His Belt (Part Seven) Page 2

  “No, it’s not.” I shake my head. “It’s fine, I just… I don’t think we should let my relationship come between us.”

  “It’s not that.” She blows her nose with my tissues, then chucks them into the garbage before grabbing a rough paper towel and running it under the water, then using it to dab at her eyes. “I mean, I don’t want it to effect our relationship either. But that’s not why everything’s a mess. Ryder and I broke up.”

  “What?” Ryder is Hailey’s boyfriend. He works in finance and so he’s, like, never around. But as far as I knew, everything was fine with them. I’d even gone shopping with her a couple of weeks ago for a new watch she wanted to get him as a two-year anniversary present. We hadn’t found anything she liked, but that was just because she had a very specific idea of what she wanted (not to big, not too small, sophisticated with a touch of bling but not too gaudy) not because there was any doubt in her mind about their relationship. “Why?”

  “He said he needs to focus on his career.” Her eyes blaze. “Which is complete bullshit, since all I’ve let him do is focus on his career.” She swallows. “So I went into his phone, and I saw he has a Tinder account now. So apparently he only wants to focus on his career when it comes to me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Hails,” I say. “That was a really shitty thing for him to do.”

  “I just feel so stupid.” She’s readjusting her eyeliner in the mirror now, changing her perfectly sculpted swooped cat eye into a smoky look since it’s been smudged by her tears. “I should have seen the signs. Like, no one is too tired for sex, you know? Even if you’re busy, you’re –”

  The door to the women’s room opens just a crack. “Abs? Hails? You guys in here?” It’s Will.

  “Yes, we’re in here,” Hailey calls.”

  “Sorry, I just…Abs, I really need to talk to you.”

  Hailey sniffs loudly and blows her nose.

  “Is that Hailey?” Will asks, sounding concerned. “Is she crying? What’s wrong?”

  “My relationship is over,” Hailey wails, sounding very un-Hailey like.

  “What?” Will exclaims.

  “Can you just come in here?” I say. “This is ridiculous, talking through the door.”

  “But it’s the women’s bathroom.” Will sounds scandalized.

  “So? No one else is in here.”

  He comes in. He pulls Hailey into a hug, and rubs her hair. “That guy’s a fucking douchebag. I never liked him. He’s so smarmy. And I always thought there was a big attractiveness gap between the two of you. You’re way hotter than he is.”

  I smile. I’ve thought all of the same things, but there was no way I was going to say any of them. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you never bag on someone’s ex-boyfriend right after they’ve broken up. There’s always a chance they’re going to get back together, and then you’re forever known as the person who talked shit about your friend’s boyfriend.

  But I’m glad Will’s doing it. Hailey needs to hear it from someone.

  “Thanks, guys.” She pulls back and straightens her shoulders. “I need to get back to my desk before Justine freaks out.” Justine is Hailey’s direct boss, and she’s super strict about knowing where her employees are at all times.

  “I’ll text you,” I say. “Okay?”

  She nods and then slips back out into the hallway.

  “What did you need to talk to me about?” I ask Will, then help myself to some of the lotion that’s set up on the counter. It’s raspberry vanilla, and it smells delicious. If Elijah has enough money to keep the bathrooms stocked with lotion, he can definitely do something about the paper towels.

  “You know those emails Joy sent you? There were two, right?”

  It takes me a second to remember who Joy is, since we’ve just been referring to her as ‘Will’s stalker.’ But once I remember, I nod, realizing I never actually even read the second email she sent me.

  “Can you forward them to me? I took Armstrong’s advice and got a restraining order against her. So I have to go down to the courthouse tomorrow and present my evidence. I thought it would help to show that she contacted you.”

  “Sure. I’ll forward them to you.” I take out my phone and search for her name in my inbox. “That’s weird.” I frown and retype her name into the search bar, then check the trash. But the emails aren’t there.

  “What’s wrong?” Will says. “Did she email you again?”

  “No, I just…” I trail off as I suddenly realized what’s happened. Elijah. He must have broken into my email and deleted the ones from Joy. My hand tightens around my phone in anger. How dare he?

  “I’ll get them to you later this afternoon,” I tell Will, almost sure that Elijah’s backed them up somewhere.

  Before Will can ask any more questions, I stomp out of the bathroom and toward the elevator that leads to the fortieth floor.

  Addison informs me very nicely (read: in a fake tone of voice that borders on obnoxious) that Mr. Armstrong isn’t in.

  So I step right back into the elevator and dial his cell phone.

  “Baby,” he breathes when he answers, his voice low and growly. A liquid heat starts low in my belly.

  “Don’t baby me,” I say.

  “Trust me, Ms. Bennett, the last thing I want to do is baby you.” I can practically see his smirk through the phone.

  “You know what I mean,” I say. “Where are you? We need to talk.”

  “I had a meeting,” he says, offering no other explanation. The irony that he’s allowed to basically hack into my email and delete at will, while meanwhile he’s allowed to give short, terse answers about his whereabouts is not lost on me.

  “Had?”

  “I’m back at the office, pulling into the garage now.”

