by Hannah Ford
“I want you to. I want you to come at the same time I do, spurting all over your hand, covering it.”
Excitement pulses through me.
“But when you come, baby, I want my finger to be inside of you. I want to feel that tight little pussy clench on me.”
I take a deep breath as he pushes the tip of his middle finger inside of me. Immediately, I can feel the tightness down there. I’m soaking wet, and even so, it still pinches.
“Elijah,” I gasp.
“It’s okay, baby.” His lips graze my ear, moving down over my neck. “Just relax. Just relax and stay with it.”
I do my best to do as he says, relaxing my body as he works his finger into me. My gaze moves between his hand pumping up and down on his hard cock to where his finger is moving inside of me.
I whimper, the pain too much to stay quiet.
He silences me with a kiss, swallowing my cries of pain, his finger pushing inside of me all the way to the knuckle, causing my eyes to water.
But then he curves it upward, rubbing and stroking inside of me, and before I know it, just like anything he’s ever done to me, the pain ebbs away, replaced with a slow, pulsing pleasure.
“I’m going to come soon,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I want you to stroke me harder.”
I stroke harder, and his breathing becomes labored.
And then, just like that, I feel the first spurt of his come begin to blast out of his cock.
At the same time, my orgasm pulls through me, my pussy clenching around his finger as he covers my hand with his seed.
I clench his dick at the base as waves of pleasure pulse through my body, each wave culminating with a new level of ecstasy.
When we’ve both stilled, he pulls me close and kisses me softly, then undoes the belt from around my neck. He gets up and disappears through an arched door on the other side of the room.
He returns with a damp washcloth, which he uses to help me clean myself up.
Then he lays back down next to me, pulling me against his body, my back to his chest, spooning me. We don’t say anything, and I close my eyes and revel in the strength of his body, in the feeling of his arms around me. I trace the bulge of the muscle in his bicep, the smoothness of the skin that stretches over it.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” he murmurs against the back of my neck, his five o’clock shadow brushing against the sensitive skin there, sending another ache through me that settles between my legs.
“I want to be your submissive,” I say.
I feel him smile against my neck as he brushes kisses over my upper back. “We can go over the particulars tomorrow, Ms. Bennett.”
“We have to keep it a secret,” I say. “I can’t have everyone in the office knowing that we’re….” I trail off, not sure what to call it. “Doing what we’re doing.”
“And what is it we’re doing?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Hooking up.”
He laughs, the sound moving over my body, and I flush with pleasure at the fact that I made him laugh. “Hooking up? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“I’m not a kid,” I say. “I’m only four years younger than you.”
“How do you know how old I am?”
“Google,” I admit, sliding my fingers through his.
“What else did google tell you?” He bites my shoulder softly.
“That your favorite color is green,” I say, “because it reminds you of money.”
“Lies.”
“Then what it is your favorite color?”
“I don’t concern myself with such frivolous things as color,” he says, but I hear the teasing tone in his voice. His hand is on my hip, pulling me against him, holding me close, and I can feel his semi-hard cock against my ass.
“What do you concern yourself with?”
“You. I want to know everything about you,” he says, the back of his knuckles skating down the side of my body to my hip. “Everything that makes you excited, everything that makes you happy.”
A little moan escapes from my lips as his thumb brushes over the outside of my pussy.
“Next time I’m going to put my mouth there. I bet you taste so sweet.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I whisper. “I want you to be the first one inside of me.”
Suddenly, he stills behind me, his body going rigid even as his arms lose some of their tension, not holding me as close. The air between us changes, from fun and flirty and charged with attraction to fizzling with tension.
“I should go,” he says, and he lets me go. I turn, watching the muscles in his back bunch as he stands up.
“Go?” I’m confused. “This is your house.”
“To my bedroom. You’re welcome to stay here.” He disappears again through the door on the other side of the room, then returns, pulling on a pair of loose fitting pajama pants.
The gesture is just so… I don’t know, run-of-the-mill, so ordinary to him, that it makes me still.
He’s done this countless times, I realize. Had women in this room, made them sleep in here while he moves on to his bed.
“Don’t do me any favors,” I say, rolling my eyes and jumping out of bed. I grab my dress from where it’s crumpled on the floor and yank it over my head.
“Abigail.” He sighs.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “We’ll go over the particulars tomorrow, right?”
