Strict (Part Three) Read online

  Strict

  Part Three

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  Strict

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  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.

  Strict

  (Part Three)

  Chapter 1

  CHLOE

  He stares back at me, his eyes traveling over my body.

  I blush and go to cover myself. What the hell was I thinking? Taking my shirt off in front of my boss? In the back of his car? Jesus Christ, Chloe, talk about making bad decisions.

  “No.” He grabs my hands and pull them back down. “I want to look at you.”

  His eyes travel over me again, and heat and desire pound through my veins like lava, strong and hot. He reaches out and takes the back of my neck. His grip is strong, the size and power difference between the two of us even more evident than usual.

  He is strong.

  And powerful.

  And he has me in the back of his car, where he can pretty much do anything he wants to me.

  Gage hits a button and the car doors lock.

  The tinted windows provide a buffer from the light outside, casting dim shadows across the interior of the car.

  The pressure of his hand on the back of my neck intensifies, and he pulls me toward him. His lips meet mine, and his tongue parts my lips, sweeping inside my mouth, skillful and strong. Goosebumps instantly bloom over my skin, and I’m thankful I’m sitting down, that I don’t have to worry about what will happen if my knees go weak or my head gets all dizzy, because that’s exactly what’s happening.

  The kiss gets rougher, rawer, and I moan against his mouth.

  When he finally ends it, he uses his hand to fist the back of my hair and pull me away from him. My lips, already swollen, are now tingling from touching his, and I resist the urge to reach up and touch them.

  He pulls me onto his lap to continue kissing me, and my bare nipples brush against the softness of his sweater. I can feel how hard his chest is through the material, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m running my hands up under his shirt.

  He quirks an eyebrow at me, like he’s amused by my brazenness, as I pull off his sweater. I suck in a breath through my teeth. Holy hell. He looks like someone airbrushed him to life, like a picture from a magazine only better.

  Perfectly sculpted pecs, muscular and cut biceps, and his stomach… I count an eight pack. I run my hands over his skin, lingering over the tight bunch of muscles that make up his body. It’s the kind of body betrays a kind of discipline that I can’t even imagine. How the hell does he have time to work out, much less work out for the amount of time and intensity it must take to maintain this kind of flawlessness?

  Suddenly, he grabs my wrists, pins them behind my back until my shoulders are forced back and my breasts are thrust forward. He lowers his head and draws a nipple into his mouth, and I whimper.

  I can feel his cock, hard and thick through his pants, nestled against the soft fabric of my shorts, and I gasp and do my best to wriggle away.

  He smirks, like he’s glad he’s shocked me.

  “Lie back down,” he commands, and I climb off of his lap and lay with my head in his lap, like he told me to before.

  His fingertips trail down the side of my arm lazily, until he reaches the hair tie that I have around my wrist. He pulls it off and then gathers my hair up into a ponytail, wrapping the elastic around the strands. There’s something intimate about the gesture, and I shiver.

  He gazes down at me, eyes blazing.

  “I don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, but it’s more like he’s saying it to himself than to me.

  “You won’t.”

  “I scared you earlier. You safe worded.”

  “I wasn’t scared.”

  He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

  “Okay,” I say, biting my bottom lip and wondering how much to reveal. “I was scared. But only because I liked it so much.”

  “What did you like?” His hand is at my waist now, and his finger sweeps gently under the waistband of my shorts.

  “How you tied me,” I whisper. “How you touched me.”

  The back of his knuckle skates over my stomach.

  “Take off your shorts, Chloe.”

  I do it, leaving me in nothing but my panties, and I close my eyes, trying not to think about the bodies of the women he’s seen before, probably models and actresses, all of them just as perfect as he is.

  “Eyes open.”

  I open my eyes, my humiliating and desire intensifying, threatening to become a twisting tornado inside me.

  “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Show. Me. How. You. Touch. Yourself.”

  “I don’t… um, I don’t do that.” Cheeks. Burning. Blushing. Ohmyfreakinggod.

  “Never?” He sounds surprised.

  “Not that much.”

  “Then I’ll have to teach you how.”

  “Can’t you… I mean, can’t you do it for me?” I’m desperate to feel his hands on me, and desperate not to embarrass myself.

  “I don’t want to touch you yet, baby. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.”

  “Please.”

  “Chloe.” My name on his lips is strong, commanding. “We can do this the easy way. Or we can do it the hard way.”

  I shiver and place my hand on the outside of my panties.

  “Inside your panties, baby.”

  I slide my fingers down into the fabric, and now my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

  “Good girl. Now put your index finger on your clit.”

  “I don’t… “ I trail off, mortified.

  “Shh.” He places his hand on top of mine, but over my panties, so that he’s not touching me – the fabric is between my hand and his. He guides my index finger to my clit. “Now rub it nice and slow, angel, and get yourself wet.”