  I bypass the elevator button for my floor, and instead push the button for Elijah’s private parking garage. In order to access it, your fingerprint needs to be in the system, and luckily, mine is.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say.

  “I will meet you in my office in an hour, Ms. Bennett.”

  “No. Now.” I hang up on him, furious that he’s just blowing me off. When the doors open into the parking garage, I can see him pulling in. He’s driving something sleek and red, a different car than he picked me up in the other night. I wait outside the elevator, literally tapping my foot against the concrete floor impatiently.

  One minute, two, three…what the hell is he doing?

  Finally, I walk across the garage to where he’s guided his car into a space between two others, equally as sleek and equally as expensive. Are they all his? I really doubt anyone else who works at Armstrong Media has the means to buy these kinds of cars, and besides, this is his private garage.

  He’s sitting in car, the engine still purring, his phone to his ear. His eyes are narrowed, his jaw set in concentration, which leads me to believe he’s probably on a business call with some poor slob who he’s about to eviscerate.

  Well, too bad.

  I knock on the window.

  If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. There’s no expression on his face except for a tiny, almost imperceptible tick in his strong jaw.

  It should be a warning, a sign that I should stop. But I don’t care. I’m pissed, and his casual dismissal of me isn’t helping.

  I knock again, harder this time.

  He ignores me, taking his time ending the call. When he’s finally done, he sets his phone down on the dashboard, then turns off the engine.

  He opens the driver’s side door and steps out.

  His suit is dark grey today, his shirt a shade or two lighter, the collar perfectly starched. The material stretches across his broad shoulders, hugging every muscle and line of his body perfectly. He smells of cedar shampoo and the dark notes of his cologne. My muscles tighten and my stomach twists.

  For the first time since I’d found out he deleted my emails, I start to regret my decision to call him out on i
t. I’d forgotten how big he is, how strong, the way he towers over me.

  “Did you delete my emails?” I demand before I can lose my nerve.

  He doesn’t answer, instead opening the back door of his car. “Get in.”

  “No. “ I shake my head. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to talk.”

  “I didn’t say we were going anywhere, Abigail. I said get in the car.”

  “I want –”

  “Get in the car, Abigail. Or I will put you in the car.”

  I know it’s not an empty threat, so I take a deep breath and then climb into the backseat, moving all the way over to the other side of the car, trying to keep the distance between us as great as possible.

  He climbs in next to me, not saying anything. The silence is heavy and complete – outside, in the parking garage, the sounds of Manhattan filtered in and surrounded me. But in here, it’s completely quiet.

  Elijah hits the lock on the door. The sound of it latching echoes through the car, breaking the calm.

  I reach for the door, trying the handle experimentally, even though I already know it’s going to be locked. Sure enough, it doesn’t budge.

  “Your behavior is unacceptable.”

  “Your behavior is unacceptable,” I say. “You broke into my email and deleted personal correspondence.”

  “I didn’t break into your email, Abigail. Your emails are property of Armstrong Media, according to the contract that you signed when you began working here.”

  “Semantics,” I say. “I bet you didn’t break into anyone else’s emails. And I doubt the employment agreement I signed gave you the right to remove them from my inbox.” The more I’m thinking about it, the more furious I’m becoming. Then another thought occurs to me. “Have there been any other emails that you’re hiding from me? Ones I haven’t even seen? Because if there are, you –”

  “Enough,” Elijah growls, and then, before I even know what’s happening, he’s grabbed me around the waist in one smooth movement, lifted me up off the seat next to him as if I weigh nothing, and draped me across his lap, facedown.

  I struggle to get up, but his forearm is against the small of my back, applying a pressure that seems effortless for him, but makes it impossible for me to move and puts me in the perfect position for him to spank me.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you will not question my decisions when it comes to keeping you safe?” He yanks up the bottom of my dress and places his palm against my ass cheek.

  “I need those emails!”

  “I will decide what you need.”

  “No. Will needs them. He’s –”

  The sound of Will’s name on my lips seems to infuriate him, and he spanks me, his palm flat against my flesh. My toes curl inside of my shoes.

  “He’s getting a restraining order,” I say. “He needs them for court.”

  Elijah pauses. “Then you should have come to me and explained that.”

  “I’m doing that now,” I say.

  “After you’ve already been bad. Hanging up on me is unacceptable. Demanding things of me is unacceptable. Rolling your eyes, being uncooperative. All unacceptable.” While he talks, he’s been running his fingertips over my ass slowly.

  The pain from his spank is starting to slowly fade, replaced with a dull ache between my legs that screams for more.

  “I’m sorry,” I try. My cheek is resting on the armrest of the handle in the back of his car, the scent of the leather reminding me of his belt and making the ache between my legs intensify.

  “Words are just words, Ms. Bennett. You seem to be having a hard time learning how this works.”

  I stay quiet, biting my lip.

  “I am going to spank you now, Ms. Bennett.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am going to spank you hard.” His finger curls under the side of my thong, and he pulls the material back and snaps it against my hip. “It will hurt. I will leave marks. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you understand why you’re being punished like this, Ms. Bennett?” He tugs my thong down slowly, until my ass is bare and exposed. The material bunches a little under my ass cheeks, right near my pussy, and I resist the urge to squirm.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He begins to spank me. Hard.

