by Hannah Ford
I’m so wet, so ready for him it’s like torture.
“Elijah,” I breathe as he kisses down my neck.
“Yes, Ms. Bennett?”
“I want you inside of me.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes.” I swallow. “Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be good.”
“How good?”
“Good,” I plead. “I’ll do anything you say.”
He pulls me down a tiny bit, the head of his cock nudging my opening.
I still, hoping that my silence and stillness will encourage him to put me out my misery.
“Anything?” he prompts.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be a good girl.”
He begins to pull me down on his cock, slowly.
“Oh.” I gasp. Because even though I’m so wet and ready for him, I’ve never been fucked like he’s doing it now, and his cock feels even bigger at this angle, even though there’s no way I would have thought that could be possible.
“Don’t move,” he commands. “I’ll fuck you how I want to fuck you, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe against his neck. Our bodies are so close, so intertwined, my bare breasts flattening out against the hard muscles of his chest.
He begins to pull me up and down on his cock, slowly, his shaft hitting places inside of me that have never been hit before.
This angle he has on me is sending waves of pleasure ricocheting through my entire body.
“Good girl,” he whispers against my lips. “Good girl, just let yourself go, let yourself get fucked.”
I relax and do as he says, the two of us moaning into each other’s mouths as we kiss.
He pushes my hips back, showing me the place where we’re joined.
“Watch it go in,” he says, as he moves me up and down on him. “Watch how that greedy little pussy takes my cock.”
He begins to move faster, in and out, and I watch his dick disappearing inside of me, his shaft hard and glistening with my wetness.
His nails dig into the soft flesh of my ass as he moves me up and down, faster still, until his balls are slapping against my ass.
My hands are still tied behind my back, and his hand moves to my neck, pushing me back against the seat behind me.
He fucks me like this, my tits bouncing as he pulls me up and down on him, up and down, up and down.
“Elijah,” I moan. “Elijah, please, sir, can I come?”
“Come for me, baby,” he grinds out. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
His words send me over the edge, and I come, waves of pleasure starting where we’re joined between my legs and scattering through my entire body, faster and faster until the feeling is overwhelming.
I cry out, not sure if I’m screaming his name or just screaming as the feelings of bliss shatter me.
A second after my orgasm ends, he pulls me close to him, pulsing inside of me, filling me with his cum. Shot after shot as he holds me down on his cock all the way, making sure that his sperm shoots deep inside of me, that there’s no chance a drop will go anywhere other than my pussy.
He keeps me held tight against him, our bare chests pushed together, until our breathing slows.
Then he pulls back, kisses me gently, and helps me out of the car.
I insist on riding the elevator to my floor by myself – the last thing I need is people seeing me with Elijah and talking even more than they already are.
I smooth my dress and hair as I step out, pulling out my phone and texting Hailey.
You okay? You wanna go see All About You tonight? Popcorn and soda and chocolate on me
All About You is this cheesy romantic comedy that we’ve been wanting to see ever since it got released a couple of weeks ago.
No, that’s okay. I kind of feel like being alone. Rain check?
You sure?
Positive. Thanks, Abs. I’ll text you later xxo
I’m almost back to my desk when my phone buzzes again.
Elijah.
I love you.
My heart flips at the words, seeing them there, in front of me, unprompted. My heart squeezes, and I wonder if maybe he’s starting to believe that what I said last night was true, that the two of us can have it both ways. That we can have a normal relationship, even with all of the other stuff that comes along with it.
I take a deep breath and type back to him.
Enough to go see a romantic comedy with me?
Chapter 4
ABIGAIL
“Movie theatres are bullshit,” Elijah grumbles as we push through the revolving doors of the Cineplex Theatre in Times Square. The scent of popcorn hits my nostrils and my shoes sink into the red velvet carpet.
“You can’t make general statements like that,” I say, rolling my eyes as we head for the ticket counter. The theatre is fairly busy – it’s a new theatre, one of those fancy ones with the leather seats and waitresses who bring snacks around if you push a button – but the line is moving super fast.
“Of course I can, Abigail, especially if they’re true.”
We’re at the window now, and I smile at the girl behind the counter, who has two nose rings and a stripe of green in her blond hair. “Two for All About You,” I say happily, as Elijah pulls out his credit card and swipes.
The girl turns the screen of a tablet toward us. “Choose your seats for All About You,” she says robotically.