  I do as I’m told. My body is already wired and my fingers rubbing myself feel good, especially as I gaze up at Gage, shirtless, his body strong and muscular. I let my eyes travel over his flawless skin as he guides my hand over my pussy, making me wet.

  “Does it feel good?” he asks as our fingers move together.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Yes, what?” he prompts.

  “Yes, sir, it feels good to touch my pussy like this.”

  I take in a deep breath as he continues to guide my hand. The desire for him is rushing through my veins, so intense that it’s hard to control. I want him so badly.

  He’s still holding onto my hand, rubbing, teasing, stroking, showing me exactly what to do. And it’s like he knows what I want even more than I do, like he knows exactly what it is that’s going to feel good to me.

  His thumb draws down the side of my panties, so that the top mound of my pussy is exposed.

  “Fuck, Chloe,” he groans. “Look at that pussy.”

  I’m panting, trying not to squirm around on the seat, afraid I’m going to come if I keep touching myself like this, his hand guiding me to pleasure. “Sir, please, I…”

  “Yes, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

  “I want to make you feel good, too, sir.”

  His eyes flare with indecision.

  “Please.” I bite my bottom lip. “I
won’t get scared. I promise.”

  He sucks in a breath, his hand still moving my hand. I close my eyes and tip my head back, lost in the pleasure for a moment.

  “Tell me what you want,” he demands.

  “I want to make you feel good, sir.”

  Another pause, another internal battle raging inside of him, his hand still moving mine up and down, up and down, rhythmically over my clit.

  “Take out my cock.”

  I turn slightly on the seat and unbutton his pants, my hands shaking with anticipation. He wears black boxer briefs with a waistband that sits against his flat stomach. I can see the outline of his cock straining against the material, thick and big.

  He takes his free hand and slides his boxer briefs down until it springs free.

  I gasp and my stomach turns in fascination. His cock is hard and long, a vein pulsing on the underside, the head swollen and thick.

  He fists his dick, stroking it a few times until it seems to grow even bigger.

  He pulls my hair tie out of my hair.

  “Give me your other hand,” he growls. “And turn onto your side.”

  I do as I’m told, and he grips his dick again.

  “Put your hand over mine.”

  I put my hand over his, and he uses the hair tie to bind our hands together. He starts to stroke, teaching me how to touch him without ever really touching him.

  The whole time, his other hand is over mine, down my panties, and we fall into a rhythm, both of us stroking each other, neither of us really touching. It’s the most erotic thing I ever could have imagined, made even more so by the way my hand is bound to his, making it impossible to get away.

  A drop of precum beads from the head of his cock and slips down, coating his fingers and mine.

  I gasp a little as he uses my hand and his to stroke himself faster, the precum acting as a lubricant. Some of it gets on my fingers, and before I have a chance to react, without warning, he takes his finger and hooks it into the elastic of my panties, his knuckle skating against my bare slit.

  Heat pounds through me.

  “Have you ever had anything inside of your pussy, Ms. Cavanaugh?”

  “No, sir.”

  His eyes alight with hunger and desire, and his cock throbs under our joined hands.

  He stops moving. Everything. His hand on his cock, his fingers on the outside of my panties. All of it stops.

  And then without warning, his finger pushes inside of my pussy.

  “Oh!” I gasp at the intrusion. It’s not like I’m not wet enough – but I’ve never had anything inside of myself, even my own finger. I twist on the seat, trying to angle my hips away from him, to get away from the tight pain, the infringing feeling of someone breaching my most intimate space, but Gage stops me.

  “If you try to get away, I’ll have to keep you from moving.”

  I don’t know what he means by that –by tying me down?—but it’s enough to make me stop moving.

  The car goes quiet.

  His finger stills inside of me.

  He takes the hand that’s on his cock and slips it up and out of the hair tie, and my hand slips onto his dick.

  I inhale sharply at the soft heavy feel of it in my hand. It’s slick with pre-cum.

  “Stroke it, baby. Stroke it like I showed you.”

  I stroke him as he starts to finger fuck me with one finger.

  “Christ, you’re tight. Does that hurt, baby?”

  “I don’t… I can’t…” I cry out as his finger slips further inside me, and I buck my hips, desperate for the friction.

  “Greedy girl,” he says, and now his finger is curled up inside of me, the tip rubbing against a spot that makes me feel like I’m going to explode from the pleasure.

  “I’m going to come,” I moan. “Sir, please…please.” I’m crazed now, and he’s looking at me with amusement, like he loves this, that he loves teasing me, turning me into a little sex-crazed maniac.

  “Don’t stop,” I plead.

  “You mean don’t do this?” he teases, and now he is stopping, his finger going still again inside of me.

  I rub against him.

  “Hold still, Chloe, or I’ll make it worse.”

  “Gage. Sir.” My voice is whiny and needy.

  He pulls his finger out and then pushes it back in, and I buck against him. “Good girl,” he says. “Good girl, stroke that cock while I finger fuck you.”

