex-boyfriend’s father?” the guy who aptly pointed it out before asks, his tone full of judgment.

I let my jaw drop in an exaggerated shocked expression, then clap a hand over my mouth and, wide-eyed, turn to Ford. “Oh my God, is that who you are?”

With a shake of his head, Ford chuckles, clearly enjoying my impromptu show. He pulls me closer and growls in my ear. “You’re in so much trouble, Red.” But his eyes dance in delight.

I tap one finger to my lips. “I did think he looked familiar.” Then, throwing a thumb in his direction, I tease, “He is elderly, though, so he might have forgotten who I am.”

Ford squeezes my ass. “I’ll fucking show you elderly.” His breath is hot on my neck, and the rumble of his voice sends a pulse of desire through me. Then, affecting a bored expression, he looks at the guys. “Anything else?”

“Are you two dating now?” Both men look from Ford to me and back again, eyes wide and mouths agape.

I never answer questions. Even if I did, I don’t have an answer for that one.

Ford grins wickedly. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” He turns to me, cups my cheek, and whispers, “But no one has ever called me a gentleman.” Then his lips are locked with mine and his tongue slides inside my mouth. He’s making it clear to the entire world that he’s a man of his word. He doesn’t give a fuck.

After breakfast, we head back to the hotel, where we watch hours of television, order in dinner, and talk late into the night. Naked, of course. With lots of kissing and touching and orgasms for us both. My next show isn’t for two weeks, and I have no concrete plans. Paul and I were supposed to go home to LA to recharge, but the last thing I want to do is surround myself with reminders of him. So when Ford asks me to spend another night, I let the girl who used to take risks answer.

Why not hide away and get lost in one another for a little longer?

Only, he has other plans. The following day, he gets us both packed up and ushers me to the car. We’re halfway there before I realize he’s taking me to his home. By the time we pull into the driveway, the weight pressing against my chest makes it hard to breathe. The last time I walked into this house, I was celebrating Christmas with Ford and his son. The man that, until a few days ago, was my boyfriend. The man I’ve yet to hear from since I caught him with his lips wrapped around my tour manager’s dick.

I’m afraid to ask Ford if he’s heard from him. His other children have called, though he hasn’t hinted at how they reacted to the news of their father kissing their brother’s ex-girlfriend. It’s all sort of a mess.

Mel was obviously thrilled. My mother and father, not so much. I didn’t put nearly enough thought into the fact that everyone in my life would know what we’d done the moment we walked out of the hotel together, but that is precisely what happened, and it’s too late to change it now. I’m just trying to ignore it for the time being. Honestly, the Ford-induced orgasms may have some sort of mind-numbing effect, because I’ve clearly lost any sense of self-preservation and smarts.

The moments with him outside of the bedroom are equally incredible and confusing, because despite our age difference, he gets me. We laugh over the same jokes, enjoy the same shows, and he has this innate ability to sense what I need before I even realize I need it.

Like right now. We’re side by side at the table. He’s got his laptop out, reviewing a contract. I’ve got a notepad in front of me, and I’m working out lyrics that have just popped into my head. When I get pulled in like this, I typically make myself a cup of hot tea. But before I even have a chance to get up and go in search of a mug, he’s sliding one in front of me.

He smiles at my look of surprise. “You didn’t even hear me making it.”

“Thank you.” I take a sip and allow the warmth to ease my throat. My vocal cords are going to need a rest before the tour picks up again. All these orgasms wreak as much havoc on them as a full set list does.

Buttons rubs against me, and when I reach down and scratch her head, she purrs in delight.

“How’s the song coming along?” He juts his chin toward my paper.

For the first time in maybe ever, I don’t feel the compulsion to hide the words. The label has more influence over my music than I’d like already, so I normally keep this part of my process private. Just for me. I don’t want input on the market or what sounds are popular to influence my songwriting.

Ford Hall owns the label, yes, but this Ford, the man who is wearing sweats and a white T-shirt and his black-framed glasses, with his hair mussed from our midday romp, doesn’t make me uneasy.

