His Belt (Part Fourteen)
Page 3
“Oh, there are a lot of things that are your fault too, Ms. Armstrong.” He reaches for my legs and pulls me toward him, sliding me across the couch. I squeal as he leans his body down on top of mine.
“Like what?” I demand.
“Like how you got rid of the security detail I put on you. They were not used to being so verbally accosted by a client.”
I scoff. “Oh, please,” I say. “They work for you, I’m sure they were used to being yelled at. And besides, it’s not like it mattered.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know that you promptly hired another security detail.”
“How did you know that?” he asks, and now his mouth is near my neck, his breath warmth on my skin. “Did they show themselves in some way?” His tone makes it clear that if this is true, someone is going to have hell to pay.
“No. They were completely unobtrusive. But I know you well enough to know that there’s no way you wouldn’t have had someone watching me.”
One of his hands is cupping my jaw now, tilting it up toward his.
“What about your job at Skyscape?” he says. “I didn’t stop you from getting it.”
I swallow. It would be a lie to say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind before, that he could have made it so that that job wasn’t mine. He’s a powerful man, and he used to be my boss. “I’m not going to thank you for that.”
“Fine,” he says. “Fair enough. But what about all the things you agreed to?” His teeth nip at my ear lobe, sending shivers through me. “That you would do what I say. You definitely haven’t been doing that, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Yes, sir.” My body is starting to melt into the couch underneath me, my limbs going soft.
“You will need to punished for those indiscretions.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’s working on my neck now, his tongue moving down the side of my skin, warm and wet and good.
Every nerve ending on my body is alive, tingling with anticipation.
And then he takes me into his arms, scoops me off the couch and carries me upstairs to the play room.
Chapter 6
ABIGAIL
He sets me down in the middle of the room. He stays still for a moment, his eyes heavy with that familiar dominant hunger.
The anticipation is so thick that I can feel it permeating the room.
“Abigail,” he breathes my name, centering himself emotionally before he does whatever it is he’s about to do.
I take the opportunity to reach up and run my hands over the front of his tuxedo shirt, the smooth fabric stretched over taut muscle. I slide my hands over his shoulders, under his tuxedo jacket, slipping it from his shoulders.
He tosses it to the side.
“Take off my shirt.” His voice is low, controlled, like a pot that’s been set to simmer.
My hands are shaking as I reach for the buttons. I’m not sure why – maybe it’s the thought that he’s my husband now, maybe it’s just that I know I’m about to be punished, or maybe it’s because he’s just so fucking hot.
His shirt gives way to the hard planes of his chest, the ridged lines of his six-pack, and I run my fingers down his skin, enjoying the feel of him.
He lets me wander in the splendor that is his body for a few seconds, then grabs my wrists tight.
He spins me around and pushes me away from his body, no longer a pot that’s simmering, but headed for a full-on boil.
He turns me around and slides the zipper on the back of my dress all the way down.
“Do you know how sexy you look in that dress?” he murmurs, his breath warm on the back of my neck.
“No, sir.”
“It’s sexy because I know it makes you mine. Forever.”
Forever. My heart speeds up at the word, and then his hands are sliding down the sides of my body, over the sides of my breasts, the line of my waist, the curve of my hips.
Then he’s pulling the dress off of me, the delicate fabric falling away to reveal the lingerie that the sales associates insisted I get to wear under my dress. At the time I thought they were just trying to run the bill up to help their commission, but now, when I see the way Elijah’s gaze takes me in, how his eyes light hungrily on the black push-up bra and matching thong and garter set, I’m thankful.
“Jesus Christ.” He reaches out and lets his fingertip trace down over my cleavage, dipping in between my breasts. His thumb and index finger find one of my nipples, running over sensitive skin until the peak tightens under his touch. He twists it, and I suck in a breath as he twists harder until a cry escapes my lips. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he lifts my breast from the cup of my bra and lowers his head, drawing my nipple into his mouth, soothing the ache with the warmth of his mouth and tongue.
My cry turns to a moan as I tip my head back, desperate for him to take me further into his mouth. But as if he can sense my desperation and wants to drive me crazy, he stops.
“Turn around and bend over.” His breath trails over my wet nipple, sending goose bumps blooming over my entire body.
I do as I’m told.
“Grab your ankles so that your ass is in the air.”
As I assume the position, I can hear the familiar swish of his belt coming out of his pants.
The sound immediately floods my pussy with warmth.
His belt lands on my flesh, softly, so softly that for a moment I think perhaps he missed, that he was trying to hit me harder but didn’t for some reason.
But then I realize that he’s doing it on purpose – making it soft and slow so that he can build up to something worse.
And build up he does.
Eight more lashes with the belt until the pain has built to a place that I’m forced to tighten my hands into fists against the floor to handle it.
His finger slips under the elastic of my garter, snapping it against my flesh.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, and he moves my panties to the side, his knuckle skating over the slit of my pussy.
