by Hannah Ford
I pulled my legs up so that my knees were bent.
“Keep your pussy spread.”
I could feel my clit throbbing, could feel my hood pulled back, exposing the sensitive nub.
“Your pussy looks so good, baby girl.” He dropped the loop of the belt off his hand so that it hung between us, then skimmed the leather over my open pussy. Fear seized my body, gripping me like a vice. He wasn’t going to whip my pussy, was he?
“Next time I’ll use the strap instead of the belt,” he said, brushing my thigh with the suppleness of the belt. “It will make you scream.”
“Sir?” I asked meekly.
“Yes?”
“Am I being punished, sir?”
“Yes, baby.”
“What did I do?” I was sure he could hear the fear in my voice as I remembered the things he’d said to me before. You know your safe word, right, Adriana? Because sometimes I can’t control it.
“Parading around in that skimpy outfit in front of Brendan,” he said, and the belt was sliding over my open pussy again. I whimpered, and Callum pulled the belt back and whipped it against the bed so hard that I startled. “Putting your body on display like that when you know it’s forbidden.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, averting my gaze in the gesture of submission that I knew he liked.
“I don’t want your apologies.” He took a step forward until his thighs were touching the bed. He reached down to my open pussy and cupped my mound with his hand. He thumbed my clit with just the gentlest whisper of a touch, making me feverish. “I want you to follow the rules.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be bringing someone home with you, sir,” I said. “Or I never would have come out dressed like that.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I could make out his features in the shadows – the defined line of his jaw, the curve of his lip, the chiseled ridges of his naked torso.
“God, I wish I had my strap.” He slid the belt over my pussy again. “The strap would be so much worse.” His index finger slid inside of me, and I was so wet, so tightly wound for him. I knew it was wrong, what he was doing to me, the way he was touching me, the expectations he had for me, the things he said to me.
I knew I should have run out of there and never looked back.
But I was rooted in place, bound to him.
The more dysfunctional and messed up the things he did to me were, the more and twisted and obscene, the more I wanted him.
He slipped his finger from my pussy and brought it to my mouth, making me taste myself on his skin.
“Suck my finger, baby, that’s it, taste how wet that pussy is for me.”
I moaned and sucked on his finger hungrily.
“Now unbutton my pants.”
I reached for his zipper and pulled my lips from his finger.
“No,” he growled and pushed his finger back into my mouth.
I continued sucking on him, tasting myself as I unbuttoned his pants and pulled his cock out. I began to jerk him off, my hand tightening around his hard shaft as he gazed into my eyes and fucked my mouth with his finger. We fell into a steady rhythm, his cock rock hard in my hand, my body wound tight and yet fully ready to be used for his pleasure.
Then, without warning, Callum pulled away from me and lashed the belt against my bare thigh. The lick was high enough on my leg that I could feel the heat generated by the leather move through my pussy like a wildfire.
I cried out and bit my lip. It was the hardest lash he’d ever given me, and my eyes filled with tears.
Callum’s broad chest was heaving, his eyes wild and dangerous in the muted darkness of the bedroom. He stared down at me and then his shoulders lowered as he relaxed. A second later, he threw the belt across the room, sending it sliding across the hardwood floors with a clang.
“Adriana,” he whispered, looking dazed. “Jesus, Adriana…” He trailed off, and I saw the tiniest bit of doubt reflected in his expression, and I wondered if he’d been about to go too far.
But before I could think about what that would have meant, he laid on top of me, his muscular body heavy against mine. He sucked my tit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around my nipple, and then he was moving down my body, licking a searing trail down over my stomach until he reached my center.
He spread my legs and began to eat me out, sucking my clit gently, kissing my pussy with his open mouth.
I gasped, squirming against him as his fingers slid inside of me.
I moaned as his mouth and fingers working together, bringing me to the edge of ecstasy.
My pussy convulsed as my orgasm threatened to overtake me, but Callum pulled away just before it could, and I groaned in protest, reaching down and grabbing the back of his head, my hands tangling in his hair.
“No,” he growled, grabbing my wrists and pinning them down on the bed. “Don’t make me cuff you, Adriana.”
I moaned again in ineffectual protest as he lowered his head, kissing just above my slit, on the part of me right above my pussy on my lower stomach. I groaned and wiggled underneath him, but he grabbed my hip.
“Hold. Still.” “Callum,” I gasped, and I was on fire, I was burning from the inside out, the taste of myself on my lips, mixed with the scent of his cologne and the alcohol and the wrongness, the wickedness of what we were doing twisting together and leaving me breathless, my body wired with anticipation, the want pulsing through me stronger than it had ever been, stronger that I could have ever imagined.
He held me down firmly, one hand on my hipbone, the other on the opposite thigh, his fingertips pushing against the lash he’d just given me, sending raw waves of pain ricocheting through me. But the pain only served to heighten my pleasure.
“Good girl,” he said, and he lowered his head and began to suck my clit again.
I tried to stay still, but I couldn’t help it. I wiggled and pushed against him.