I’m not sure what we are to one another, no idea what I’d even call it if I was asked, but he makes me comfortable. His eyes create a melody in my head, leaving my body humming along with my lips.

An ache eases in my chest as the tune swirls around us and fills the room. A tune we’ve been creating together. One he’s nurtured through his sweet, simple nature.

If Ford is surprised that I’m serenading him with a song about two people engaging in an affair that, to the outside world, is considered taboo, all while feeling so made for one another, so at ease, he doesn’t let it show. The thoughtful smile he wears isn’t one of a man who knows this could be his label’s next hit. It’s the knowing smile of a man who understands the complexity behind my simple lyrics. As if the thoughts that are running through my head—that we fit in a way that makes no sense and yet all the sense in the world—are not one-sided.

As I finish, he drops his head and gives it a shake, as if he’s coming out of a dream. Like maybe he believes this is all a dream. It very well could be. If dreams leave you sore in the space between your thighs and make your limbs ache for the person right beside you.

“You give words to the unspoken, Red. Don’t ever stop wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

There’s something so telling about that statement. He didn’t say the song was perfect—a word I’ve come to hate—he didn’t focus on what the critics will have to say about the song or how it will be received by fans. Ford did what he always does: he saw into my deepest insecurities. He reached in and grabbed Lake, the woman hiding behind them, waiting to be seen, and he spoke to her.

He spoke to me like my music does daily.

I’m so screwed.

The air around us is quiet now that I’ve stopped singing, but his words play on repeat in my mind and hit me like a shot to the heart. Then he goes and smiles, and that beautiful ache suddenly morphs to a lightness I’ve never experienced.

“C’mere, Red.” He pats his knee.

I try to hold back my smile. “You want me to sit on your lap?”

“What I want is to take you over to the couch and have my way with you, but considering I’m an old man and we’ve had sex four times today, I’ll settle for cuddling you instead.”

With a laugh, I curl up on his lap and nuzzle into the space below his chin. “You’re not that old.”

His carefree laugh pulls me in further, like quicksand. I’ll never be able to dig myself out. And maybe I don’t want to.

Perhaps jealous of the cuddles I’m getting from her dad, Buttons jumps up onto my lap and rubs her head against my chest. Ford offers her a little attention, rubbing at her fur.

“You all done with work for the day?” I ask, closing my eyes.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Just have to send one more e-mail. Why don’t you go put a bathing suit on? We can relax in the hot tub once I’m done.”

Nibbling on my lip, I pull back. “Don’t have one.”

His eyes track the way I lick across my lips. “Remember the last time we were in the hot tub, Red?”

God, that nickname sends a shock of need through me every time. Need almost as strong as the kind that courses through me at the memory he’s conjuring. I nod. “Yeah, Paul ditched me on my birthday, and you scared the shit out of me. I thought I had the house to myself.”

“You were naked.”

Memories of that night flood me, along with a wave of liquid heat. I’m not sure why I thought skinny-dipping in Ford’s hot tub was a good idea. Though, to be fair, he was supposed to be out of town, and Paul and I were supposed to have a romantic night at home to celebrate my birthday. I’d been invited to a club—hell, there were parties everywhere in my honor—but I hate stuff like that. A quiet night at home where I could be myself was all I wanted. Paul insisted one of us should make an appearance, so he took off. I stayed home with a bottle of bubbly and my guitar. I didn’t have a suit, but the hot tub looked so inviting. Ford’s house was secluded, with high privacy fences, so I assumed I’d be safe to relax.

I climbed in wearing white undies and a bra, but the way they clung to my skin when they were wet was gross, so I dumped them by the steps and sank below the surface, leaving nothing between me and the bubbles.

And then he walked outside…

“Bought you a suit in case it ever happened again.” His rough voice pulls me out of the past.

I’d much rather be in the present anyway. Because the way he affects me is no longer a problem. Or at least not as much of a problem as it was when I was naked in Ford’s hot tub while still in a relationship with his son and I saw him without a shirt on for the first time. God, if I hadn’t been so freaked out that he would be angry about me in my birthday suit, I probably would have enjoyed the view.

