Page 2

CHAPTER 2

Ford

N ine months ago

She’s back.

I always know when she’s back because the minute I walk into my house after a night working with Eli and my brother, I can smell her baking before I even catch sight of her. She’s always baking something sweet in my kitchen, a soothing habit she picked up from her mother, apparently.

The moment she learned how to break into my home, I decided to give her a key. I’m not opposed to her breaking in, but when she’s home on school breaks, it just gives us easier access to what we both want—to fuck.

That first night months ago sparked something neither of us can pull away from.

Her brother is away on another business trip in Italy, which means there will most likely be a lot of fucking. When he’s home, it becomes a little trickier to sneak around. Not that I’m scared of Dutton, although I know he’ll try to kill me if he so much as thinks I’ve laid a hand on his precious little sister. But, frankly, I don’t give a shit.

No one has any idea about us, and I plan to keep it that way. I love having her as my dirty little secret. Like an addiction and a fix, I get to keep to myself.

It was her idea to keep it a secret. When I suggested telling her brother, she basically screamed at me and demanded that I never tell him. Lucky for her, keeping my mouth shut is my only redeeming quality. So I’ve become her dirty little secret in return.

We’ve been together three more times since the first night we hooked up. The first time, she’d drunkenly broke into my home. I don’t even know how she got my address, but I’m glad I immediately recognized her because I was ready to kill the fucker who thought it was wise to break in. Which is really the main reason I gave her the key.

She complained about being starving, and with the few ingredients I had in the cupboard, she baked a cake, which was kind of impressive since I don’t keep a lot of stuff on hand. Two days later, ingredients were delivered to my door for the next time she arrived to bake. I’m certainly not complaining because I fucking love her baked goods.

I go to my room before heading to the kitchen to greet her. I walk into the bathroom and peel my black shirt off. It might have some blood stains on it from handling business tonight. I check my face and arms for blood spatter, then basically swap my dirty black pants and shirt for a similar outfit.

Though Billie was raised with a ruthless brother and father, she isn’t a part of this world. She’s like a sheltered princess. It’s kind of crazy considering her mother was also a mafia heiress. But who am I to judge? If I had kids, I’m sure I wouldn’t want them raised in this world.

I’m certain she hasn’t even noticed I’m in the house as I walk down the hallway and then lean against the entryway into the kitchen. She’s transfixed on icing the cake, rocking her hips back and forth to some ear-splitting music.

And yet I can’t help but cross my arms over my chest and smirk at the sight. It’s a novelty, really. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen bake anything. My biological mother could hardly put food in our mouths because she was so fucked up on drugs, and our adoptive mother, Anya Ivanov, would somehow turn the smooth-edged utensil used to ice a cake into a weapon. Anya is crafty as fuck when it comes to killing someone, but she’s definitely not a baker.

I wouldn’t let just anyone in my home. In fact, my brother is the only other person who has a key and has been in here. But ever since I met her when she was twelve and I was fifteen, Billie has always had this ability to include and welcome herself into any situation or group. It’s been almost eleven years since then, and in many ways, it hasn’t changed.

“I didn’t know you’d be in town this week,” I say.

Billie jumps back, clutching her chest. “Oh, for the love of fuck, Ford, announce yourself when you’re here.”

“In my own home?”

She glares at me, and I don’t think she realizes she has flour across her cheek. Instead of a smart-ass retort, she breaks out into the brightest fucking smile. “Hello to you.” She nods to the cake on the counter. “Dutton’s not in town, and I’m bored. I figure you’d have the cure to that. So, while I waited, I baked you a honey cake. I know how much you love them.”

I do. I really fucking love her honey cakes. I step toward her and crowd her from behind, placing one hand on her hip. My cock is already twitching at the promise of being inside her. My other hand reaches for the icing.

She slaps my hand away. “You savage! Let me cut a piece for you.”

My grip tightens on her hip as I pull her ass against my cock. “I’m an impatient man, Billie, especially when it comes to sweets.” She chuckles as she cuts a piece of the cake, purposely rubbing her ass against my now fully-erect cock. This fucking woman is my addiction. I only get sporadic hits of her, which makes me more voracious every time.

She allows me to grab the piece she cut, and she laughs as crumbs drop all over the floor. “How do you manage to stay so fit when you have such a sweet tooth?”

“I like to fuck,” I tell her around a mouthful, and the humor in her expression dies. I wonder if she’s thinking about all the other women I could potentially be fucking. Putting her out of her misery, I add, “ You. ”

She releases a breath, and I don’t think she even knows she was holding it.

I didn’t think after the first time I had her that I wouldn’t want to touch another woman again. It’s not that women haven’t offered me companionship, but it feels so meaningless to me. I get off on the buildup of not having Billie all the time and waiting for my next fix. The rush of fucking her and pleasing her in ways I know no other man can or has.

We don’t message or have deep conversations; we keep it strictly what it is—fucking.

So I’m more than happy to continue what we’re doing together because we both understand that this can’t and won’t be more. We are just two people from the same world who enjoy each other’s company and bodies. And, fuck, do I love her body. It’s like she was perfectly carved by a master artist. I love to run my tongue over every inch of her, tasting her.

Her skin is smooth, her floral perfume is sweet, and she’s everything I’m not. She’s a ray of fucking sunshine, and I’m attracted to it like a moth to a flame. And I have to remind myself not to break her for it. Someone like me lives in the shadows, and I think that’s exactly why she keeps coming back. That and any other man who tries to touch her is usually not smart enough to avoid her brother’s attention and ends up…out of commission.

Hell, I’ve helped him deal out clear messages to two men in the last six months. If only he knew I was actually the one fucking his sister.

My cock is getting harder just thinking about it, but when she turns, and her lips are inches from mine, I have to restrain myself. Kissing is something I don’t do. I’m not the dating or boyfriend type, and she doesn’t come here for romance.

“Billie,” I growl as I finish polishing off the slice of honey cake and then step back. As I do, I start unbuttoning my shirt. She watches me hungrily, her perfect little apron covering her clothes so they don’t get dirty. But I plan to get her very fucking dirty. “Put the icer down.”

“No.” She smiles as she continues to watch me.

“Such a naughty girl.” And she is in her own way. But if she knew my depravities—the things I really want from her—I’m certain she’d run the other fucking way. And I haven’t quite had my fill of her yet, so I don’t want to scare her off.

I want to tell her to hit me, but I’m certain my sweet Billie wouldn’t be into violence as we fuck. I like that she has a bit of backbone and is demanding in what she wants, but that and what I’m into are entirely different things.

I throw my shirt to the floor, wondering why I even put it on in the first place. She watches every single move I make, a smile on her perfect fucking lips. I remove my pants and free my straining cock. She gulps as I fist it. She’s always been mesmerized by my piercing, and I love that she can’t look away.

She’s wearing a little skirt under that apron, and she’s barefoot. There’s not a speck of makeup on her perfect face, and her hair is pinned up as it usually is when she’s baking. She raises the spatula to her lips and licks the icing off it.

My cock gets even harder as I watch her.

“My perfect little secret,” I whisper. Reaching behind her, I dip my fingers into the icing and step back. Spreading the icing on my cock, I nod to it. “I think it’s time you cleaned it up.”

She wastes no time dropping to her knees. The spatula in her hand clatters to the floor, and she crawls forward, opens her mouth, and takes my cock between her lips.

Each time we’re together, I want and need more of her. I wonder if that will ever stop. When she’s not with me, I dream of fucking her, and when she is with me, I do fuck her. She’s literally my perfect little fucking secret, and I hope no one ever discovers us because I’m not sure how I’ll give up this new addiction.