Because He Torments Me Read online

  BECAUSE HE TORMENTS ME (Because He Owns Me, Book Three)

  By Hannah Ford

  Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ***

  CALLUM

  I couldn’t concentrate.

  I was sitting in an important meeting -- one of the most important of my career -- involving the takeover of a struggling online delivery service called Arrive. The deal had the potential to be worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

  It was the exact kind of deal that normally would have sent adrenaline rushing through my body, the kind of deal that would make my mind race and cause me to live at the office as I sacrificed sleep in the name of success.

  But all I could think about was her.

  “Wilder,” James Billings, one of my executive officers, a highly intelligent and gifted man, if a little intense, barked through the speakerphone. He was in Seattle, on site at Arrive’s company headquarters, while I stayed here to meet with the executives in the New York office. “Can you sell off the shipping and receiving division, replace it with something bigger?”

  “Yes,” I replied easily, as if I’d been paying attention the whole time instead of preoccupied with a woman I’d vowed never to see again. My mind ran over her body, remembering her skin, the plumpness of her lips as I sucked them into my mouth, the taste of her tongue, the smoothness of her pussy, which she’d obviously gotten waxed in order to please me.

  I’d gotten her the job interview at Archway Publishing.

  It wasn’t difficult, and if it was wrong, I didn’t give a shit.

  It was the only way I could think of to keep my desire at bay, the only way I could ensure I stayed connected to her. I couldn’t be with Adriana again, couldn’t risk fucking her again, even though my dick hardened at the thought of entering that tight little pussy while my hand struck her ass with blow after blow.

  She’d stirred something inside of me that I’d never felt before, something so overwhelming that it struck the fear of God in my heart.

  The thought of not being able to control her and take ownership of her mind, her heart, her soul, her body, was devastating. But what would happen if I did own her would be even more devastating.

  So I got her the job interview.

  I needed to make sure she would be working on my book.

  I could keep her safe.

  I could make sure she was okay.

  I wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t fuck her again.

  She had me twisted in knots, my body on fire.

  But I had to stay away from her.

  Otherwise I would destroy us both.

  ADRIANA

  Michele began walking down the halls of Archway Publishing, and I followed, struggling to concentrate on what she was saying. The whole time, his name was pulsing through my mind like a bright neon sign.

  Callum, Callum, Callum.

  “So you’ll be meeting with our Publicity Director, Kiersten Brickett,” Michelle said. “She’s expecting you.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly thrown. The research I’d done on Archway had led me to believe I was going to be meeting with someone named Wayne Updike, and I’d done research on him and the books he’d worked on.

  “I’m sorry, “I said. “I thought the Publicity Director was Wayne Updike?”

  “Wayne was our Publicity Director,” Michelle said. She stopped in the hall and turned to look at me, then glanced around to make sure no one could overhear us. “But he got fired. He had a little problem with porn. You know, like, watching it during work hours?” She bit her lip, thinking about it. “He seemed like such a nice man. Of course, everyone thought it was strange when he insisted he get those privacy blinds installed in his office, but it’s such a high stress job, we just figured he needed his space.”

  She sighed and then turned and continued walking down the hall. “Anyway, Kiersten took over for him about a month ago. But don’t worry, no one will expect you to know much about her. She’s an outside hire.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Intense.” I couldn’t tell from her tone if that was good or bad.

  We’d reached the end of the hallway now and it branched off, opening into a big open space filled with cubicles. There must have been men who worked here, but every cubicle in my line of sight seemed to have a woman sitting at it.

  The soft muted sounds of phones ringing and keyboards clacking filled the room, and I knew it was probably impossible, but I was sure I could smell the scent of books in the air, that scent of paper and possibility.

  I inhaled.

  I loved it already, loved the vibe, loved the idea of having even a tiny part in bringing literature into the world.

  I warned myself not to get too excited.

  Because, of course, there was Callum, thrumming just below the surface of every thought, a constant presence in my mind. Had he set this interview up for me? And if so, why? He’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, that he didn’t want to see me again.

  I could still feel the sting of his hand against my ass, the feel of his cock spreading me open. I shivered with want and then longing, as I felt my stomach clench at the thought of never seeing him again.

  “That’s Kiersten’s office,” Michelle was saying. On the left side of the room were a row of offices, three of them, all of them encased in glass. I looked to where Michelle was pointing, and I could see a woman behind the glass, sitting at an oversized walnut desk, her ear pressed to the phone.

  We got to the door of Kiersten’s office just as she was finishing up her phone call.

  “Michelle,” Kiersten said, standing up and giving her a smile. Her teeth were perfectly shaped and just white enough not to look fake, and I wondered if she had veneers or just a great orthodontist. She was wearing a gorgeous fitted grey suit over a burnt orange button up blouse. The matching grey skirt was tight, encasing her long legs, but the blouse was slightly oversized, and she’d looped the sleeves of the blouse around the sleeves of the jacket and rolled them up. Chunky gold jewelry completed the look, and her hair hung in soft auburn wave around her shoulders. If I got this job, I was going to need a serious wardrobe upgrade. “Who do we have here?” Kiersten asked, turning her attention to me.

