His Belt (Part Four) Read online

  “Take my cock out,” I demand.

  She reaches up obediently, just like she did at my apartment when she was laid out on my bench, and pulls out my cock. Her hands are surer this time, but her eyes still widen at the size, the thickness, how hard I already am for her.

  My cock twitches in her hand, hardening even more at her touch.

  “Jesus, Abigail,” I groan, and then I loop my belt around her neck, so I can use it as leverage while I fuck her mouth.

  Her blue eyes are still wide, the expression on her face somewhere between excitement and terror.

  “Just relax, baby,” I tell her.

  She nods.

  I take my dick in my hand and rub it over her lips, getting her used to the feeling.

  Her eyes widen even more and for a second, I’m almost sure she’s going to pull away. But then her breasts heave under that skintight little dress, and I reach down and pull the top down, letting them free.

  “Pull it off,” I say, watching, stroking my cock with one hand while she wiggles out of her dress, that curvy body on full display. She’s even more gorgeous than I could have imagined in her garter and stockings, the matching bra straining under the weight of those big tits.

  She gets back on her knees, and I reach down and pull her left tit from her bra, rubbing the nipple, getting her turned on as I push my dick past her lips. She takes it slowly as I breach her, her mouth hot and wet on my cock.

  “Holy shit,” I groan as I watch my hard dick disappear into her mouth. For now, just the first couple of inches. I grip the belt and pull her closer to me, pushing further in. Precum spurts from my tip onto her tongue, and her eyes widen again, but she doesn’t stop.

  “Good girl,” I breathe. “Jesus, Abigail, if you keep sucking me like that I’m not going to last long.”

  This makes her more eager, and she starts to suck faster, taking me just a little further in.

  “Give me your hand.”

  She raises it up to me, and I spit on it, getting it wet, then place it on my cock. “Now stroke me and suck me at the same time.” I watch as she bobs up and down, her hand and mouth falling into a rhythm that’s exquisite torture. Her left tit hangs out of her bra, that tight little ass up in the air.

  “Jesus,” I moan. “Fuck, baby, how do you know how to suck dick like that?”

  She’s going to make me come if she keeps it up, so I reach down and pull her off my dick, lead her over to the grey leather couch that takes up one side of my office and lie her down on her back.

  For a moment, I just stare at her, spread out before me in that sexy lingerie that hugs her curves.

  And then I’m on top of her, spreading her legs, running my hands over her body, up her thighs until I reach between her legs.

  I don’t waste any time.

  I pull the crotch of her panties to the side, exposing that tight, pink virgin pussy.

  “Fuck, you’re wet,” I murmur, running my finger over her slit.

  She whimpers and arches her back.

  “I need to taste you, baby.”

  “Elijah…” She’s half wild, half innocent, moaning and writhing beneath me, and I lower my mouth softly to her cunt, pressing a kiss against her closed pussy lips.

  She moans again, and this time when she arches her back, her hands come to rest on the back of my head.

  “No, baby.” I grab her wrists roughly. “You don’t get to control this. You don’t get to control anything.”

  I take my belt from where I’ve dropped it on the floor, use it to bind her wrists together. I push her arms up over her head, then bury my face back between her legs.

  I inhale the sweet musk of her pussy and then my mouth is there, kissing her open-mouthed, my fingers spreading her, watching the expression on her face as I eat her.

  Her breasts are heaving and I reach up and loosen her right tit from the cup of her bra, so that now both of her tits are out.

  I plump them in my hands, holding them for leverage as my tongue licks over her clit. I suck it into my mouth and she groans.

  “You look so hot, Abigail,” I say. “Tied up in that slutty little outfit you wore for me, those big tits hanging out, the marks I made on you last night so red.” My finger presses into her pussy, curving up and rubbing inside her walls. “Your pussy is so good. Are you going to come on my tongue, baby?”

  “Yes,” she moans.

  I push my tongue inside of her while I rub her clit softly, and she bucks under me. I keep going, licking, stroking, sucking, eating. She tastes so good and I make a low growl in the back of my throat as I lap up her juices, and the vibration causes her to start to come.

  Her pussy pulses on me, her cream so good on my tongue. Her cunt clenches my tongue, causing my dick to pulse.

  She calls my name, her body writhing under me, and I pin her down by her hips as she comes on my mouth, all over my tongue and lips.

  My dick is swollen with cum, from the blowjob she gave me and from the taste of that tight sweet pussy, and I quickly move it to her mouth, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing my cock past her lips.

  I buck into her --- once, twice, thrusting as hard as I can.

  I explode against the back of her throat, coating her with my seed.

  She sucks it down hungrily, not flinching, swallowing every last bit.

  And when I’m done, I lie down next to her on the couch and pull her toward me, our limbs tangled and sweaty.

  She has somehow accepted this part of me, the part I’ve always tried to keep buried.

  And for the first time in my entire life, I start to think that perhaps I understand why people seek out love so fervently.

  Chapter 5

  ABIGAIL

  “Did you have fun up there?” Lucy asks with a snarl.

  I’ve just come down from Elijah’s office and I decided to head to the break room for a coffee before getting back to work. Which was an unfortunate decision, because now I’ve had the unfortunate luck to run into Lucy.

