His Belt (Part Two) Read online

  I swing her barstool around so that she’s facing me, forcing our legs to scissor together. I can feel the heat pouring off of her in waves, can see her breasts heaving, the color in her cheeks that I’m beginning to recognize as a sign that she’s turned on.

  I touch her thigh, and she tries to wrench away from me, but I hold her tight, making it impossible for her to move.

  “We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way, Ms. Bennett,” I say. “Do you understand?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oh, I intend to make that happen. But not here. Not right now.”

  She swallows hard, her delicate throat rippling as she does so, and I imagine her swallowing a mouthful of my cum. My cock is already rock hard.

  “I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen to me carefully. Go into the back, go into the coat closet, and wait for me there.”

  “Why?” she says. “So you can use me again?”

  “Use you for what?” I ask. “A case of blue balls?”

  She falters. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not… I mean, I don’t want to…”

  “I think you do want to, Ms. Bennett.”

  She pauses for a moment, and I take my hand and move it further up her thigh, rubbing my thumb over her smooth, bare skin as I inch up the bottom of her dress. She’s thrumming with heat and want, I can feel it coming off of her in waves.

  “The coat closet, Ms. Bennett. Now. Or we will do this the hard way.”

  Chapter 5

  ABIGAIL

  I want to.

  That’s the thing.

  I want to do what he says.

  I’m also afraid that if I don’t, he’s going to do something crazy in front of all these people. So I turn my seat around and slide off the stool, head toward the back of the restaurant to the coat closet.

  It’s a tiny room, dark, with only a few coats hanging on a few hangers. This isn’t the kind of place you come to if you care about hanging up your coat, although I guess Elijah does, since he knew there was a coat closet here.

  There’s a long metal bar that follows the perimeter of the room, and a set of track lighting follows it.

  “Good girl.” Elijah’s voice comes from behind me, along with the sound of the door shutting.

  I turn around, and instantly, he’s on me, his mouth on mine, kissing me, insistent as his tongue pushes past all my defenses, through my lips. Our tongues tangle and dance together, the five o’clock shadow that’s started to bloom on his chin brushing against my skin.

  He kisses me and then pushes me away, leaving me breathless, my knees weak.

  “I don’t want you talking to other men.”

  “I wasn’t talking to –”

  “I don’t want excuses either, Ms. Bennett.” He’s unbuckling his belt now, the same belt he used against my ass earlier. “I want you to do as I say.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir, what?”

  “Yes, sir, I won’t talk to any other men.” Even as I’m saying the words I know they’re crazy, but I don’t care. The part of me that takes over when I’m with Elijah is taking over now, the part that wants to fall to my knees and call him sir, the part that is desperate for his hands on me, the part that will give in to any crazy demands just to make sure he touches me.

  “Put your hands in the air.”

  I do as I’m told, and he’s back on me, pushing me over to the side of the room, shoving the coats out of the way and tying my hands to the bar above me with his leather belt. I tug experimentally, trying to see if it’s for show. But it’s not. I can’t move.

  And the worst part is, I like it.

  “Do you know what it does to me, seeing you talking to someone else?” he demands, his voice ragged as he cups my chin in his hand, his thumb stroking my cheek.

  I shake my head.

  “It drives me fucking insane.” His hands are at the straps of my dress now, untying them, then shoving down my bra until my breasts pop out.

  He hefts them in his hands, and then lowers his head, teasing the peak of my right breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with an audible pop.

  I groan and lean back as he moves to my other breast, his mouth warm and wet and good.

  “I love your tits,” he murmurs. “So big and perfect.”

  I watch as he sucks them, moving back and forth, his tongue swirling around the nipple, teasing, stroking, tracing my areola before moving back to the pebbled center.

  “Are you getting wet?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  His hands move to my ass, gripping tightly, and I wince.

  “Does that hurt from where I belted you earlier, baby?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Good. I bet your ass is red, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I took a look in the bathroom earlier, looking in fascination at the blooms of color on my skin, a perverse pleasure sliding through me like lava at being marked by him.

  Elijah pulls my dress up so that it’s bunched around my waist, then wedges himself in between my legs. “Wrap your legs around me,” he growls into my ear, his breath making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and sending a frisson of electricity down my spine. I do as I’m told, picking up my legs and wrapping them around him.

  One of his hands digs into my ass, steadying me, while the other gropes one of my breasts.

  “Stay still, baby.”

  I still, and he does too, the only sound our heartbeats and the din of voices out in the bar. He’s so close to me that I can feel his heart beat through his shirt, strong and steady, a stark contrast to mine, which is beating fast, the rush of blood through my body filling my ears.

  And then he starts to move against me.

  His cock is still inside his pants, but he’s moving against my panty-clad pussy. The friction is slight as he moves his cock, guiding me up and down with the hand that’s on my ass.

  “I want to get you used to my cock,” he says. “I’m going to get you used to it before I slide it inside of you.”

  I whimper.