“Who’s pussy is this?” he demands.
“Yours, sir.”
“Who owns your pussy?”
“You, sir.”
“Raise onto your tiptoes.”
I do it, and his fingers spread the sensitive tissue of my cunt, exposing it to him. And then the belt lashes down on my exposed pussy, without warning.
The pain is excruciating.
I cry out.
“This is what happens to bad girls,” he growls. “When you leave me, when you try to deny that you’re mine, these are the consequences.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you deserve this?”
“Yes, sir, I deserve this.” I grind the words out between clenched teeth, because the pain of the belt on my pussy is making it hard to talk.
I wait as he lashes me, over and over again, moving from my ass to my pussy, sliding a finger inside of my cunt when he feels like it, until the pain starts to fade to a warm, smooth pleasure.
“I missed seeing marks on your body, baby,” he says, pulling me up and turning me around. He kisses me, our tongues tangling, his hands in my hair.
He grabs my ass, picking me up and taking me to the bed.
He finishes undressing, and I groan as his cock bobs into view, hard and swollen.
“Take off your bra.”
I let my tits out and lay down on the bed as he spreads my legs.
He lowers his head and blows on my pussy, and I writhe on the bed. “God, I want to bind you,” he says. “I want to tie you down and plow into you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But first I’m going to do this.” He brings his mouth to my pussy then, so slight, so soft, so gentle and slow that my hands grip the comforter underneath me, twisting. The ache is excruciating, the need for release so intense I feel like I’m going to break.
“Watch me, baby. Watch me eat that tight little cunt.”
My thighs slowly slide together, my body wanting to draw him in.
My hands grab at his hair.
He grins and grabs my wrists, pins them to the bed hard.
“Stop, or I’ll bind you.”
“Please,” I say, even though I know that begging will only make it worse. “Please, Elijah, I can’t… I need to come.”
“Not yet, baby.”
He gets up and moves to the cabinet in the corner and comes back with a length of stretchy black rope.
He takes my hands and pushes them up over my head, then binds my wrists together tightly, the rope pinching into my skin.
“Please,” I groan, still writhing under him.
“Shhh,” he says, kissing me gently on the mouth. “Shhh, I don’t want to have to gag you. I like hearing the noises you make.”
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.
“Good girl.” He kisses my neck and starts back down my body, his tongue tracing a searing hot trail over my breasts before stopping to feast on my nipples.
Then down over my stomach, kissing my hipbones, his fingers lingering on my rib cage, until he’s back at my pussy, sucking, eating, licking.
My head spins and my pulse leaps, the blood whooshing through my body, as I gather all my self-control and try not to beg him to let me come.
He licks and sucks, varying the pressure until I’m going out of my mind with lust.
“Come,” he says finally. “Come all over my tongue, let me taste you.”
His words send me over the edge, and my orgasm rips through me, so intense it feels almost like I’m blacking out.
The last edges of it are just fading when he slides up my body, taking my bound wrists and pulling them over his head.
My fingers lace together around his neck as his cock pushes inside of me.
I gasp at the intrusion – no matter how many times he’s fucked me, I’m still not used to how thick and big he is – and he lowers his lips to mine, kissing me as we both groan into each other’s mouths as he fucks me.
He goes fast, and then slow, letting another orgasm build inside of me.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, our noses pressed together, our bodies still connected. “I love you so much.”
He moves slightly, and I can’t help it – another orgasm pulses through me, this one longer and more subtle than the first, building until the pleasure moves through me like a symphony’s crescendo, the spasms of my climax pulling his own out of him, until he fills me and we collapse against each other, sweaty and spent and together forever.
Chapter 7
ABIGAIL
Two months later…
“I can’t believe you’re married,” Hailey says, taking my hand and staring at my rings. The engagement ring Elijah gave me is stacked on top of my wedding ring, an elegant white gold band studded with diamonds.
“Me neither,” I say, taking a sip of my drink and gazing across the room at my husband. We’re at Cocoa’s, the sports bar that Hailey and I always hung out at when I worked at Armstrong, the one that Elijah and I saw each other at that first night.
Apparently Elijah’s brother Ryan is a big fan of their wings, so Elijah and I thought it would be the perfect place to get a few people together to celebrate our marriage. We decided against doing the traditional huge ceremony and reception. At least for now. We’re enjoying just being together, keeping our circle small. After everything we’ve been through, we don’t want a circus.
And besides, who would I invite? Hailey and Elijah are the only people who matter to me right now.
“Don’t you worry that you’re going to get mugged wearing this ring around?” Hailey says, frowning at it. “It’s so huge.” She shakes her head, staring at the sparkliness of the diamonds. “Oh, I know! You should get a smaller, less obnoxious ring to wear to work. That way they’ll be more likely to give you a raise.”
I stare at her blankly. “You know, because they’ll think you’re destitute,” she clarifies. “That Elijah isn’t sharing any of his money with you.”