But there’s nothing stopping me now.

“You want me to wear a bathing suit?” I tease.

Ford pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table purposefully. Then he cups my face, running his fingers against my cheek. “Play along, Red. Bathing suit is on the bed upstairs. Put it on. I’ll leave champagne outside. Go out there. Relax for a bit. Maybe relive that night…though with a different outcome.”

My mind whirs to life at what he’s suggesting, and heat pools between my legs. I’m in such a hurry to obey I practically tumble out of his lap, and Buttons jumps at the last minute so she doesn’t fall to the ground.

Ford laughs and grasps my hips, steadying me in front of him. “Dirty girl is already wet just thinking about fucking her boyfriend’s father, isn’t she?”

Oh my God.

Before my mind goes into overdrive and stops me from playing a game I am far too eager to engage in, I jump in with both feet. “And you’re the man who can’t stop thinking about fucking your son’s girlfriend.” I run one fingertip from his jawline, down his neck, to the collar of his T-shirt. “Knowing nothing will feel better than my tight cunt.”

With that, I spin on my heel and scamper up the stairs.

“Fuck.” His growl echoes in the silent house.

Damn right. That’s exactly what I intend to do.

Two scraps of white fabric barely big enough to be considered a bikini await me. Hands shaking, I shuck my clothes and shimmy into it, then blow out a long breath and pull my shoulders back. I need a steady hand to apply my red lipstick. On the duvet beside the indecent bikini is a single hair tie. I consider not using it, only because I love the way Ford takes care of me and the idea of him finding it, sliding it onto his wrist, and then putting it in my hair makes my stomach flip and my skin flush hotter. But in the end, we’re playing a game—one where I look like I did that night—so my hair goes up.

Guitar in hand, I pad down the stairs to a quiet house. Ford is seemingly MIA, and I can’t help but smile to myself. He’s really set this up to mimic that night.

When I step outside, the cold hits me immediately. Strings of twinkling lights illuminate the backyard, and two lines of solar lights lead to the already bubbling hot tub. With a deep breath, I brace myself for the cold and grasp the neck of my guitar tight, then take off down the short path.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The chill that immediately envelops me is impossible to ignore. Halfway there, my toes are going numb. Should have put my shoes back on or snooped around for a pair of slippers.

Gently, I set my guitar on the edge beside a small stack of towels and dip a toe into the water. I pull back quickly and let out an “Ah!” It’s a lot hotter than I remembered. Probably because my toes are frozen now.

Letting out a deep breath, I ease into the water. It only takes a moment to adjust to the heat, and when I do, I drop my head back against the headrest in one corner and allow my muscles to relax. It’s been such a long few weeks. If not for the games I’m playing with Ford, I’d probably already be in LA, hiding from the gossip surrounding Paul’s affair.

It’s strange how little I’ve thought of him—outside of his relation to Ford and the repercussions there. Normally a breakup would send me into a tailspin. I’d write sad songs for weeks and wallow in my misery. But that hasn’t happened. I’m just…content. Or distracted maybe. Because the man I’m sleeping with is one hell of a distraction.

I stare at my guitar, wondering if I have another song in me. The days after a breakup are sometimes my most inspired, even if the songs revolve around heartbreak and pain. Oddly, the only things that are going through my head are words about comfort and a warmth I didn’t know existed inside me. Lovely lyrics that would make listeners think I’m falling in love rather than exacting a little revenge.

I spot the champagne and smile to myself. On my birthday, I drank straight from the bottle.

Apparently he remembered too, because the glasses are missing.

Feeling wicked, I kneel on the bench seat on the other side of the tub and snag the bottle. It takes a few seconds to work the metal trap and wrapper off, but when I do, I give in to the little devil on my shoulder and give the bottle a good shake before I press on the cork with my thumb. It goes flying, and a fountain of champagne erupts from the bottle. The laugh that escapes me as it coats my upper body is loud and long.

“Lake?”

