by Hannah Ford
“I doubt it.” Her lips curl into a cruel smile, and she takes another sip of her drink. “Be careful. You don’t want to spill anything on it.” Her tone makes it clear that she might just ‘accidentally’ spill something on me herself, and I remember how she stepped on my foot “accidentally” the other day.
I ignore her, instead taking a sip out of my water glass.
I turn my back and make polite conversation with Mackenzie and Olivia, who are bemoaning the real estate prices in New York City. I join along halfheartedly, even though I’m nowhere near being ready to buy an apartment anywhere, must less New York, the whole time trying not to be obvious that I’m looking for Elijah.
Finally, the lights dim and the conversation mutes as everyone takes their seats.
And then there he is, strolling out onto the stage of the ballroom, looking more like a movie star in his tux than the CEO of a company.
He stands behind the podium and adjusts the microphone up, then smiles at the crowd. “Welcome everyone, to the premiere of Armstrong Media’s new streaming division, AM Stream.” He launches into a speech on AMStream and its origins, the light illuminating him from behind. He’s just as handsome as any model, his dark hair mussed, his jaw straight. He commands everyone’s attention, his charisma and magnetism just as intense in front of a crowd of people as it is when you’re one on one with him.
He rattles off facts and figures, coalescing them into a smooth speech without using any notes or aids. It’s not a funny speech – he doesn’t add jokes or try to be humorous. It’s not his style. And yet everyone is rapt, hanging on his every word.
My core pulses looking at him, and I shove my hands under my thighs, my fists clenching.
When Elijah’s done giving his talk, he tells everyone to enjoy their night, then strolls off the stage through a side exit. Smartly dressed waiters appear as if from nowhere, surreptitiously sliding salad plates in front of each of us and refilling water glasses as the movie previews begin to play on a huge screen, the ten minutes of each of the four launch movies playing back to back.
The whole time I’m trying not to look at Elijah, who’s seated at the head table, right next to Chloe Castle. I try not to notice when she leans in to whisper something to him, when she touches his arm, when she laughs at something he says.
When the lights finally go up, the audience claps excitedly.
“Wow,” Mackenzie says from next to me, taking a sip of her wine. “Those were all good, but that last one was amazing. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a really good romcom, you know? And I love Chloe Castle”
“Yeah, totally.” I nod, even though I’d found it hard to concentrate on any of the movies.
“Ugh, Chloe Castle is totally overrated,” Lucy sniffs. “She only got the part because she’s beautiful.” She glances at me, hoping for a reaction.
They’re serving the main course now, and I pick at my salmon and roasted potatoes, still trying not to notice Elijah as he stand ups and begins to make the rounds, going from table to table.
When he finally arrives at ours, he glances at each of us, his eyes alighting on each of his employees. “Good evening, ladies,” he says, his voice dark and low. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Oh, yes,” Mackenzie says. “We loved it. Didn’t we, Lucy?”
“Yes,” Lucy says, apparently forgetting her dig about Chloe Castle. “We really did. Mr. Armstrong, do you think there will be opportunities for the romance books we curate to get made into movies?”
“Yes.” Elijah slips into the chair next to me, his presence making my knees instantly weak.
“Will that include Ravish?” Lucy presses. “I know sometimes explicit content is harder to get made into movies.”
“We’re intending on pushing boundaries with our streaming content,” Elijah says, and although he’s looking at Lucy, seemingly interested in her question, his hand is on my knee under the table.
I suck in a breath through my teeth.
What the hell is he thinking?
Suddenly, my anger and outrage at everything he’s done – the picture in the paper, leaving that dress for me with just a short note – comes roaring back.
And yet, my body is still overriding me as his hand snakes under my dress, moving some of the fall of material away from my skin as his hand moves higher on my thigh, so high that he’s almost between my legs.
Heat pulses through my core, the anticipation of seeing him that I’ve had all day, of doing what he’d said and wearing the dress he’d left me swirling together to create the most delicious feeling,
Bastard.
Get ahold of yourself, Abigail.
His thumb presses against the outside of my panties, and I see a slight smirk pull at the side of his mouth when he realizes how wet I am, how wet I’ve been all day waiting for this moment.
Dirty bastard.
It’s enough to snap me out of it.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing up and running off through the ballroom.
Chapter 3
ELIJAH
Her pussy is wet.
Damp right through the sheer panties she’s wearing, so wet that I can feel those smooth pussy lips through the fabric. I press my thumb against her clit, and I feel her still beside me.
She stands up, excusing herself and running off. It’s all I can do not to run after her.
Instead, I suffer through another question from Lucy Bastille, something ridiculous about if authors we already have under contract can write for other imprints.
“We don’t have a rule about that,” I say. “If there’s an author you’d like to work with, you have every right to be able to work with them.” I’m standing up as I’m saying it, my self-control at its breaking point.
