His Belt (Part Eight) Page 3

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” I say as he uncaps the drink and hands it to me. “I do. But I can’t – ”

  “Marry me.”

  His words cause my hand to tighten around the plastic bottle I’m holding. Water sloshes over my hand and onto the floor. “What?”

  “Marry me,” he says simply, as if he’s just instructed me to pass the salt. “If you’re my wife, this becomes a moot point. Everything that’s mine is yours. Which means that technically, you’ll have paid off your own student loan.”

  “Are you insane?” I ask.

  “Depends on who you ask. According to half of Manhattan, yes.” He takes another swig of water.

  “You don’t just marry someone so you can pay off their student loan,” I say. “That’s…that’s just… that’s insane.” I’m an editor, and part of my job is to make sure that the manuscripts I edit don’t repeat words over and over again. And yet now here I am, unable to come up with anything except the same word. Insane. Because that’s what it is.

  “Why? I love you. Isn’t that what people do when they’re in love?”

  My heart is pounding. I’ve never been the kind of girl who planned her wedding, who stared at wedding dresses longingly, who imagined walking down the aisle.

  And yet now, suddenly, what I want more than anything is to marry this man.

  Which is just as insane as him asking me to do it.

  But before I can figure out what I should say next, my phone buzzes with a new email. So does Elijah’s.

  He doesn’t move though, instead just staring at me across his gorgeous, shiny, custom-made kitchen.

  I reach for my phone, because I just need a second to add some normalcy to this situation, and reading an email seems like a good way to do it.

  And then I gasp.

  The email is from a random address, a string of numbers and letters that seem to have been chosen at random.

  Iwilltearyoureyesout. SOON. Iwillhearyoucry. SOON. Iwilllaughwhileyouscream. SOON SOON SOON. Iamexcited. Are you, bitch?

  The words send a chill through my spine, and my hands starts to shake.

  “What?” Elijah demands, crossing the room. “What is it?”

  At the bottom of the email is the icon that indicates there’s an attachment. I click it before I can decide not to. But before I can see what appears on the screen, Elijah takes the phone from my hand.

  His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he stares down at the screen. “Who is this from?” he demands.

  “I don’t know.” My voice is shaky. “What is it? What was attached?”

  He turns the screen toward me slowly.

  On it is a picture of me walking into the movie theatre, a picture taken earlier today.

  Elijah begins scrolling through the file, picture after picture, each of them in sequence like a flipbook. First it shows me talking to Laura Lane, then there’s a picture of me in the actual theatre, sitting next to Elijah.

  Then there’s a picture of me walking out of the theatre.

  A moment later, a picture of Elijah walking into the men’s room.

  And then a picture taken inside the bathroom where Elijah and I had been.

  It’s from outside the stall, and you can’t see either one of us. But you can see our feet underneath.

  And then Elijah flips to the last picture.

  And now you can see us.

  It’s a picture taken over the top of the stall.

  It’s slightly blurry, as if whoever took it was trying to hurry up and do it before they got caught.

  But you can clearly see what’s happening.

  You can see that I’m naked.

  You can see my hands tied behind my back with Elijah’s belt.

  You can see his hand on my bare ass, his body pressed against mine, his cock buried deep inside of me.

  “Oh my God!” I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. Whoever took this was there. Not just at the movies, but in the bathroom. We must have been too caught up in what we were doing to notice.

  And now someone has pictures of me. And Elijah.

  Pictures of us doing things that are very, very private.

  And while no one except whoever took those pictures would be that interested in seeing me in such a compromising position, there were a lot of people in this city who would love to see Elijah Armstrong in a picture like that.

  Elijah curses softly, but his tone is laced with anger more than fear. He leads me to the couch, sits down next to me.

  My hands are still shaking though, and he reaches out and takes one in his own hand, then dials his phone with the other.

  “Darren? Do you want to explain to me what the fuck is going on? Why my girlfriend just received pictures of us having sex in a movie theatre bathroom to her email?” He listens for a moment, but then breaks in again, his tone pissed off. He stands up and begins to pace around the expansive living room. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s the hardest case you’ve had. Figure it out, or I will find someone who will.” He ends the call and then immediately dials someone else.

  “Marissa,” he says. “Call Hardline and set up a security detail starting immediately. I’ll need bodyguards for Miss Bennett, and personal details outside of her floor at work, along with one outside of my apartment. I want copies of their background checks sent to me immediately for my review.” He hangs up before even saying thank you.

  He crosses the room to me and sits back down, taking my hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I mean, I think so.” I shake my head. “I just don’t get why someone would do this. Should we call the police?”

  “We can,” he says. “But their experts won’t be any better than mine. Darren is the best in the business, and if he hasn’t figured it out yet, I doubt the police will be able to. Not to mention that the more people who see those photos, the more chance there is of them leaking to the press. Whoever sent that email wants attention, and going to the police would almost assure this will end up going public. But it’s your decision, Abigail. Whatever you want, we’ll do.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, I trust you.”

