His Belt (Part Eight) Read online

  His Belt

  Part Eight

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  His Belt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Copyright © 2019 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  His Belt

  (Part Eight)

  Chapter 1

  ABIGAIL

  His words echo through my brain, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through my entire body. Are you ready to find out what happens to bad little girls?

  Dammit. How is it that just the sound of his voice can turn me on so much it makes my body completely override my mind? It’s not fair.

  “Open the door, Ms. Bennett.” His tone is low and deep, sliding over my skin like a warm caress.

  I take a deep breath, then reach out and turn the lock, the click echoing through the empty bathroom. I try valiantly to remember how much time has passed since we got to the movie theatre. Hopefully this is one of those in-between times where everyone is in a movie, settled into their seats and transfixed by what’s playing on the screen. I’m standing naked in here, in just a pair of high heels, and the thought of someone catching us sends a warm flush of humiliation straight through me.

  Elijah waits a beat after the door unlocks, doing his best to intensify my anticipation, to show me that he’s in complete control of the situation.

  Then the door pushes open.

  He stands there in front of me, his dark eyes blazing. He surveys my naked body and I blush under his gaze. His perfectly tailored suit hugs his shoulders, the crispness of his dress shirt somehow even more pronounced than usual – it’s like his perfect, expensive clothes have somehow made me even more aware of the fact that I’m wearing nothing, and that he’s the one responsible for it.

  My hands immediately raise to cover my breasts.

  The side of his forehead ticks, his disapproval evident.

  He steps inside the stall, and I take a tiny step back.

  But there’s nowhere to go. We’re here, in this enclosed space, and now I can’t escape even if I wanted to -- Elijah is standing between me and the door.

  For another long moment, he doesn’t move. His eyes are fire, and that fire licks at my skin, the center of it settling between my legs in an uncomfortable heat.

  I resist the urge to fidget, knowing if I do, he will make it much worse.

  The fact that I’ve covered my body is enough to make things bad -- I know this, but it was instinct. I know I should uncover myself, but I’m afraid to move, pinned in place by his penetrating gaze.

  Finally, without saying anything, he reaches out and takes my wrists.

  His eyes lock on mine as he pulls my hands down to my sides, exposing my breasts to him. Immediately, my nipples pebble and peak, tightening at his touch.

  Traitors.

  The side of his mouth twitches as he notices the effect he’s having on me, and a slight smirk passes over his face.

  I’m about to say something smart, because I can’t help myself, but before I can, his grip on my wrists tightens, and he spins me around until I’m in front of him, my cheek pressed against the back of the stall door, my hands pinned behind my back.

  I gasp at the movement, and then his body is pressed up against mine, the sleek lines of his suit against my bare spine.

  His erection presses into the crack of my ass.

  “Do you know why we’re in here, Ms. Bennett?” he growls.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?” His grip tightens around my wrists, and I cry out. “Why?” he presses.

  “Because I’ve been bad.”

  “That’s right. And what happens to bad girls?”

  “They get punished.”

  “That’s right.” He brushes my hair to the side, sliding it over my bare shoulders as he kisses the back of my neck, his tongue tracing a soft line down the sensitive skin.

  A moan of pleasure escapes from between my lips.

  “Are you wet, Ms. Bennett?” he demands.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Show me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Put your finger in your cunt, and show me how wet you are.” He loosens his grip on one of my wrists and guides my hand to my pussy. I slide the fingers of my right hand over my slit, feeling the wetness, my face burning with humiliation.

  “No.” He takes my hip with his free hand, angling my body toward him. “I said put a finger inside your cunt. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way, Ms. Bennett. But if you continue to disregard my directions, then it will be the hard way.”

  “Yes, sir.” I suck in a breath and then push my finger inside my pussy. It’s sore from how much he’s been fucking me lately. When I pull it out, it’s slick with my juices.

  He takes my hand and pulls it to his mouth, slipping my finger between his lips. “So sweet,” he murmurs. “Why is that tight little pussy so wet?”

  He knows the answer. But he wants to hear me say it. I close my eyes, turn my cheek, thankful he can’t see the blush that creeps over my cheeks, can’t feel the tears that prick against the back of my eyes. “Because you made me strip, sir,” I whisper.

  “And?”

  “And you made me take a picture of myself.”

  “You liked being a little slut for me, didn’t you? It made you wet, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say, shame washing over me even as the pulse between my legs intensifies.

  “I’m glad you’re so wet, baby. Because this is going to hurt.” He pushes his weight harder against my body as he forces my wrists behind my back again.

  I hear him undoing his belt, the metal of the buckles clinking together. Then leather bites into my wrists, and now his movements are slightly quicker, more frantic.

  When my wrists are bound behind my back with his belt, he yanks at the leather, making sure it’s tight enough.