  “Not tonight, baby. I’m not going to fuck you tonight, that tight pussy isn’t ready for me yet.” He kisses me softly, sucking on my lower lip as he grinds me against him more insistently, the friction growing between us as he dry humps me, pulling me up and down against his dick.

  “Elijah,” I groan. “Oh my God, Elijah.”

  “Good girl,” he says. “Just let yourself go. Let me take over your body.”

  I tip my head back and he lets go of my breast, grips my ass with both hands as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, softly sucking as he presses me harder against his dick.

  We fall into a rhythm as he returns to my mouth, and we kiss again, groaning and moaning against each other’s mouth.

  “I’m going to come soon,” I whisper.

  He slows down, almost stopping, like he wants to torture me. His hands snake around to my waist, his big hands grabbing my hips.

  And then he’s ripping my panties away, pulling them hard until the delicate fabric of my thong tears, leaving my pussy bare to him as he pulls me back against his pants, back against his hard cock.

  I groan and then he’s pulling me up and down hard, my clit pulsing as I come all over him, the waves of my orgasm like a current pulling me out to sea.

  When I finally still, he kisses me, then undoes the belt from around my wrists and helps me with my dress.

  He takes my ruined panties and pulls them off, slides them into his pocket.

  And then, with a sexy grin, he’s gone.

  Chapter 6

  ELIJAH

  When I’m on my own home, behind the wheel of my car, an Aston Martin Valkyrie whose power is lost on the streets of New York, I’m unsettled.

  I think about the comment I sent to the paper, how I’d insisted on being allowed to bring a plus one to the wedding.

  And most of all, I think of her.

 
Abigail.

  The way her mouth felt on mine, the sounds she made when she came, how sweet and wet her pussy was, the bounce of her breasts as I moved her up and down on my cock.

  “Fuck,” I swear out loud and then turned my car around, heading away from my apartment.

  I need a reminder of exactly why I don’t do relationships, of the havoc they can wreak. I need to visit my father.

  I head Uptown, through the west side.

  The traffic is heavy, and it heightens the edgy, anxious feeling inside of me.

  I make my way through the bustling area of Morningside Heights, watching impatiently as students and commuters stream across the sidewalks at every light. Finally, I’m at Columbia University New York Presbyterian Hospital.

  I valet, and take the elevator up to the critical care unit.

  I check my watch.

  Almost 9 o’clock.

  Visiting hours are almost over, but not quite. I’m given a badge at the nurse’s station, and the pleasant woman manning the desk gives me directions to my father’s room, her voice soft and soothing.

  Of course I don’t need them.

  Everything about this place is burned into my brain, everything about his room, the route to get there, the taste of the shitty cafeteria coffee, the smell of staleness and antiseptic that permeates the halls.

  Even so, every time I see him, it’s shocking.

  He lays in bed, a husk of the man he used to be.

  Tubes and wires attach to him everywhere, and monitors beep around him. A breathing tube is shoved down his throat, and his chest rises and falls, his body forced by the machine to do what it’s now unable to do naturally.

  I take a chair and move it close to his bed.

  “Hello, Dad.” I begin to talk, even though any hope of him ever answering has been dashed long ago.

  Chapter 7

  ABIGAIL

  The next morning dawns bright and clear, and my heels click against the sidewalk as I exit my apartment. I join the throng of commuters on their way to the subway, then change my mind and decide to splurge on a cab to take me to work, figuring I deserve it.

  I’m in a surprisingly good mood considering what happened last night -- or maybe I’m just in denial -- as I grab a coffee from the break room and take it to my desk.

  I’m in to work early, and I love the quietness of the office, the stillness that permeates the air when it’s just me and a couple of other people. I work the best when there are no distractions, and I pull up the manuscript that was sent to me the other day by Laura Lane, my favorite agent.

  Flashes of him start to burn against my brain like the way it feels when you look at the sun too long and can still see it against the back of your eyelids. His tongue in my mouth, his hands on my skin, the rawness of the skin on my backside from when he punished me in his office.

  I push them out of my mind, determined to focus on the manuscript I came in early to read. It works for a little while, as the book is good, and I’m pulled in by the voice and the witty dialogue.

  An hour later, I get an email with the new sales numbers from Jessica Chase’s latest book, and they are better than expected. Bookstores base their orders for new books on an author’s old books, so this is great news.

  This is why I came to New York, I remind myself. Not because of Elijah Armstrong.

  Just thinking of him makes my pulse leap again.

  Last night, making me go into that coat closet….and right after I’d had that conversation with Hailey, too!

  More flashes burn through my brain.

  The feel of the cool air on my nipples. The way his belt felt against my ass. The way he parted my folds from behind, his fingers moving expertly, never breaching me, and yet making me come anyway.

  The way he tied me to that pole, the feel of his cock between my legs, how I wanted to beg him to put it inside me.

  But Elijah Armstrong is not enough to lose my job over. And I have to remember that.

  I refocus – again -- on the work in front of me.

  It’s an hour later when the first sign that something might be wrong comes, in the form of a text from Hailey.

  You okay, Abs?

  Then one from Will.