Callum pulled back completely, his expression heavy with disapproval.
He grabbed my wrists and forced them up over my head, sliding up my body until he was holding me down as his dick rubbed against my slit.
The folds of my pussy were slick and they spread around his width.
His bare chest rubbed against mine as he moved above me, and his face was back in the light now, and he was so beautiful I couldn’t take it and I had to close my eyes. “Adriana,” he murmured huskily. “Shit, baby, I don’t…” I opened my eyes and watched him poised above me, the defined muscles of his triceps popping as he held himself over me.
My breath caught in my chest as I waited for him to slide inside of me, to fuck me, to take me, to make me his. A second passed and then another, the desire for him building up inside of me, but still he didn’t move, didn’t take me.
He looked down at me and his eyes locked on mine, and I saw that same flash in his expression, the same flash I’d been seeing all night, the hesitation or doubt or whatever it was mirrored on his face.
I reached up and placed my palm against his cheek. “What?” I asked softly. “What is it?”
“I can’t…” he trailed off, his voice catching just a tiny bit, and panic seized my chest.
He couldn’t what? Have sex? I was reminded of the last time he’d said that, the second time we’d been together, when he’d decided to break his one night only rule. Had he decided to reinstate that rule?
His gaze broke from mine as he stared down at the bed, his eyes unfocused and distant.
“Callum,” I whispered. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”
He closed his eyes, his lashes brushing against his cheeks, and for a moment I thought he was going to open up to me, that we would have a moment like we’d had in his office when he’d told me he loved me, but I made the mistake of moving my hand further down his cheek, and his hand tightened around mine.
“I’m not going to tell you anything, baby,” he said huskily. “I’m going to show you that you’re mine.”
He pulle
d his body from mine in one fluid movement, then grabbed my hips and flipped me over until I was lying on my stomach. He grabbed my hands and held them behind my back, twisting my wrists together.
“Keep your legs together,” he demanded, and then he slapped my ass so hard it jiggled.
I felt him between my legs, his cock rock hard, pushing past the resistance of my thighs until he was poised at my opening. Again, he paused for a moment, but this time, it was only to get a better angle on me, to use my wrists for momentum as he thrust into me with one long, hard stroke.
I gasped as he filled me, still not used to the thickness of his cock, the width of him stretching my core.
“You like that, don’t you, dirty girl?” he demanded as he pumped into me.
“Yes.”
“Tell me how dirty you are.”
“I’m so dirty, Callum.”
“Tell me what a bad little slut you are.”
“I’m such a bad little slut.” The words should have disturbed me, but instead, they excited me. I loved that he’d stripped my defenses, that he could make me submit to him so easily. He made me feel like I was losing my mind, that I had no control over myself when he was around, and he’d conditioned me to crave that kind of surrender.
He fucked me harder, sliding me back on the bed until I was bent over and my legs were on the floor. I rose up on my toes as he fucked me, my breasts rubbing against the comforter.
“I’m going to blow my load right in you, baby.” He was talking right into my ear, his voice low and sexy. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, Adriana.”
“Oh my God,” I moaned.
“Beg for it.”
“Come in me. Please, Callum, I want it inside of me.”
My dirty words sent him over the edge and I felt his seed warming me, shot after shot hitting deep in my core. He held my hands together as he came, his other hand on the small of my back as he held me steady and made me take it all.
“That’s it, baby,” he said, reaching underneath me and rubbing my clit as he kept my pussy tight around his dick. “Come on my dick.”
I moaned loudly as I came, the feel of him inside of me, the thought of what he’d just done to me creating an intense storm that caused my orgasm to rip through me in waves, shattering me and leaving my limbs feeling weak and my head feeling dizzy.
Callum collapsed onto the bed next to me, pulling me toward him and I snuggled into his body.
I pressed my head to his chest, listening to the steady sound of his breathing.
He’d taken my body and worked out his aggression. And even though my own need had been satisfied in the process, I was still left with more questions than answers.
But before I could say anything, Callum got up and began to slide his jeans back on. “I’m going to check on Brendan.”
He left the room, closing the door behind him.
I shivered, suddenly cold, then readjusted my tank top. It was ruined, the sheer material ripped from where Callum had gripped it while he ate my pussy.
I tiptoed to the closet and over to the middle console, opening drawers and rummaging through the pajamas.
He appeared at the doorway a moment later, still shirtless, leaning against the doorframe.
“What are you doing?”
I jumped, startled. “I was just looking for pajamas.”
He crossed the room to me, cupped my cheek in his hand and rubbed his thumb over my cheekbone. “I want you naked,” he murmured. “I need to feel your body against mine tonight.”
But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. I opened my mouth to speak, but he lowered his head and kissed me, soft and slow, his tongue stroking mine, his hands never leaving my face.
When he finally broke from me, he leaned his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. “Please, Adriana,” he said. “Can we just go to sleep?”
I wanted to press him, wanted to demand answers.
But when he picked me up and carried me to bed, I didn’t have the energy to resist.