I rush out of the ballroom, looking for her, for Abigail. She’s been a constant on my mind all day, all through the day I’d spent in a posh casting office in Midtown as we auditioned actresses for our new primetime medical drama, a parade of skinny blonds, all of them more boring and bland than the last. The whole time all I could think about was her -- her lips, her mouth, her smooth skin, the breathless sounds she makes when I touch her.
I have no idea where she’s run off to now, and by the time I finally find her in, of all places, the kitchen of the ballroom, I’m practically frantic.
She’s standing over by the wall, pacing. Wait staff bustle around her, not paying any attention to the beautiful woman in the Alexander McQueen gown standing in the corner.
She turns around and her eyes meet mine.
Her hair is pulled back from her face, the dress I’d chosen for her cinched tight at her waist, her breasts full under the sheaths of red fabric. My breath catches, possession and want surging through me with the force of a raging river. My God, she is exquisite.
It’s all I can do not to run over to her, pick her up and whisk her away, back to my apartment, where we can be alone and I can ravish her body.
The sentiment is obviously not mutual. Once she sees me, her eyes narrow, and she gives me a look like she wants to strangle me. “What the fuck were you thinking out there?”
“Language, Ms. Bennett,” I say, smirking. “I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to talk to your boss in such a manner.”
“Oh, you want to talk about appropriate?” She laughs, tossing her head back, then crosses her arms over her chest, pushing those succulent tits together. “How about said boss putting his hand between my legs in front of everyone out there? How appropriate is that?”
“What are you doing back here?” I demand, halving the space between us and ignoring her question about the appropriateness of my actions. She’s only a couple of feet away now, so close I have to resist the urge to reach out and trace the curve of her breast.
“I thought no one would be able to find me back here,” she grumbles. “Obviously I was wrong.”
“I will always find you,” I tell her with a wicked grin, but she rolls her eyes.
“
Save the charming act. It might have worked out there with Chloe Castle, but it won’t work on me.”
“Oh, I think it will.” My eyes run up and down over her body, not able to look away from her curves in that dress -- the dress I told her to wear, the one I’d left for her, the one she’d worn for me, no questions asked. Blood rushes to my cock, making it throb uncomfortably, turned on by her obedience. “And what are you talking about Chloe Castle for?”
“Forget it.”
“Wait, are you jealous?”
“No-oo.” But she bites her lip and draws out the word, a sure sign that she’s lying. “You can do whatever you want with whomever you want.”
Her smart mouth displeases me, and I push myself against her, backing her up against the wall. “Chloe King is an idiot,” I breathe into her ear. Her hair smells like strawberries.
“She’s one of the most talented actresses of our time,” she says, quoting a line from one of the reviews she got for the movie we just did with her.
“I didn’t say anything about her acting ability,” I say, and now my hand is moving from her hip, tracing the line of her body, up over her rib cage, loving the little breathy sound that escapes from her lips as I reach the side of her breast. “I said she’s an idiot.”
“As idiotic as some of the supermodels you date?”
“You are jealous.” I stare at her, my eyes meeting hers, seeking answers. How could she be jealous of those women? Those bobble heads with nothing on their mind other than what their best angle is or how many calories are in every bite of food they put in their mouth. “I want you.” My hand moves over to the top of her dress, to that sweetheart neckline that deeps down in front, showing off endless amounts of creamy cleavage. “Only you. I want to own you.” I take her bottom lip between mine, tasting her, sucking it, nibbling it gently.
My hand dips down into her dress. She is red hot temptation, and I am unable to resist. My hand curves around her bare breast, and I watch as her full lips make a breathless “O”, shocked at my brazenness.
“You are mine,” I whisper into her ear. “I say when. I say what. I say where.”
Her hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, trying to stop me, but it only makes me want her more. My index finger and thumb grab her nipple, and I twist, hard.
She cries out, and I let go and then brush the pad of my thumb over the raised peak, my hand still down the front of her dress.
“Someone could see us,” she whimpers.
“I don’t give a fuck. I want everyone to see us. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, that your body is mine, that I can do whatever I want to you, and you’ll gladly give in to all my whims, because you want it just as badly as I do.”
“Is that why you gave a quote to Page Six about us?” Her eyes are blazing, the heat coming off her body in charged waves, equal parts excited and outraged.
I frown, slightly thrown by this change in topic. “The one that said I don’t comment on my personal life?”
“The one that basically made it out like we’re fucking, when we’re not.”
“Not yet.”
“I’m serious, Elijah,” she says, wriggling out from underneath me and whirling around so that I’m the one with my back against the wall, both literally and figuratively.
“Do you have any idea what it will do to my career if people think I’m sleeping with you?”
“Yes.” I meet her eye. I do know. I know she’s at much greater risk here than I am, know that if it gets out that she’s sleeping with her boss, it will be far worse for her than it will for me.
She pauses, lips pursed.