  “I don’t know why you do.” He curses.

  “This isn’t your fault, Elijah.”

  “If anything ever happened to you,” he says, reaching up and dragging a finger down over the side of my cheek, tracing my jaw. “I couldn’t…” He shakes his head, his hands curling into fists. He starts to get up, to move away from me, but I reach for him and pull him back down on the couch.

  I pull him close and kiss him, running my hands over the cords of muscle in his shoulders, feeling them slowly relax as he parts my lips with the expert stroke of his tongue.

  I feel my body surrendering to his as the kiss deepens, his five o’clock shadow scraping against my chin, the raw roughness matching the kiss as it becomes more and more hungry.

  Finally, he pulls back.

  He stands up, and the light mood he was in earlier has vanished.

  The man who asked me to marry him – if you can count him demanding it as asking me to marry him – is gone. Now all that remains is Elijah Armstrong, billionaire CEO and dominant.

  “Go upstairs, Abigail.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go upstairs to the play room. Strip naked, kneel, and wait for me.”

  Chapter 4

  ELIJAH

  I’ve failed her.

  My promise was to keep her safe, to take care of her, and I haven’t done that.

  The need to dominate her, to tie her up, to keep her safe, overtakes me.

  So after I’ve checked the alarm system to make sure it’s on, that the motion sensors are working, that the security cameras are recording, I go upstairs.

  She’s waiting as I told her to be, on her knees in the hallway, naked.

  Her beauty is absolutely breathtaking, her soft curves creamy and flawless, only marred by the marks my belt and hand have left on her.

  For a moment, I want t
o gather her in my arms, take her to bed and make slow, sweet love to her.

  But then I think about how vulnerable I left her tonight. How I need to keep her safe.

  And thinking of that makes me want to tie her up, to brand her, to own her. It’s not logical, and yet nothing about this is logical. It’s diabolical, compulsive, bordering on obsession.

  And an obsession cannot be stopped.

  I step around her and place my palm on the sensor that opens the door to the play room.

  She stays still, her head still down, and I appreciate her obedience. She’s learned already that she must only do as I say.

  Once inside, I cross the room to the closet in the corner. Inside hangs an array of whips and floggers. I run my hand over them, and then leave them. Instead, I open the drawer that lies at the bottom of the cabinet.

  Inside is a collar, black and studded with tiny diamonds.

  It’s a symbol.

  A symbol of a dominant/submissive relationship, one even more serious than a contract. It bonds you to your sub, makes them yours. Like an engagement ring, it means something even more than exclusivity. I’ve never collared a woman before, not with this collar or any other.

  I’ve never found a woman I wanted to collar. Until now.

  I take the collar and its matching leash, and return to the door.

  Again, staring down at her, she takes my breath away.

  I tip her chin up toward me, and her blue eyes stare back at me, clear and true. I know she must be scared by what happened tonight. And yet she’s still choosing to trust me, still choosing to be here with me.

  I want to ask her why, but the thought brings up too much emotion, and so instead, I show her the collar.

  “This makes you mine,” I tell her. “It gives me control over your body. It’s a symbol of our bond. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I slip it around her neck and lean down, kissing her softly. Then I clip the leash to the collar and lead her into the room. She crawls on her hands and knees, and I can’t resist leaning down and slapping her ass. The red marks on her skin turn me on, and I spank her over and over again until she cries out in pain.

  When her backside has been reddened enough, I slip off my own clothes.

  My cock springs free, painfully hard and ready for her.

  Just the sight of her in that collar, her innocent eyes staring up at me, waiting for direction, is enough to make me want to blow my load.

  I take steps toward her and fist my cock.

  “Stick your tongue out.”

  She does as she’s told, and I place the underside of my dick against the flat of her tongue. The warm wetness is bliss, and I take a deep breath, willing myself not to come already.

  No woman has ever effected me like this, and it’s unsettling.

  “Don’t move,” I tell her. “If you move, I’m going to come, and I don’t want to do that yet. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she says in that breathy, innocent voice of hers.

  I hold the back of her head still as I move my cock over her tongue, then push it into her mouth.

  “Stay still,” I growl. Her instinct is to start to suck me off, but she stills at my words, obedient. I hold the back of her head and fuck her mouth, forcing myself all the way to the back of her throat. She takes it until her eyes water.

  “Do you know how hot you look with my cock choking you?”

  “No, sir.” She shakes her head.

  “You look so fucking sexy, baby.” I fuck her mouth, watching as she almost chokes on my hard dick.

  And then I pull out.

  “Did you like that?” I ask, rubbing the head of my cock over lips.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I bet you did.” I slap my cock against her cheek. She stares up at me still, taking what I’m giving her, her eyes so blue I feel like I’m drowning. Her trust in me causes emotion to well in my chest, strong and almost unbearable in its intensity.