  “This is Adriana O’Connor,” Michelle said. “She’s here for the publicity assistant position.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Kiersten said, her voice warm. She held her hand out for me to shake, and I took it. Her hands were small, her wrists delicate. She was wearing a rose gold Michael Kors watch and a matching rose gold bracelet. “Go ahead and have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Good luck, Adriana,” Michelle said. “I hope to see you around.” She gave me a wave and then she left, shutting the door behind her.

  “Just let me pull up your resume,” Kiersten said, clicking around on her computer. “I’m sorry if things are a little crazy around here, I’m still getting used to this job myself.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem.” I fidgeted a bit, my nerves starting to get the best of me, and I willed myself to stay still.

  “Ah,” Kiersten said as she studied something on her screen. She sort of nodded to herself, then turned her computer screen away from her and leaned back in her chair. “So, here’s the deal. I’m going to be straight with you. Callum Wilder recommended you for this position. He’s one of our most important authors, so I have to hire you.”

  “Oh.” My face burned with embarrassment. What had Callum told them about me? Had he said we’d slept together? No, I decided, not after making me sign that ridiculous contract. The only thing I could be su
re of when it came to Callum Wilder was that he valued his privacy. But still. The whole thing was humiliating on so many levels. “Ms. Brickett, I don’t know what Callum told you, but I can assure you I never asked him to recommend me for this position.”

  She flitted my concerns away with her hand. “Please, Adriana,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. Publishing is an extremely competitive business, and everyone has to get their start somewhere. I got my first job through a sorority sister of my mother’s.”

  I let out a sigh of relief.

  “But you do like books?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Oh, yes!” I said. “I love books. Publishing is my passion. I’ve been applying for every position I can find.” Then, realizing how that sounded, I rushed on, “I mean, not every position.”

  She smiled. “So ultimately you want to work in editorial?”

  I nodded.

  “Publicity can be a great springboard for that,” she said. “With the downsizing that’s been taking place and the merging of departments, an editor really is a publicist in a lot of ways nowadays.” She leaned forward. “Who are your favorite authors?”

  “I have so many,” I said. “The classics are J.D. Salinger, Charlotte Bronte. For genre fiction, I’m obsessed with Stephen King and Rachel Gibson.”

  “And non-fiction?”

  “I’m drawn to memoirs,” I said. “I love learning about people’s lives.”

  “Have you read the new book by Aubrey Zane?” Kiersten asked. “It just came out last week. We worked really hard on her launch.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “But I’ve been wanting to. It’s on my to be read list.” Aubrey Zane was a pop star, one of those girls who’d been on a G-rated kids show before turning into a teen sensation. Her career had been in trouble when she’d been outed as a bulimic drug addict, but she was clean now and she’d recently written a book about her quest for sobriety which was being pitched as a vehicle for her comeback.

  “You have to read it,” Kristin said. “It’s getting great press. Usually people don’t take the memoir of a twenty-year-old seriously, but the book dives into some really important topics about celebrity and the dangers of young Hollywood.”

  I nodded. “I will definitely check it out.”

  “Good.” She tilted her head. “Two questions.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you know your way around twitter and facebook?”

  “I can tweet and friend with the best of them,” I quipped, earning me another smile.

  “Can you start tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.”

  “Seven am?”

  “Seven am,” I said confidently, not caring that the day started so early. Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if she’d asked me to come in at midnight to work an all-nighter. I had a job! At a real live publishing house!

  “Great.” She pushed her chair back and stood up, and I did the same. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Adriana. Do you remember the way out?”

  “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  Kiersten reached across the desk to take my hand, and this time, her handshake felt firmer somehow, and she held my hand for a beat longer than was necessary.

  Then her eyes turned slightly colder than they were before, and her voice got steely.

  “One more thing,” she said. “If I find out there’s something unprofessional going on between you and Callum Wilder, if there’s even any hint that the two of you are engaged in anything inappropriate, I will fire you immediately. Do you understand?”

  My mouth went dry. Did that mean Callum and I would be working together? Is that why she was warning me? And if so, how the hell was I going to be able to handle that?

  But something told me if I asked questions or got defensive, it wasn’t going to go over well.

  So instead I met Kiersten’s eye.

  “Of course,” I said, keeping my tone even, determined not to show even one ounce of weakness. “Of course there will be nothing inappropriate taking place between me and Mr. Wilder.”

  “Good,” she said, and the energy in the room shifted back. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  **

  Outside, the city was alive and buzzing with the energy that only New York had. Women in high heels and business suits hurried to meetings, cell phones pressed against their ears, dodging men with Armani briefcases as they all competed for cabs or rushed down the steps of the subway.