“I just want to make sure that….you can’t do things like that anymore.”
“Like what?”
“Like make comments about us without consulting with me first.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She blinks, surprised at my acquiescence.
“Yes.” I won’t. Yes, I want the world to know that she’s mine, but not to the detriment of her career or anything else that’s important to her.
“I’m serious, Elijah.”
“So am I.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. You what to know what happened today? Someone changed the password on my office messenger account to ‘IMAWHORE’.”
“Someone did what?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t log in, and when I called IT to reset my password, they told me someone had done it deliberately.”
“Who?”
“IT didn’t know. They said it was done from an outside server, and they couldn’t trace it.”
“Who said they couldn’t trace it?” I’ll fire him or her immediately, along with making sure whoever changed the password never works in media again. My IT department is supposed to be one of the best in the world. Of course, best in the world is all relative. They are the best in the world at doing what I allow them to do, things that are above board and legal. For things that fall into a little more of a grey area, I have a private firm.
Abigail hesitates, seeing the look on my face. “Todd Farnham. But it’s not his fault, he was perfectly nice about it.”
“Perfectly nice about telling you he didn’t know who changed your password to ‘IMAWHORE’? Please.” I pull out my phone, and a second later, Darren’s gruff voice comes over the line. I fill him in on the particulars, then hang up. “My people are on it.”
“Your people? What is that supposed to mean?”
From the ballroom outside comes the sound of the DJ starting up. It’s not enough that these people get to eat for free and watch previews of the movies before they’re released. No, they expect entertainment too, in the form of dancing.
Dancing is bullshit.
I put my hand around Abigail’s, my grip firm, and head for the door of the kitchen.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
I take her to my place, making sure to have my driver pick her up around the back of the Carlisle before driving around to the front to pick me up so that no wayward photographers can get a picture of us together.
I savor the look on Abigail’s face as we enter my penthouse. I have the top three floors of the Remington Building. It’s a modern, sprawling industrial space with open staircases that crisscross up to the ceiling and clean, modern lines.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she admits. I take off my tuxedo jacket and loosen my tie, throw them over the back of a chair across from the bar.
“Your apartment is amazing,” she says as she looks around, her eyes wide.
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
She rolls her eyes. “Modest much?”
I shrug. “What do you want me to say? It’s an amazing apartment. I’m not going to refute that. To do so would be silly.” I pull two wine glasses out and pour us both a glass of red.
She takes a sip, and I watch her mouth, those luscious lips on the glass, imagining how they would look wrapped around my cock. The ache I feel for her intensifies.
“What are you staring at?” she asks.
“You.”
“And?” She thrusts her chin into the air, meeting my eyes.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Yeah, right.” She scoffs, and I reach out and take her wine glass from her, set it down on the marble countertop.
“When you’re given a compliment, accept it.” My hand cups her chin, and I tilt it up toward me, her lips now just inches from mine. My free arm wraps around her waist, pulling her toward me. “Let’s try this again. You are beautiful, Ms. Bennett.”
I hold her gaze, and I see the hesitation there, the way her eyes are searching my face, looking for any reason that I might not be telling the truth. But I am telling the truth. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever touched, and the thought of ever touching someone else again sends a bolt of panic through my body.
“
Thank you,” she murmurs, the blush on her cheeks rising.
Her unassuming innocence just makes her sexier, and I lean down and kiss her, drinking her into my mouth. I love the breathy sound of pleasure she makes as the kiss deepens, love the way her body melts against mine as if she’s primed for this.
I pull back and look at her. “I want to take you upstairs,” I say. “I was going to make you dinner, to wine and dine you, but if I don’t have you now, right this exact moment, I might go insane.”
She bites her lip, swallowing hard.
I play with the strap on her dress, enjoying the smoothness of her skin, the curve of the side of her breast.
“Do you want to go upstairs with me, Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What I said in my office this morning still stands.”
“About being a dominant?”
“Yes.” I slip the strap down off her shoulder, rub my hand up over her bare shoulder. She sucks in a breath, shuddering as I repeat the maneuver with the other strap.
Her gorgeous, full tits are now even more prominent in that tight little bodice.
“So if you want to leave, leave,” I tell her, the thought causing my stomach to tighten. “If you stay, you will be at my mercy.”
“What are the rules?”
“Ahh, good question, Ms. Bennett. For tonight, the rules are that you will do as I say.”
“That’s very ambiguous, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Tomorrow we can go over a more formal arrangement.” Touching her bare skin is driving me crazy, my cock pressing painfully against the front of my tuxedo pants. I reach up and push a curl off her forehead. Her hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and I undo the elastic and run my fingers through her hair, loosening the plaits and letting my fingers run through the smooth, silky strands.
“And tonight?” she presses.
“I told you,” I say against her collarbone, my lips curving into a wicked grin. “Tonight you’re mine.”
Chapter 4