  My breasts press up and out, my nipples brushing against the cool metal of the stall door in front of me.

  His lips whisper against my ear, his voice rough and sexy. “Do you trust me, Abigail?”

  “Yes,” I manage, struggling to make my voice heard over the pounding of my heart. It’s true. I do trust him. I know he won’t hurt me, won’t push me further than I can take. But that doesn’t mean he won’t push me right to my limit, and the thought terrifies and excites me at the same time.

  “Good,” he says, and now his lips curve into a devilish smile against my skin. “Because I’m going to fuck you in the ass now.”

  Chapter 2

  ELIJAH

  Her body goes still at my words, her spine tensing.

  I turn her mouth toward mine, kissing her, owning her, my tongue plunging past her lips.

  I lose myself in the feel of her, letting my hands roam over her curves, trying to quell the anxiety I can feel radiating from her body.

  I kiss her until I feel her slightly relax, and then I force myself to pull away. I want her turned on, wet and ready for me, but this is still a punishment.

  And to have her completely comfortable won’t do.

  I fist my cock. It’s been rock hard ever since she sent me that picture of her, her pussy open, her tits on full display. It was her body as much as her willingness to do as I said that got me so turned on, and now that she’s here in front of me, I’m so hard I can barely take it.

  “Sir,” she says,
her voice breathy. “Sir, please…”

  “Shhh.” I grip her hip with my hand and pull her into place, my cock pushed flat against the crack of her ass. Her ass is reddened from the spankings she’s been getting, and I spank her again, watching the flesh jiggle.

  “Oh!” she gasps.

  “Good girl,” I say as she takes the blows. I move from one cheek to the next, watching her smooth skin turn an ever darker red. The whole time my cock is pressed into the crack of her ass, pulsing with each spank.

  I reach my hand around to her pussy, rubbing it softly, my fingers pressing against the nub of her clit.

  “This is going to hurt, baby,” I murmur. “I’m going to get you nice and ready, but it’s still going to hurt. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it has to be done. I need to take your ass. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.” I continue rubbing her softly until her breath is coming in quick gasps, her clit swollen under me, her pussy so slick that my fingers slip easily through the sensitive tissues.

  I pull my hand away and place both my hands on her ass, spreading her cheeks. The smooth pink bud of her asshole springs into view and then tightens in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

  I spread her pussy juices over her asshole, lubricating her. Then I spit on her, mixing it with her juices as I get her ready for me.

  “You look so sexy, baby.” I can barely take the sight of her like this, her ass in the air, her wrists tied behind her, her body pliable and ready for me. My cock twitches and I groan.

  I place the tip of my cock against her tightened hole, and she makes a sound somewhere between a cry and a gasp, and it’s enough to almost make me explode all over her.

  I push into her the tiniest bit.

  “Fuck,” I grind out. “Fuck, you are tight.” Her ass resists me, which is to be expected, but what I didn’t expect was for her to be this tight.

  I stay still for a moment, as much for me as for her. She feels so fucking good I’m not sure how long I can last.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes,” she whimpers.

  “Good.” I steady her with my hand, gripping her hip. My other hand snakes around her throat, applying a gentle pressure.

  I press further into her, and her ass yields just the tiniest bit.

  “Sir,” she cries. “Sir, please.”

  But I can’t stop. She feels too fucking good, and my body is too wound for her, my cock too hard to stop. I need this release.

  I push into her without warning, telling myself I’m punishing her, that it’s not because I can’t control myself, even though the grip I have on my self-control is loosening every second I’m with her.

  It takes all my willpower to stay still, to let her get used to this new intrusion before I start to move.

  “Jesus Christ,” I grind out. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

  “Elijah,” she moans, and the sound of my name on her lips combined with the feel of her ass clenching around me, pulling me in, almost makes me explode.

  I use the hand I have around her throat to guide her body up and down my cock, watching the round globes of her ass slap against my lower stomach as I pump into her.

  “I’m not going to last long,” I warn, taking my hand from her throat and grabbing her hips, fucking her hard.

  I watch as my cock disappears into her most sensitive tunnel, her wrists still bound behind her by my belt.

  When I can’t take it any longer, I reach around and push my finger inside of her, my thumb brushing against her clit as I finger fuck her while my cock fucks her ass.

  She comes apart underneath me as she calls out my name, her ass and pussy spasming in orgasm. My own release comes at almost the same time, my cock pulsing cum into her ass, shot after shot, until we both finally still.

  My heart is pounding, and when she turns to look at me, nothing but pure pleasure and love on her face, I realize how much trouble I’m in.

  And for the first time in my life, I don’t care.