  Tomorrow I would be on my way to my own office, would start to have my own daily routine.

  I had so much to do.

  I was definitely going to need new clothes.

  The women at Archway were smartly dressed and professional -- my collection of Old Navy skirts and GAP sweaters wasn’t going to cut it.

  I decided to head to Bloomingdale’s. I would splurge on a couple of nice suits, and hopefully those, coupled with whatever I could scrounge up from Nessa’s closet, would hold me over until I got my first paycheck.

  Crap. I hadn’t even asked what the starting salary was going to be. I was sure it was peanuts – entry level publishing positions were known for paying next to nothing. Not that it mattered. They could have told me they were compensating me with McDonald’s vouchers and Knicks tickets and I would have accepted the job.

  Excitement thrummed inside of me as I walked toward Third Avenue, my shoes clicking against the sidewalk with a purpose.

  And yet something was there, deep inside of me, muting my good mood just a tiny bit.

  Callum.

  He was there, his presence in my mind a constant companion as I traveled down the sidewalks of the city.

  Why had he done that? Why had he called Archway and told them to hire me? Was it because he was hoping to see me again? Or had he done it because he felt bad about making it clear he didn’t want to see me again after what had happened in Florida? Was this his idea of a consolation prize?

  The thought was bothersome and irritating, and it opened up a whole new set of questions, ones I wasn’t sure I wanted to find the answers to.

  Was it wrong to take this job, knowing I’d only gotten it because I’d slept with him?

  Anger and frustration singed my soul from deep inside. Damn you, Callum Wilder, I thought. This was supposed to be a happy moment in my life, my first real job, something to celebrate.

  Instead, I was thinking about him.

  My ass burned from what he’d done to me, those stinging slaps he’d placed on my skin, over and over again, harder and harder, his palm crashing into me as he worked out whatever aggression lived inside of him.

  I could taste his mouth on mine, could feel his big hands holding my hips as he pushed inside of me.

  By the time I got to Bloomingdale’s, he was all I could think about.

  I walked to the women’s clothing department, thankful it was cool in here, hoping the air conditioning would slow my rapidly beating heart.

  My phone buzzed, and I reached into my bag.

  One new text message.

  From Callum.

  My breath caught in my chest.

  I’d deleted his number from my phone, not that it mattered -- his number was branded into my memory.

  How was your interview?

  My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure if I should reply. My instinct told me not to, that it would just invite more contact, would just give me false hope.

  On the other hand, I didn’t want him thinking that I couldn’t reply to a simple text message, that he’d left me so weak and wanting or mad and upset that I couldn’t even be in contact with him.

  Who is this? I typed and hit send.

  The reply came swiftly.

  The man whose handprints are still on that pretty little ass of yours.

  I flushed. He was right. The outline of his hands were still on my ass, a reminder of the ownership he’d taken of my body.

  I’m sorry, but the contract I signed forbids this kind of contact. If you
have something to say to me, you’ll have to go through my lawyer, I typed.

  I didn’t know you liked rules so much, Lemon. You sure didn’t seem to care about rules when my dick was buried in your pussy.

  How dare you imply that I think I’m above the law? When I sign a contract, I make sure to do what I’m told.

  Oh, I’ll bet you do. How did the interview go?

  Fine.

  Did you get the job?

  Yes.

  We should celebrate.

  My heart fumbled and tripped, regained its footing and soared at the thought of seeing him again before crashing back down to earth. How could he run so hot and cold with me? The man had made me sign a paper saying that if I ran into him somewhere, I was to pretend as if I didn’t know him.

  And now he wanted to see me again?

  The clicking sound his handcuffs had made filled my brain. I remembered the feel of his dick in my mouth, how he’d held my head against him, filling me with his width until my eyes watered.

  My skin prickled with hot goose bumps.

  “Can I help you?” a saleswoman asked, bustling up to me. She gave me a friendly smile.

  “I’m….Um, yes, I think so,” I said, shoving my phone back into my purse. I felt discombobulated, almost like I’d forgotten where I was. “I’m starting my first job tomorrow, and I need something to wear.”

  She nodded, making a clucking noise with her tongue before putting her glasses on and staring me down over the top of her bifocals. “Size ten?” she asked.

  I nodded, amazed she could known my size just from looking at me.

  Ten minutes later, I was standing in a dressing room, knee-deep in smart business suits and dresses, creased linen pants and silky blouses piled up around me. I took a breath and tried not to feel overwhelmed. Everything was beautiful but expensive, and I wondered how I was going to decide on any of it or even afford any of it.

  I stripped off my clothes, deciding to start with the pants and blouses, staples that could be matched with anything.

  But before I could, there was a knock on the dressing room door.