Startled, I spin, the smile still on my face, bottle in hand and overflowing into the hot tub.

His expression is nothing like what I expected. The warm, effusive man is gone. Now he’s looking at me the way he used to. He’s the detached CEO, friendly but not smoldering.

My stomach sinks, yet my heart pounds out a rhythm in my chest, the two reactions in complete juxtaposition to one another, as I take him in. The cold champagne running down my arm reminds me of the mess I’m making. Shit. I slide the mouth of the bottle between my lips in an attempt to stop the liquid from overflowing into his hot tub.

“Shit, sorry,” I say, pulling the bottle away and swiping at the excess liquid on my lips. The champagne burns a line of bubbles down my throat and goes straight to my head. Or maybe the dizziness that hits me is from the lust that’s soaking through my body at the way Ford is looking at me.

Why is the detached expression doing it for me? Furrowed brow, slight frown, not quite cold eyes, but not warm either? Yep. Every bit of it. It’s exactly how he looked at me the night he found me just like this so many months ago…

He locks his jaw and lets his gaze track down my body. I dip my chin and follow the path he takes. There’s a trickle of champagne still slowly making its way between my breasts and red smudges on one hand. Shit. My lipstick. It’s probably smudged around my mouth too.

But when I go to wipe at it, Ford’s sharp command stops me. “Leave it.”

“Sorry.” I drop my hand and peer up at him. “I thought I was alone.”

His attention is still locked firmly on me. “Where’s my son?”

Holy shit, we’re really doing this.

Lowering my lashes, I throw back another gulp of champagne, then hold it out to him.

He’s still looming over the hot tub, sweats sitting low on his hips, torso bare, muscles flexing as he folds his arms across his chest.

“He went out.”

With a shake of his head, he tuts. “He left you on your birthday?”

Since he hasn’t taken the offered champagne, I tip it back once more, then set the bottle behind me and dip under the water before replying. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to go out. Just wanted to relax.”

Ford sighs heavily. “I’ll let you be, then.” Without another word, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and turns back toward the house.

The water sloshes as I sit up quickly. “Wait!”

His steps falter, and for a moment, he stands still with his back to me. When he looks at me over his shoulder, he’s got one brow arched. “Need something?”

More than anything, I want to blurt out yes, your cock, but we’re playing a game, and we both know I’ll get that soon enough. “Um, it’s your hot tub. I don’t want to intrude.” Water sluices down my body as I stand. “I can go inside so you can have it all to yourself.”

Ford hisses and roughs a hand down his face. “Sit down.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your bathing suit,” he grits out. “It’s…” He presses one hand to his forehead and averts his eyes while he waves the other hand up and down, gesturing to my body. “I can see everything.”

All the air leaves my lungs as I glance down at myself. Sure enough, the bathing suit is, in fact, completely see-through. That dirty man. I almost laugh, but I pull myself together instead and continue with my role. Biting my lip, I reply, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hall. I didn’t realize anyone would be home.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His voice is harder now, and he’s stalking toward me. The air is so cold I should be shivering, but the heat from the water and the way his gaze sears my skin keep me standing. His attention dips to my nipples and holds as he steps up to the edge of the tub. “I think you knew precisely what you were doing.”

The words cut through the air. Aren’t they the truth? Since the moment I asked Ford to kiss me on the dance floor, I’ve known. Or at least I thought I did.

Now I’m starting to wonder if my pretense was just that. Have I always wanted this with him? Did I ignore the desire because of our professional relationship and our age difference? It isn’t hard to reimagine the last time we met like this. Only when I do, I let myself see him for who he really is, and I allow my deepest, most hidden longings to bubble to the surface. Maybe I have always lusted after my boyfriend’s father.

Either way, I can’t imagine going back to that moment and not finding him irresistible. I must have seen it.

“I—” I glance down and watch as he swipes a thumb against my pebbled nipple. The white fabric clings to my wet skin, making the pink beneath it obvious.

“Be honest, Lake, you sent Paul out tonight in hopes that I’d find you out here. Alone.” He swallows thickly and looks me up and down. “Like this.”