  I take a step back from her, almost unable to take what I’m feeling for her. I am unworthy of the way she’s trusting me.

  And yet I want it so badly that my instinct is to immediately push her away, even though that makes absolutely no sense.

  My hands curl into fists by my side, and then I walk across the room to where my pants lay in a pile on the floor.

  I pull out my phone.

  Then I return to her and put my cock back to her mouth.

  I open the camera app on my phone. The screen comes to life and I train the camera on her, watching through the phone as I push my cock past her lips again and down her throat.

  The whole time she stays there, still, not moving, ready to do whatever it is I ask.

  Even though someone took a picture of her when she was unaware, she’s still willing to do this for me, still willing to trust me enough to let me do the same.

  I hit the button and take the picture.

  Chapter 5

  ABIGAIL

  I know that this, too, is a test. This is what he does – tests me by pushing me to my limits. And I am determined to pass every single trial. Because I love him.

  And so when he takes out his camera and takes a picture of me with his cock in my mouth, I let him. He owns me, mind, body, and soul, and it’s freeing to give myself to him. It connects us in a way I’ve never been connected to anyone.

  When he’s done, he sets his phone down and hauls me up, carries me to the side of the room where a metal bar is nailed to the wall.

  From it hangs shackles.

  He shackles my wrists, then grabs his belt from where it lays on the floor and uses it to tie my ankles together.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, pressing his body against mine, all tight ridges of hard muscle.

  His erection presses against my stomach, and I groan.

  “You will stay just as you are. Legs together. Not moving. Do you understand?” The way I’m strung up forces my breasts up and out, and while he talks, he hefts them in his hand, his thumbs running over my nipples.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He shifts his body and I feel the tip of his cock move to my opening.

  My instinct is to arch into him, to let my body relax, to pull him into me. But his fingers tighten around my nipples, and I suck a breath in through my teeth.

  “No. Stay still.”

  “Yes, sir.” The words are a whimper, because what he’s asking of me is nearly impossible. Under the best of circumstances, my pussy can barely accommodate his length and girth. Now he’s asking me to keep my legs and pussy together while he pushes into me.

  The tip of his cock forces my pussy lips apart, and his body pushes against mine, the strong planes of his chest against my hard nipples.

  Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to push into me, just a tiny bit at a time. It’s like being fucked for the first time all over again. Unable to open my legs because of his belt around my ankles, my legs are forced to stay together.

  “Elijah,” I gasp. “I can’t –“

  He smothers my protests with a kiss, his tongue stroking mine expertly as he pushes further into my pussy. An exquisite ache starts between my legs as my body starts to accept him.

  He continues to kiss me, and we moan into each other’s mouths.

  “Jesus,” he breathes when he finally breaks the kiss. “You are so tight.” He pushes further in, stretching me even further around him. He continues, his eyes locked on mine until he’s all the way in.

  He stays still, allowing my body to get used to him at this angle.

  The silence stretches around us. The only thing I can hear is the sound of the blood rushing through my body and the way his heart is beating against mine, strong and steady.

  “I can only stay like this for so long,” he says. “I want to fuck you so badly, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He begins to move slowly. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, it’s okay.”

  He ups his pace, faster an
d faster. His length is brushing against my clit with every stroke, and my channel clenches around him, pulling him into me, tightening around his hard cock.

  “Elijah,” I groan. “Yes, fuck me.”

  “Come,” he commands, and his words send me over the edge, the spasm of my pussy causing his own release.

  As my orgasm crests over me like the crescendo of a symphony, I feel his warmth inside of me, filling my insides.

  “I love you,” he whispers against me.

  And I’ve never felt it to be so true.

  Later, after we’ve showered, we climb into his bed.

  Elijah works on his laptop next to me, and the steady sound of the soft clacking of the keys lulls me to sleep.

  A few hours later, when he switches off the small reading light on the nightstand and shuts his laptop, the movement wakes me.

  “Hi,” I say sleepily.

  “Hi,” he murmurs against my hair, pulling me close to him.

  I turn over so I can face him in the dark.

  “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay.” I blink sleepily, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The blurry shadows start to come into focus, the hard angle of his jaw, the curve of his lip, the slash of his brow. I reach out and run my hand down over his bare arm, feeling the hardness of the muscle, the dips and curve of his bicep.

  His hands find my hips. I’m wearing just a t-shirt of his and a pair of panties, and his hands slip to my thighs, stroking my bare skin. But even though the gesture is insanely erotic and sends fireworks exploding through every part of my body, I know it’s not meant to be purely sexual. It’s intimate, loving, close.

  I’m not sure why, but it gives me courage.

  “How’s your father doing?” I ask into the muted darkness.

  “The same.” Elijah hesitates. “The antibiotics are keeping the infection at bay. It’s not spreading. But it’s not getting any better, either.”