I wait for him to say something while I grab my phone and order an Uber.
When I’m done, I slide my phone back into my purse and head for the door.
Of course there’s no handle. “I don’t know how to open the door,” I say.
He opens it for me, pressing his finger against the screen until it turns green and I hear the click of the lock unlatching.
“You don’t have to leave,” he says. “Please, you can stay here, we can talk about this in the morning.”
“No, I should get home,” I say.
And then I leave.
I toss and turn, unable to sleep, wondering what I’d said that made everything change between us. Why would the fact that I told Elijah I wanted to have sex with him make him act so weird? He’d been nothing but sexual with me from the moment we’d met.
I’m angry at him, but it’s confusing because he hasn’t promised me anything. And yet I am mad, and then mad at myself for making excuses for him.
Finally, at five am, I reach for my phone. I pull up my work email, wondering if there’s anything I can get a jump on before I head into the office.
I scroll through my emails, my eye catching on one from a name I don’t recognize. Joy Morgan. The subject line only reads: Will.
I open it.
Hi Abigail,
I’m sorry to email you like this out of the blue, but I think you might be friends with Will Manning? He’s mentioned an Abigail a couple of times who he works with, so I looked at the company directory of Armstrong Media and took a chance that it was you.
Can you please email me back when you get a chance? I’d really like to talk to you.
Joy
It takes me a second to figure out who the hell would be emailing me about Will, and then I remember.
Will’s stalker! The one he mentioned kept showing up places he was.
Ugh.
Now she’s reaching out to people that know Will. How totally inappropriate. I forward the email to Will, with the subject line WTF? then close out my work emails and get out of bed.
If I’m not going to be able to sleep, I might as well go for a run.
I dress quickly in a sports bra and capris, pull on a running t-shirt from a 5k Hailey and I did last year, then slip my phone and credit card into my pocket.
As soon as I step outside, the fresh air instantly makes me feel better.
I think about popping in my ear buds, but decide that at first I’ll run without them, just taking in the sounds of the city, being present as the stores and the people begin to wake up.
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br /> I start out at an even slower pace than usual, the sun just beginning to slant between the buildings in my neighborhood, casting stripes of light onto the sidewalk. The fresh scent of the Italian bread from the corner bakery fills the air as I head downtown, the street numbers getting lower with each block.
The city is relatively quiet as this time of day, but it’s getting busier by the minute. I up my pace just a little bit, maneuvering around the students heading to the library at Columbia, the businesspeople clutching paper cups of steaming coffee, and the young people who’ve been out all night and are now just stumbling home from the bars.
I run for an hour, until the sun is finally fully over the horizon and the city is alive with people and cabs, the morning rush hour in full effect.
When I’m ten minutes away from my apartment, I slow down to a walk, the relief immediate as my legs stop and my breathing slows.
I slip into a bodega on the corner, buy a bottle of water and a Boston crème doughnut, not caring that I probably didn’t burn off enough calories to justify it, reminding myself that’s not why I run.
I’m a few blocks away from my apartment when I get a weird feeling.
A weird feeling that someone is following me.
There’s a woman behind me wearing a black North Face hoodie and a pair of black yoga pants. She’s walking slowly, her head down. I’d seen her in the bodega, lingering over by the vegan cookies.
I stop for a second by a trashcan, throwing away the wax paper that came with my doughnut. I wait a while, hoping the woman will pass me, but instead she stops by a bench, pulls out her phone and pretends to be scrolling through something.
I narrow my eyes at her.
Could she be Will’s stalker?
I can’t really see her face, but she looks a little old for him. She turns and catches my eye, then quickly looks away, back at her phone.
My heart starts to beat faster. Why would this woman be following me?
I’ve never seen her before. Maybe Will’s stalker hired a hit man? I wonder as I begin walking fast toward my apartment. But why would she hire an older woman to be a hit man? Or hit woman?
I pick up my pace, then glance behind me to see the woman has upped her pace as well. She’s walking quickly, her hands shoved into the pocket of her hoodie.
I start to run, but when I get to my door, I fumble trying to find my key, which is shoved in the zippered pocket of my running capris.
And by the time I get it out, her hand is on my shoulder, her nails digging into my skin…
The End of Part Three
Look For Part Four, Coming Soon!
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