His words scrape at me. He might as well have licked between my thighs for how wet I am.

“N-no. That’s not—” I shake my head and take a step back. The water tickles my skin as it bubbles around my legs. “I’ll just go inside.”

“Please sit. You shouldn’t be alone on your birthday.”

With a sigh, I take another step back, intent on settling beneath the surface. I’ll keep my body hidden like I would have back then. Like I did. Because that night, I was naked beneath the bubbles. Though back then, I thought Ford hadn’t noticed.

“Wait,” he says, grasping my arm. When he pulls me close, his eyes are slits.

I blink up at him. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’re still covered in champagne.” He says it like he’s angry about it. “It’s going to get in the hot tub if you sit back down.”

“And?”

“And it’ll fuck with the chemicals.”

I almost giggle, because it absolutely will not fuck with the chemicals and I’ve already dipped below the surface once. Instead, I give him a look of feigned shock. “Oh, should I get out and clean off first?”

He shakes his head and presses up against the side of the tub. “No—just let me…” Dipping his head, he closes his mouth around the swell of my breast and sucks. Then he licks at my chest. The feel of his tongue, warm and soft, is such a contrast to the frigid air. His steely gaze remains fixed on me as he cleans me with his tongue.

When a moan slips out, he peeks up and smirks. “You’re not supposed to enjoy that.”

“I’m not supposed to enjoy the feeling of your hot tongue on my body?”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy having your boyfriend’s father’s hot tongue on your body,” he reminds me.

Lust races through my veins, making my knees wobble. It’s wicked the way I feel right now.

“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he says. His eyes are hard, but the tiny smirk playing on his lips gives away precisely how he feels.

“No,” I lie. “I’m sorry.”

“You can sit now.” He releases me and pulls back.

Disappointment ricochets through me when cool air rushes between us, but I obey, settling into the molded seat behind me while I watch him slip off his sweats. I salivate as I wait to see what he’s got on under them. The night he caught me in the hot tub, he was wearing board shorts. I assumed he didn’t know I was naked, otherwise he wouldn’t have climbed in across from me. Then, I sat low in hopes he wouldn’t notice while I tried my best to not stare at his chiseled chest.

Now, I wish I was naked. I wish we both were.

When Ford slides his thumbs beneath his waistband and drags his sweats down his thighs, breath hisses from my lips. He’s completely fucking naked and hard as a rock.

“Working on any songs lately?”

The subject change throws me. I try not to gawk at him, but my body is on fire.

Making a tsking noise, he shakes his head and grabs himself. “Now look what you’ve done.” He runs his hand up his shaft and circles the head with his thumb. His gaze snaps to mine. “What would your boyfriend think if he came home and saw how hard you’ve made me? You’re going to have to take care of this before he gets here.”

My pussy clenches so violently I squeeze my thighs together to soothe the ache. “Take care of it? Wouldn’t it look worse if he caught me touching you?”

He lets out a low grunt. “He won’t see anything because my cock will be shoved down your throat.” The water splashes as he steps into the tub and stalks across the bench until he’s looming over me, his cock in his hand. “Open.”

I scramble to my knees for a better angle, my pussy spasming in anticipation. His words alone will be the death of me.

“Those goddamn red lips. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pictured them circling my cock while you suck me down.”

I press a kiss to the head, staining his flesh with my lipstick. Then I swirl my tongue around it, teasing him a bit.

He grunts. “Open that fucking mouth, Red.”

Peering up at him, I obey, smiling around him as he slides inside. He doesn’t go easy on me. He grasps the back of my head to hold me in place and pushes all the way to the back of my throat.

“Fuck…this mouth is famous for all the wrong things.”

His face is cast in shadow as he slides his hand from the back of my head down and along my neck until he’s cupping my chin and rubbing a thumb against my cheek softly. “You feel like heaven.”

It’s a momentary break in the game we’ve been playing. But it doesn’t make the scene any less hot. Arguably the most powerful man in the music industry is looking at me like what we’re doing is so much more than a dirty fantasy. Like my mouth and what it’s doing are not what he’s referring to. Like maybe, just maybe, we’re more than a dirty fantasy.