  Almost there, in front of the building now.

  I frown, then write back.

  Doing great! Got in early and got to work!

  I want to type something about how Elijah Armstrong isn’t going to throw me off my game, but I decide that’s not the best idea. There’s no way I want his name in print, no way I want any evidence of what we’ve been doing, even if it’s just in the form of a text.

  I put my phone away and turn back to my computer. It’s nine o’clock now, and over the past hour or so more people have been trickling into the office, the soft hum of keystrokes and conversation starting to fill the room.

  Even so, it’s a shock when Lucy Bastille slams a newspaper down in front of me, her perfectly manicured fingernails jamming at the page.

  “What the hell is this?” she hisses.

  “A newspaper,” I say, rolling my eyes. Wow. She has really ramped up her bad attitude. “They’re becoming antiquated, but a few of them are still around. They report on current events, world issues –”

  “I know what a fucking newspaper is,” she says, her voice dripping venom. “I mean what the hell is going on with you and Armstrong?”

  My heartbeat picks up and my stomach flips as I look down at the paper in front of me. And right there on Page Six, is a photo of me and Elijah, leaving Octane the night he took me out.

  He’s not touching me, but it’s clear we’re getting into a car together. The wind has picked up right as I’m taking a step, and my black dress has been pushed back and up by the breeze, making it appear shorter and tighter than it is. My hair is loose and tousled, making it look more like a date than a business meeting.

  “It was just a business meeting,” I say weakly, pushing the paper back toward her. “You know how the paparazzi is about these things.”

  “Look at the quote.” Lucy shoves the paper back toward me.

  Elijah Armstrong is at it again. The notorious billionaire bachelor was spotted out at Octane with Abigail Bennett, 23, one of his senior editors at Armstrong Media. When reached for comment, Mr. Armstrong’s publicist said only that ‘Mr. Armstrong doesn’t comment on his personal life.’ Looks like he’s getting pretty personal with his employees.

  “What?” I say. “It doesn’t say anything.”

  “Armstrong never comments on any of his dates,” Lucy says. “I’m not an idiot, Abigail.” She leans in close, so close that I can see the glossy outline of her perfectly applied lipstick, can smell the cloyingly floral scent of her perfume and the hint of coffee on her breath. “If this is your play, sleeping with him to make sure that your line gets attention and mine doesn’t, then it’s not going to work. I. Will. Destroy. You.”

  And with that proclamation, she walks away, leaving me sitting there.

  The blood rushes to my head, and I reach out and grab the side of my desk, trying to calm myself as the room spins just a little bit.

  And then, suddenly, my panic turns to anger.

  How dare he?

  He had to know that this would happen, had to know that it would look horrible.

  He couldn’t have lied, couldn’t have said that it was just a business meeting? Or at least refused to comment, as he usually did? Instead he did something even worse, leaving everyone to speculate.

  I’m pissed.

  I pick up the phone and call Will.

  “Hey,” he says, sounding breathless. “I’m sorry, I just got in the building. Hailey’s caught in some kind of subway snafu, but she’s going to be here in a few.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Listen, can you get me in to see Armstrong?”

  He pauses, and I can tell he’s hesitating. I don’t blame him – it’s a big ask, to ask him to bring me up to see Elijah when he’s not expecting me. But I need to tal
k to Elijah, and I don’t want him to know I’m coming. He’s used to being in control, and I need any advantage that I can get.

  “I understand if you can’t,” I say.

  I hold my breath, waiting for my answer.

  He sighs. “You owe me one, Bennett. Big time.”

  “She’s with me,” Will says as we pass by security and into the elevator that will take us to Elijah’s office on the fortieth floor.

  My heart pounds as we watch the numbers go swooshing by, each one of them making my anger burn harder as the elevator ascends.

  As we step out into the hallway, my cell phones rings, the caller ID displaying a number from an internal line inside the building.

  “Can you give me one second?” I say to Will.

  “Sure.”

  I step away a couple of feet and answer it, waiting for the smooth tone of Elijah’s voice to come over the line.

  But it’s not Elijah.

  It’s Todd, from our IT department, who I emailed yesterday about being locked out of my office messenger account.

  “Abigail? Hey, it’s Todd from IT. I just wanted to let you know I got you back into your account. I reset the password and sent the new one to your email. It’s just random letters and numbers, so you should reset it to something you’ll remember, and make sure it’s not your last password.”

  “Thank you,” I say, impatient to hang up the phone and get on with my mission. I roll my eyes at Will, and mouth “It’s IT.”

  Todd clears his throat, sounding nervous. “There’s something else, Ms. Bennett.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just… do you have any idea who may have changed your password?”

  I frown. “Someone changed my password? I thought it was just some kind of system error.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. It was intentional, someone logging in from a private device outside of our IP purview. Do you have any idea who might have done it? Anyone who you may have shared your password with?”

  “No.” I shake my head, even though he can’t see me “No one.” I was very obsessive about my passwords, never giving them out to anyone. “How do you know someone changed it? And that it’s not just a glitch?”