  I know she’s just being a brat -- I surveyed myself in the mirror in Elijah’s private bathroom before he left (which was bigger than my apartment, wtf?), taking care to smooth my dress, to get rid of my torn stockings, to make sure that there was no trace of what we’d just done anywhere on my body. Except for the marks on my skin, which are covered by my dress.

  I finish sprinkling cocoa on top of my cappuccino and turn around to face her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she says. “I saw you heading for Elijah’s elevator.” She pulls a can of fancy pre-made iced coffee out of the glass-front refrigerator, opens it, and takes a long sip. Her lips leave pale pink lipstick on the rim.

  “He wanted to talk to me about the vandalism that happened this morning,” I say, taking a sip of my own coffee. “You know, when someone destroyed company property and basically threatened my life?”

  “Threatened your life?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.”

  “What else would you call it? Someone wrote ‘die’ on my computer, tossed fake blood around, and shredded my dress.”

  “That wasn’t your dress,” she says, “that was just a dress that happened to look like yours.” And then she catches the look on my face. Her ice blue eyes widen, but her forehead doesn’t move an inch. I wonder if she’s already been getting Botox injections. “You don’t think I did it, do you?”

  “I don’t know or sure who did it,” I say, and shrug.

  “You cannot be serious. You didn’t tell Mr. Armstrong you think it was me, did you?”

  “I don’t have to tell Mr. Armstrong anything. He’s working on getting the security footage from this morning, and then he’ll know exactly who did it.”

  “Listen to me and listen good,” Lucy says, moving close to me, her eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t like the way you’re sleeping your way to the top. I think it’s disgusting. But I don’t have to threaten you by spray painting words on you
r computer. That’s totally useless. I think you’re disgusting, but I’m going to beat you where it counts, and at work. I’m going to steal your authors. I’m going to make Ravish the most successful line in the romance industry. And when I’m done, it won’t matter how many Elijah Armstrongs you’ve slept with.” And with that, she takes her coffee and pours it down the front of my dress. “Oops.” She shrugs and then heads out of the break room.

  My eyes fill with tears, and my cheeks burn with humiliation as I dab at my dress with a napkin. I know Lucy is just being a colossal jerk, but there’s also truth to her words. Sleeping with my boss was never in my career plan. My hand immediately goes to my phone, so I can text Hailey and tell her what happened. But then I realize I can’t do that, not after our fight in the elevator this morning.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, an alert for one new work email.

  Elijah.

  Ms. Bennett,

  I request your presence at my residence tonight for dinner at 7 pm. As promised, our agenda will be to go over the terms of our agreement.

  E

  I pause.

  The terms of our agreement. The terms of our dominant/submissive agreement.

  I take in a deep breath. I’m playing with fire. I’m not just playing with it, I’m taunting it, begging it to burn me. This relationship with Elijah is already affecting my friendship with Hailey. Lucy knows Elijah and I are… whatever it is we’re doing. It’s only a matter of time before the rumors and gossip become worse.

  And that doesn’t even take into consideration that what Elijah told me up in his office was seriously fucked up.

  His father tried to kill himself with a belt.

  And so now Elijah uses his belt to engage dominating sex acts with women.

  Jesus Christ.

  And yet he’s like a drug, one that leaves me powerless.

  And so I email him back and tell him I’ll be there.

  He sends a car to my apartment at 7, and when I step out in front of his building, the driver escorts me up to the penthouse.

  Elijah answers the door, still wearing the suit he had on at work. His tie is loosened, his suit jacket off, the white creases of his dress shirt starched and stretched perfectly over his broad shoulders.

  He’s on the phone, but he leans down kisses me on the lips, pressing a hand to my back as he steers me to the kitchen and nods at the driver, who nods back and then returns to his car.

  “I don’t give a shit how it gets done, I want it fixed by tomorrow, or I’m going to let the entire team go,” Elijah growls into the phone. “Get. It. Done.” He ends the call without saying goodbye, tossing it onto the marble island with such force I’m surprised the screen doesn’t crack.

  “Wow,” I say. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “Are you planning on getting on my bad side?”

  I shake my head. “No, not planning, but…” I shrug. “You never know what might happen.”

  “If you get on my bad side, Ms. Bennett, there will be much stronger consequences than a hang up.” He pulls a stemless goblet from a cabinet and pours me a glass of red.

  I push it back toward him. “Just water.”

  He raises his eyebrows, but retreats to the refrigerator. As he opens it, I catch a glimpse of the contents. Everything looks fresh and expensive, containers of salad, packages of meat wrapped in tan butcher paper, glass bottles of water, all of it lined up meticulously. I imagine some poor assistant of his who’s tasked with keeping his refrigerator stocked and looking so perfect. Whoever it is probably questions their existence on a regular basis.

  “Thank you,” I say as Elijah pours me a tumbler full of sparkling water. Of course even his water is fancy, and served in a fancy glass. “What are you making?” I ask, realizing he’s in the middle of cooking dinner.

  “I thought I’d keep it simple.”