  “Why are you pacing, Ms. Bennett?” I growl. It’s later that night, and she’s walking a straight line in the hallway outside my office, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It’s a wonder she hasn’t worn away the hardwood.

  I’m trying to focus on work, but she’s making it impossible. Every time I catch a glimpse of those curves, that dark tumbling hair, it reminds me of what I did to her today, pushing into her ass until she came. When we got home, she showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a pink t-shirt. It should be the most banal of outfits, and yet the way the soft cotton clings to her breasts, the way the denim hugs her ass, sends the blood rushing right through me.

  “Sorry, is it bothering you?” She pokes her head through the open door and bites her lip.

  “Bothering isn’t the right word.” My hands are resting on my computer, and my fingers push down into the keys as I try to resist the urge to take her over my desk.

  “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the movies today.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Not that,” she says, rolling her eyes and grinning. “I mean the conversation I had with that agent, Laura. About having to pitch for Jessica Chase. For my own author.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Freakin’ Lucy Castille,” she mutters.

  “I told you, Ms. Bennett. It’s not personal, it’s business.” On the other hand, what I want to do to you is completely personal and has nothing to do with business.

  “I know. And I get it. I do. So I’m going to pitch with everything I have. I just need to come up with something amazing. Pacing helps me brainstorm.”

  “Fine,” I say, “then pace away.” I turn back to my computer.

  But instead of doing as I say, she walks further into my office. Her hair is still just the slightest bit damp from her shower, and I catch a whiff of wildflowers and vanilla.

  “It’s just that usually when I’m trying to work out a problem in my head, I go running.”

  “There is a home gym upstairs with the most expensive treadmill on the market, along with free weights and all manner of cardio machines. There’s even an indoor infinity pool if you’d like to swim laps.”

  “I don’t want to swim.” She bites her lip and crosses her legs. “I want to run.”

  “Then you will use the treadmill upstairs.”

  She shakes her head. “That doesn’t work.”

  “I assure you, it does work, Ms. Bennett. It’s state of the art and serviced every month.”

  “I mean it doesn’t work for me. I need to be outside.”

  “No.” My voice is low and firm. There’s no way I will allow her to run outside. Not until we find out who it was that vandalized her computer. And even then, being outside at this time of night is completely unacceptable.

  “Please?” she asks.

  She crosses the room and now she’s perched on my desk, her denim-clad ass just a foot away.

  “This is a custom-made desk crafted from hundred year old wood.” I don’t give a fuck about the wood. What I do care about is her getting off my desk so that I can get some goddamn work done.

  She glances down and shrugs. “I’ll get off the desk if you let me go for a run.”

  I close my eyes briefly, then open them. It does nothing to relieve the ache in my cock. “This isn’t a negotiation, Ms. Bennett.”

  “Everything is a negotiation, isn’t it, Mr. Armstrong?”

  “No.”

  She looks at me over the desk. “You could come with me.”

  “For a run?”

  She nods. “Yes. I’m painfully slow. But if you’re that worried about me, you could come with.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “It will get your blood flowing.”

  “The flow of my blood is fine, thank you.” A little too fine, I think, as my dick presses painfully against the front of my pants.

&n
bsp; “Please?” she asks, and now the playful tone of her voice is gone, and I see real longing in her eyes.

  I tell myself to say no. It’s true that I have work to do, and besides that, it’s not a good precedent to set up that she can ask me for something and just get it.

  But the way she’s looking at me is breaking me open in ways I don’t understand. I want to give her not just this, but the world. I want to take away every worry, every thought that’s causing her distress.

  All I want is to make her happy.

  So when she repeats her “Please” this time adding, “it would mean a lot to me, Elijah,” in a small breathy voice, I sigh and push myself back from the desk.

  “Fine. But you’ll have to give me something in return.”

  She grins and jumps off my desk. “I thought you said this wasn’t a negotiation.”

  She skips out of the room before I can come up with a reply.

  Chapter 3

  ABIGAIL

  I’m not used to running at night. And I’m certainly not used to running with Elijah next to me. He’s way more intimidating than the women at the gym, the ones with perfectly flat stomachs who wear only sports bras and tight spandex shorts, the ones who push the speed of their treadmills up to eight miles an hour.

  Those women are in phenomenal shape.

  But they are nothing compared to Elijah. His body is a machine, each dip and cord of his muscles defined and perfect, his stride long and effortless.

  Immediately, I can tell my pace is nothing to him, that he could probably walk it if he wanted. I expected this, of course, but not to this extent. I feel like a puppy trying to keep up with its owner.

  “How long do you usually run for?” he asks as we make our way down the sidewalk. His neighborhood is so different from mine, with its bodegas and tiny hole in the wall restaurants. Here everything is glittering lights and shiny storefronts, the glamorous side of New York that’s always presented in movies and televisions shows.