But thoughts like that have never led me anywhere good. Believing any man who shows an interest in me wants long-term commitment is stupid. Thinking this could be more than a fling would be stupid. So I grip his base and start moving. Sucking and licking and lapping at him while he curses about how fucking amazing I am, about how good my mouth feels and how he’s about to come down my throat.

The way he calls me his dirty little slut sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, and when he finishes with a curse and pulls me down into the hot tub to kiss me, I ignore the pangs of need I’m inundated with. Not lust-filled need, but the need to be held. To escape in his kisses. They’re long and brutal and taste like sin.

Like him.

When it becomes too much, when the drug threatens to take me under, I push off and settle back into my role. “Better stay over there. Otherwise your son might come home to find you fucking his girlfriend.”

Ford lifts his chin and peruses me with an aloof expression, but in one quick movement, he lifts me onto the ledge of the hot tub. “Good girl, so long as he doesn’t kiss you, he’ll never know how hard your sexy little body makes me.”

I’m so fucking turned on I don’t feel the cold air kissing my skin. His gaze on the space between my thighs is just as wicked as his words.

Will he eat me right here? My heart stumbles at the thought. I can’t help but peer over at the window to the room I’ve always occupied in the past. With Paul. Obviously, we’re alone, but Ford chuckles as if he knows precisely what I’m thinking.

“We’re not doing anything wrong, Lake,” he soothes. “I’m sitting in the hot tub, and you’re going to play a song for me.”

I blink at him, surprised. “You want me to play for you?”

“Yes. The one from earlier.” This time there’s a hint of warmth in his tone.

I reach for my guitar, but before I can settle it on my thighs, Ford grabs a towel and pats my skin dry. Even within this game, he’s doing things for me, watching out for me, taking care of me.

“Lose the top,” he instructs, the harsh tone at odds with the tender gesture.

“Huh?” The conflicting sentiments have me reeling.

“Take off that fucking tease of a top, Lake. Don’t get your guitar wet.”

I set the guitar behind me again, and with my eyes on him, I bring a hand behind my back and untie the strings. The top loosens around my breasts, but the wet fabric clings to my skin. Ford grunts, signaling me to undo the one around my neck. When I do, he snatches the suit from my body and fists it tight.

“You have the most amazing tits.” A rough breath escapes him.

Oh god. My breasts feel heavy under his stare, my pink nipples hard.

“Open your legs.”

I don’t hesitate to comply.

“Are you wet from sucking me off?” He says it almost introspectively, like he’s truly considering the possibility.

“Maybe.” I’m breathless and aching for him to find out.

“Slide the fabric over, Red.” He roughs a hand down his face. “Let me see.”

He’s mere inches from my center as I use one finger to slide the fabric to the side and expose myself to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He shakes his head and peers up at me. “You’re dripping for me. We can’t leave the evidence.”

Without warning, he dives in and slides his tongue along my slit. The warmth of his mouth leaves me bucking back and moaning. When he sucks on my clit, I cry out.

“Shh, Red. I’m just cleaning up this mess.” And then he goes to work, licking and sucking and making me even wetter.

With another cry of ecstasy, I grasp the hair at the back of his head and ride his face.

Ford pushes back, and with steady hands, he unties my bathing suit. “You aren’t even trying to hide anymore,” he grits out. “You’re sitting here naked and grinding that greedy pussy all over my face.”

“Please,” I beg. “I need you to fuck me.”

Shaking his head, he stands and grabs a towel. He dries my body first and wraps me in a second dry towel, then takes care of himself. And with a flourish, he scoops me into his arms and strides into the house. “I need you in my bed.”

At the top of the stairs, I can’t help but glance at the closed door that leads to Paul’s room. “We’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper. “Wouldn’t want to get caught.”

Ford growls as he pushes into his bedroom. “No.” He tosses me onto the bed. “Let him hear you scream. Maybe then he’ll finally know what it sounds like when you come.”