  “It doesn’t look simple.” I glance at the plethora of food that’s spread out over his counter -- chicken, fresh parsley and other herbs, bread, fancy bottles of olive oil and something that looks like a can of peanuts, only fancier.

  “Bourbon pecan chicken,” he says. “You will love it.”

  I watch as he skillfully begins to pound the chicken. A kitchen towel is thrown over his shoulder, his shirtsleeves rolled up to show off those muscular forearms.

  He glances at me, and my cheeks heat up.

  “You seem surprised that I am cooking.”

  “I just thought that you’d have a chef to do that kind of thing for you.”

  “I do.” His eyes move over me, and I intake a breath as I realize what he means – that he wanted to cook for me, that he wanted to take care of me.

  He finishes pounding out the chicken, fries it briefly in a pan while he whips up some sort of sauce, then places it in the oven to continue cooking.

  Then he leans against the counter and takes a sip of his wine, his eyes resting on my face, moving over me hungrily.

  I swallow and resist the urge to fidget. “So should we get started?”

  “Started on what?” he asks devilishly.

  “On the, um, negotiations.”

  “Don’t you want to wait until we’ve had dinner?”

  “We could start while it’s cooking.”

  “Eager?”

  “Anxious.”

  “There’s nothing to be anxious about, Ms. Bennett.” He walks toward me, his gait smooth and steady. He takes my hand and fireworks burn through my body, just at this simple touch. He leads me to the dining room, where a long, ornate dark wood table sits. It seats at least twelve, and you have to step up two steps to get to it.

  It’s encased in glass on three sides, the windows stretching seemingly all the way to the sky, the city spread out like a twinkling blanket before us.

  On the table are a single legal pad and a pen.

  “Oh,” I say when I see it. Elijah’s holding my chair out for me, and I slide into it, conscious of his presence behind me, the scent of his cologne, cedary and masculine.

  “Does this displease you in some way?”

  “No. I just… I didn’t realize it would be so official.”

  “It’s important to have set boundaries, so that each party is clear on the parameters.” He says it with such certainty and authority, that I wonder how many times he’s done this before, if it comes from his business acumen, or something else.

  “How many times have you done this before?” I ask.

  “Is that important?”

  “You know how many people I’ve had sex with.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “What? Just because I’m a virgin you’re not held to the same standards? You told me we need to be honest with each other.”

  “No, I said our boundaries need to be clear.”

  “Semantics,” I say, shaking my head.

  But before I can press him further on this, his phone rings. He checks the screen, then takes the call.

  “Darren,” he barks. “What have you found?” He listens to whoever it is on the other end of the phone, his eyes hooding, his expression hardening. “I see,” he says after a few moments. “Thank you. Keep me updated.”

  He hangs up and looks at me, his expression serious.

  “What?” I ask. “Was that about what happened this morning?”

  “Yes.” He sighs. “Whoever did that to your computer was somehow able to hack into our security cameras and delete the footage.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathe. If whoever did what they did to me had hacked into the security footage, it was definitely more serious than I’d originally thought. “So what now?”

  “Do you have any idea who might want to hurt you?”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, I thought this was Lucy doing it, but she denies it. And I really doubt she knows how to delete security footage. Of course, that razor blade was sent from – ”

  Elijah’s head snaps up. “What razor blade?”

  “The one that was sent to me.�
� I swallow. “My mother, she … the man she murdered, she killed him with a razor blade. And someone sent me a package with a razor blade.”

  “And you never told me this?” Elijah is livid. He stands up and begins to pace the room, running his fingers through his thick dark hair.

  “I didn’t know you when I got the razor,” I say. “I mean, I knew you, of course I knew you, you were my boss, but I didn’t know you know you.” I bite my lip.

  “It is imperative, Abigail, that you tell me when something comes up that impacts your safety.”

  “You mean having someone follow me isn’t enough?” I joke.

  “This isn’t funny. Not in the slightest.” He levels me again with his eyes. “You will move in here with me.”

  “What?”

  “You will live here. With me. I will make arrangements to have your things brought over from your apartment.”

  “No way.” I shake my head. “I’m not sleeping in that torture room every night.”

  “Please stop calling it that.”

  “Why? Isn’t that what it is?”

  “Did you feel torture in that room, Abigail?”

  I go silent, because I know he’s right. I may have felt emotional torture in there, but the room was mostly pleasure.

  “No,” I admit. “Not all of it was torture. Although the part where you kicked me out wasn’t necessarily pleasant.”

  “Jesus Christ, Abigail, I didn’t –” Elijah’s mouth hardens into a line and he sits back down and takes the legal pad that’s sitting in front of him and writes “submissive will live with Dominant until further notice.”

  “Until further notice?” I ask. “Isn’t that a bit open-ended?”

  He reaches for my chai, pulls it toward his. “I don’t think you understand how this works, Ms. Bennett,” he breathes. My pulse kicks at his closeness, and I remember his dominance, the way he used his belt on me in his office.

  “I don’t think you understand,” I say, knowing I need to stick up for myself. “I’m not going to stay here unless I can be in your bed. With you.”

  “I make the rules.”

  “It’s called compromise, Elijah.”