He tucked me in, then removed his jeans and slid in beside me, wrapping his naked body around mine.
We faced each other in the darkness, our gazes locking on each other’s, the chemistry and connection crackling between us like a live wire.
A lump rose in my throat, and I wanted to ask him why he drank, what it meant, but I was scared of the answer.
So instead I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the ripples of his muscles, the strength of his body, loving the way he felt, his strength, his sturdiness.
He stroked my forehead, brushing the hair back from my face, until finally, I fell asleep.
* * *
I woke the next morning at 5:30, reaching blearily for the alarm on my phone and silencing it.
It took me a second to get my bearings, to realize where I was, and yet somehow, the apartment was already starting to feel more like mine, was already starting to feel more like I belonged here.
It’s because of Callum. It’s because your home is wherever he is, wherever his body is lying next to yours, wherever your legs are tangled with his.
But he wasn’t lying next to me and my legs weren’t tangled with his.
He was gone.
In true Callum fashion, there was a note sitting on his pillow.
Lemon,
Went to the gym, then have a conference call with the UK. Meet me for breakfast. The car will pick you up outside at 6:30. Your clothes have been delivered and are waiting in the front hall.
C
I sighed, staring down at his handwriting. The tone of the note and even his handwriting were so commanding, so… bossy somehow.
I crumpled up the note in frustration. If Callum thought he was going to be able to just brush by what happened last night without talking about it, he was dead wrong.
I would meet him for breakfast.
But I deserved some answers.
* * *
At exactly 6:30, a shiny black town car pulled up in front of my new apartment, and a driver wearing a top hat and white gloves got out and opened the door for me.
“Miss O’Connor,” he said, nodding to me politely.
“Thank you,” I said as I slid across the backseat and he closed the door. I realized I had no idea where the car was taking me, but any thoughts about being whisked away to some secret lair and/or kidnapped were put to rest a few minutes later when the car pulled up in front of The Four Seasons.
“Mr. Wilder will meet you in the lobby,” the driver said when he opened the door.
“Thank you.” I felt like I should ask him his name, but something about that felt somehow inappropriate so I settled for thanking him again and giving him a friendly smile.
The lobby of the hotel was impressive, all gold columns and pristine marble floors. I spotted Callum immediately – he was standing a few yards away with his back to me, talking on the phone.
I watched as he turned, his profile silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in through the floor-to ceiling windows. He was wearing a grey suit and pressed white shirt, his tie midnight black. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his face freshly shaven.
“Stop with the excuses,” he was barking into the phone. “I don’t care how you get it done, just get it done.”
My breath caught at his power, at how effortlessly he moved through this world of opulence and excess. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored wall and I instantly felt out of place. I’d chosen a plum-colored dress and cream shoes from the rack of clothes I’d found in the front hall of my apartment, and I thought I’d looked good when I’d left but now I just felt…like I didn’t belong in a place like this, a place so fancy. The dress wasn’t the problem. The dress was gorgeous, sophisticated and made of the creamiest, silkiest material I’d ever felt.
It was me.
I felt out of place.
Callum turned around, his eyes falling on me as he smiled and ended his call.
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head
in awe as he walked toward me. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I could feel myself blushing, but I was determined not to give into him. He was going to talk about what happened last night.
He reached down and touched the necklace he’d given me, the feel of his fingertips against my skin sending shivers through my body.
I pulled away and took a step back from him. “Are you ready for breakfast?” I asked, thrusting my chin into the air.
“So it’s like that, huh?” he asked, amused.
I nodded. “It’s like that.”
“Very well,” he said, mock sighing, like he was resigned to it. I couldn’t tell if it was a good sign or not – on one hand, he wasn’t shutting down. On the other hand, he was acting far too nonchalant for someone who was about to be put on the hot seat.
He took my hand and led me down the marbled hall toward the entrance to the hotel restaurant.
It was called The Garden and it was gorgeous – all light wood and rays of sunlight streaming in through skylights. There were real trees set up at intervals through the middle of the room, their lush leaves serving to give the place an open, breezy, greenhouse sort of feel.
The square tables were covered with beige linen tablecloths and set with white china imprinted with a leaf pattern. It was far too fancy to be serving breakfast. To me, going out to breakfast meant rolling out of bed and pulling on some yoga pants, brushing your teeth and maybe slicking on some lip gloss or running a brush through your hair on the car ride to the diner down the street.
The thought of anyone in this restaurant rolling out of bed and pulling on yoga pants was inconceivable. The patrons were all dressed in designer business suits or dresses, the men sophisticated, the women tanned and taut. They were the kind of people who didn’t sleep, the kind of people to whom a 6 am breakfast meeting wasn’t out of the ordinary because they’d probably been up since four and had already gotten in their workout. The only yoga pants these women owned were the kind that came from Lulu Lemon and carried a ninety-dollar price tag.
The maitre’d led Callum and me to a table in the middle of the restaurant and Callum pulled my chair out for me.