“I can get my own raises without having to resort to trickery, thank you very much.”
“I know you can,” she says, giving me a smile. She spots a cute guy standing at the bar.
“He’s looking at you,” I say.
“He’s not my type.”
“Cute and well-dressed isn’t your type?”
“I’m starting a new job soon.”
“So? People who have jobs can’t go on dates?”
Hailey didn’t get the job in California, but it turned out to be for the best. She got another job, one as an assistant in a gallery in Soho. She starts next week.
“Go,” I say. “Talk to him.”
She rolls her eyes, but slides out of the booth we’re at and heads for the bar. A second later, I see the guy give her a smile, and signal the bartender so that he can buy her a drink.
“Wife.” Elijah’s arms encircle my waist from behind, and I lean back into him.
“Husband,” I say. “Are you having fun?”
“If you call dancing with a two and a four year old as having fun, then yes.”
“Which you do,” I say.
“Of course.”
“Aunt Abigail, Aunt Abigail!” Cade and Dmitri run up to us, Cade grabbing my hand. In the past month, we’ve spent a lot of time with Ryan and his family, and I’ve been upgraded from “that lady” to “Aunt Abigail.”
“Hey, guys,” I say. “I like your crowns.”
The two of them are wearing paper crowns that say ‘congratulations to the happy couple’ something they saw in the window of a party store on the way here and insisted on buying.
“Come and dance with us!” Cade says.
“Okay.” My phone starts to ring then, the name Lucy Castille flashing across the screen. I frown and tilt the phone toward Elijah, letting him see.
“You better take it,” he says, as Dmitri and Cade lead him back toward the window, where they’ve pushed a few tables to the side to make an impromptu dance floor near the jukebox.
“Hello?”
“Abigail?”
“Yes, this is she.” I fiddle with the tiny umbrella in the drink that I ordered, something pink and fruity that’s called a Tropical Island Breeze, even though the island of Manhattan is the complete opposite of tropical.
“Abigail! Hi! It’s Lucy Castille!” She sounds like we’re long-lost friends, instead of what we are – nemeses.
“Hi, Lucy.” I try to keep my tone neutral. I might have distaste for Lucy, but she still works in my industry, and I need to be professional.
“It’s been ages!”
“Not really.” I wouldn’t call a couple of months ages, especially when the last time I saw her she was making snarky comments about Elijah and I and stealing my best author right from under my nose.
“Anyway, I heard you’re at Skyscape now.”
“Yes.”
“I applied for an editorial position, and I just thought maybe, you know, you could put in a good word for me.”
“What happened to your new job?” I ask. She literally just left Armstrong a few months ago – turnover in publishing is notorious, but this is a little much.
“Oh, you know how it is,” she says breezily. “Starting a new line is exciting, but it all depends on the quality of the work, you know? And if it’s not there…” She trails off, and my hand tightens around the phone.
The quality of the work. She’s talking about Jessica’s books. Basically, what she’s saying is that she doesn’t like whatever she’s seen of Jessica’s work so far. Which is annoying, since it’s Lucy’s job as an editor to make it better.
Not to just throw the author under the
bus, especially when Lucy fought so hard to get her. Of course, she fought hard not because she loved Jessica’s writing, but because she wanted to get back at me.
“Anyway!” Lucy says when I stay silent. “I sent my resume to Skyscape, but I haven’t heard back, so it would be great if you could talk to someone for me.”
“Sure,” I say, sickly sweet. “I’ll talk to someone.”
“Okay.” She sounds thrown, like she can’t tell from my tone if I’m being catty or not. “Um, and you could tell them how we worked together?”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “I’ll tell them what a team player you are.” I’m still being sickly sweet, but now she can tell that there’s no way I’m going to say anything nice about her.
“Listen,” she says, her tone turning dark. “You – “
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I think my battery is about to die.”
And then I hang up on her.
We dance.
My family.
Me, my husband, my brother and sister-in-law, my nephews, and my best friend. Even the guy Hailey met at the bar joins in for a little while, before getting Hailey’s number and leaving.
We dance silly and free, even Elijah, who does all kinds of lifts with Dmitri and Cade, lifting them over his head and somersaulting them around until they’re dizzy and giggling.
Elijah’s at the jukebox picking out the next few songs when I take a break and return to our table to take a sip of my drink, another pink island breeze that’s cool and sweet going down.
Something starts vibrating against my glass when I set it back down on the table, and I see that it’s Elijah’s phone. He must have set it down on the table to keep it from falling out of his pocket when he was doing handstands for Cade and Dmitri.
I see the name flashing across the front.
Katherine.
My hand hovers over the green accept button, and before I can stop myself, I answer.
“Hello, Katherine.”
“Abigail?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
Just then, the jukebox roars to life with a thumping pop song that makes it hard to hear. I step away from the table, heading down the hallway and into coat closet, the same one Elijah and I were in that night all those months ago.