  He was right that it hurts.

  He was right that I deserve it.

  I moan.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he prompts.

  “Yes, sir,” I manage before another blow reigns down on my ass. “Count out loud.”

  “One.” I manage, but he grabs my hair and yanks my head back.

  “No, Abigail. You will start to count only when it starts to hurt.”

  “It does hurt, sir.”

  He smiles wickedly. “I will decide when it starts to hurt.”

  He commences spanking me, and my hands grip the armrest of his car door, my eyes squeezed tightly shut. I’m thankful he’s left my hands free, as I’m able to brace myself just a little bit against each strike.

  But it’s a small comfort, as all that means is that he spanks me longer, making sure my ass is reddened and raw.

  Just when I’m about to beg him to stop, when the pain is unbearable and my pussy is throbbing with a need that seems to overtake me, he tells me to count once again.

  “One,” I whisper, my eyes filled with tears. “Two. Three.”

  He keeps going, not stopping until he gets to ten.

  Then he pulls me up, onto his lap, so that I’m straddling him. He stares into my eyes, his thumb brushing the tear that has slipped from my eye and has started down my cheek.

  He presses his forehead to mine, and I see the torture in his eyes, the same torture that’s always there after he punishes me.

  His lips part, as if he’s about to say something, but I don’t want his excuses, I don’t want regrets. I want this as much as he does. I want him to punish me because it makes me feel close to him, like he’s let me in on this secret part of himself.

  So I kiss him softly, taking his lower lip between mine.

  And as like anything else in our relationship, it doesn’t take long before he’s taking over the kiss, his tongue against mine, his hands pressing against the small of my back.

  My skirt is still pushed up, bunched around my waist, and I can feel his dick, hard against my thong.

  He pulls back from the kiss, his breathing labored, our exhales and inhales matching each other, our foreheads still pressed together.

  “Elijah,” I whisper. “God, Elijah…”

  He swallows hard, and I reach for his face, pushing a lock of his hair off his forehead. I’m desperate for him, to feel close to him, and I undo his tie, pull it over his head, then begin to unbutton his shirt, all the way down to where it’s tucked into his trousers.

  I run my hands down his flawless skin, feeling every taut muscle of his chest, his shoulders, his abdomen. His skin is warm, and I reach into his open shirt, curving my arms up over his shoulders, pulling him to me as he kisses me again, his mouth hungry.

  The way I’m touching him is intimate, too intimate for him, and he allows it for only a second, before grabbing my wrists hard, twisting my skin.

  He forces my hands away from him, pushes them down to his waist.

  Instinctually, I know what he wants.

  I begin to undo his belt, my knuckles brushing against the front of his pants, against his hard dick, which twitches just under this light, accidental touch.

  He sucks in a breath through his teeth as I undo the buckle and pull his belt from his pants.

  He takes it from me.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  I do as I’m told.

  He ties my wrists behind me, binding me with the belt, the familiar bite of the leather against my skin causing the drum beat of desire between my legs to quicken.

  Then he begins to undo the buttons on the front of my dress.

  “Jesus Christ,”
he groans as my breasts come into view, straining under the bra I’m wearing which I found in my closet this morning. He chose it, and yet it’s almost too small, pushing my breasts up and out.

  It hooks in the front, and he undoes the clasp. My breasts pop free, into his waiting hands.

  I arch my back as he pulls a nipple into his mouth, the desperate need of his mouth searing my skin.

  I groan. “Elijah,” I whisper. “Jesus, Elijah.”

  He nips at the sensitive skin with his teeth, then twirls it under his tongue.

  I’m hungry, desperate for more of him. I can feel his cock underneath me, and I whimper and wiggle around on his lap, trying to grind against him.

  He holds one of my tits in his hand and uses his other to grab my hip.

  “Stay still,” he growls.

  I do my best, even though it’s damn near impossible. He takes the breast he’s holding and squeezes it, then begins to move it up and down, over his lips, over his tongue, sucking, kneading, licking.

  It feels so damn good, it’s like his mouth has a direct line of electricity to my pussy.

  “Elijah,” I whimper. “Please, I’m going to ….”

  “No, baby,” he says. “Not yet. Not until I push my dick into that tight little cunt.”

  I tip my head back as he sucks my other nipple into his mouth, and I watch as he tries to take as much of it as he can. The whole time, his hand is on my hip, forcing me to stay still, his hard cock right underneath my pussy, the sheer slip of my panties and the soft fabric of his pants doing almost nothing to stop me from wanting him.

  Finally, he reaches down and undoes his button and zipper.

  I gasp as he grabs my ass and lifts me up, pulling me toward him in one swift movement. He holds me there, poised above his cock.

  Our eyes lock, his gaze sending molten hot lava flowing through my body, searing my skin. But it’s not just physical– I can feel him inside of me, in my heart, in my soul.

  He draws me toward him, kissing me, softly, slowly, his hands still holding my ass, brushing my pussy over the tip of his hard cock.