  “I’m going to come,” I say again. “Don’t stop, please, please please please don’t stop.” My release is building inside of me as he rubs and finally, my orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave pulling me out to sea, my body helpless against it.

  My pussy is still pulsing a second later when Gage explodes all over my hand with a groan. I watch in fascination, the spot between my legs still pounding as ropes of cum cover my hand as I continue to stroke him, coaxing out every last drop.

  Chapter 2

  CHLOE

  I’m out of the car in a flash, grabbing my clothes and tossing them on before he can stop me, ignoring him when he calls my name.

  I stop in the lobby to use the communal bathroom to wash my hands, my heart racing. A quick glance in the mirror shows just how much of a mess I am – my hair disheveled, my lips swollen from the kissing, a mark around my wrist from where the hair tie cut into my skin as I jerked him off.

  A refrain of I can’t believe I did that is echoing through my head, pounding in rhythm like a drum.

  I rush down the corridor of my floor, desperate to get to my room before anyone sees me in my current state. I can hear laughter coming from the end of the hall, and I keep my head down, praying I don’t run into anyone. Don’t these people sleep? I mean, we all have internships to get to in the morning, you’d think everyone would be sleeping instead of cohorting and --

  I frown, noticing the door to my room isn’t closed all the way. And then I realize the laughter is coming from inside.

  I push open the door and there are Alanna, and Grace, my best friend from back home in Syracuse, sitting on my bed. Together. Huddled over Grace’s phone. Laughing like old friends. I blink a couple of times, disoriented. Is it possible that what I’ve done with Gage has caused some kind of mental break, and I’m imagining this? Why the hell would Grace be here?

  “Chloe!” she says, standing up.

  “Hey,” I say, as she hugs me. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” She shakes her head and twists her hands in front of her, a dead giveaway that everything is not fine. “I just… I needed to talk to you, and I needed to do it in person. But when I got here, you weren’t here, so I was waiting outside your door when Alanna let me in.”

  “How did you get into the building?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around her being here.

  “Those guys from upstairs were coming home from the bar,” Alanna reports, rolling her eyes. She’s wearing a navy blue silk pajama set and fuzzy slippers. “You know, the one with the cat that they insist is a therapy pet, when everyone knows that therapy pets are dogs. They were drunk and they let Grace in with them. So much for security in this place, right? I mean, Grace could have been a murderer, and they wouldn’t have even cared!”

  Grace glances at me, seeing how I’m going to react to the fact that Alanna has mentioned someone being a murderer. Not that Alanna could know about what happened to my sister. But still.

  How did Gage know, then? a little voice in my head whispers. I’d done everything I could to make sure none of my past was available on the internet. Of course there were articles about the murder, but almost none of of them mentioned me, and if they did, they referred to me only as Cassidy’s sister.

  I was sure Gage Stratford could find out anything about anyone, but wouldn’t have done that before he hired me?

  “How did you get into my room?” I ask Alanna now.

  “Your door was unlocked,” she says, shrugging, like it’s totally okay for to barge
into someone else’s room as long as the door is unlocked. I want to point out that’s still considering breaking and entering, but I don’t want to prolong her time in my room any longer than I have to.

  “I didn’t want to leave your friend just waiting in the hallway,” she continues. “I didn’t know how long you’d be.” She glances at me pointedly, like she knows what I was up to, and then runs her fingers through her hair. As she does, something catches my eye – a slim silver bangle around her wrist, with a sapphire (my birthstone) charm on it –in the shape of a ‘C’.

  “Where did you get that?” I snap.

  “This?” she asks, holding it up. “Oh, sorry. It was on your dresser, and I thought it was pretty.” She takes it off. “Sorry, it didn’t look like the sapphire was real or anything.”

  It’s not real. But it’s important. It was my sister Cassidy’s bracelet. I bought it for her when we graduated high school – it cost fifty dollars, which seemed like a lot of money at the time. And she wore it every day, right up until the day she was killed. They gave it to my parents in a bag with the rest of her personal affects. It’s one of the only things I have left of her.

  “It’s not,” I mumble, taking it from her.

  She smirks, like she’s glad to have gotten a rise out of me, but then, a second later, her face goes blank. “Whatever. Well, I’ll leave you two alone. It was nice to meet you, Grace.”

  She turns and walks out of the room.

  I shut the door behind her, making sure to lock it this time.

  “I’m really sorry to show up here like this,” Grace says. She pulls at the end of her long blond ponytail. “I took a bus, and it was delayed, and when I got to the city I thought I would just, you know, hang out at Port Authority for a while, but it was kind of sketchy and I didn’t really know anywhere else that –”

  “Grace.” I hold my hand up. “What’s going on?”

  “I got evicted.”

  “Oh, Grace.” I take her hand and sit down on the bed, pulling her down next to me. “What happened?”