I study the screen carefully, where each seat is represented by a tiny square that’s either green or red, depending on if the seat is open or not.
“Hmm,” I say, taking in the selection. There are a fair amount of good seats left, but not too many. It’s good that we didn’t come here on opening weekend, but it is seven o’clock, prime movie-going time, so it’s not like we have the pick of anything we want. I finally pick two seats halfway up the stadium seating level, on the aisle.
The girl prints out our tickets and hands them to us.
“Now snacks,” I say, taking Elijah’s hand and leading him to the concession line.
“You realize that I have a private theatre room,” Elijah says as he glances at the family in front of us in line, a couple with two toddlers, one who is happily sticking his lollipop to his mother’s shirt. “Where we could watch any movie we want without having to deal with the general public.”
“Not movies that aren’t on DVD yet.”
“Yes, Abigail. Movies that aren’t on DVD yet. Hell, movies that aren’t even in theatres yet. Tell me what you want to see, and I’ll order screeners from the studio.”
I shake my head at the way he says it -- everything is always so easy for him. “It’s good for you to get out and mix with normal people,” I tease, scanning the board on the wall as I try to decide hat snacks I want.
When it’s our turn, I order a small popcorn, a box of Sno-caps, and a Diet Coke.
Then I glance at Elijah.
“Popcorn,” he says, sounding like the fact that he’s being forced to order popcorn at a movie theatre is akin to being tortured by a terrorist group.
“You know, you have a really bad attitude,” I tell him as the clerk goes to scoop our popcorn.
“I have my normal attitude.”
“Exactly. Bad.”
“Okay, Miss Manners. Tell me how, exactly, I am supposed to act when I’m about to be served fake food that’s probably been sitting there all day, getting crusty and incubating all kinds of bacteria.”
“It says ‘fresh popcorn.’” I point to the sign that’s hanging over the popcorn machine to prove my point.
“Oh, so then it must be true.”
I nod.
“Would you like butter on your popcorn?” the guy working the concession asks, returning to us with two overflowing bags.
Elijah looks horrified at this suggestion, but I shoot him a look.
“I’d love some!” he says with faux cheer, his smile never faltering, even when the concession employee shoves the bags of popcorn under the butter
machine, which splutters to life before spurting bright yellow liquid all over the kernels.
“Thank you!” Elijah says brightly, offering the kid his credit card.
I’m trying not to laugh when someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around to see Laura Lane, one of my favorite agents. She’s also one of the most successful in New York, and she represents Jessica Chase, my most successful author.
“Abigail! I thought that was you,” she says.
“Laura, hi! Are you seeing All About You?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “My husband wanted to see that new superhero movie, you know, the one where the guy can create fire out of his own two hands?” She sighs and points to the other side of the concession stand, where a tall guy in a blue sweater is holding two boxes of candy and a bottle of water.
“Oh, well, that’s nice that you’re being a supportive wife.”
“Yeah, I guess. Honestly, I’m just hoping that if I don’t make a big deal about not wanting to see it, he’ll see that documentary with me next month, the one about the first women in publishing. Anyway, I need to talk to you about –” She cuts off, noticing Elijah for the first time. “Oh.” She straightens her shoulders, her informal tone suddenly gone.
I might be an editor she works with and sells to, but she knows that Elijah is the one who has the real power. Elijah is the one who runs Armstrong Media and all its imprints, which means he has the power to give the thumbs up or thumbs down to any book she pitches.
“Mr. Armstrong.” She holds her hand out, and Elijah takes it. “Laura Lane. We met at the Jacoby Publishing party last year? I represent Jessica Chase and Naomi Smyth.”
“Yes, of course,” Elijah says smoothly. “How is everything at Around The Way?” he asks, mentioning her agency.
“It’s going well. We’re on track to double our sales this year.”
“Congratulations. Growth is always a good thing.”
“Yes,” Laura says, blushing under Elijah’s attention. It’s not just because he’s powerful and in charge. It’s also because there’s no denying that Elijah is hot as hell. I watch Laura’s face as it dawns on her that I’m here with him, that the two of us are together.
To her credit, she tamps down her reaction.
“Anyway, what did you need to talk to me about?” I ask.
“I just… I needed to talk to you about Jessica Chase.”
“Sure,” I say, shooting Elijah a pointed look.
“I’ll wait for you over there,” Elijah says finally, looking annoyed at the fact that he has to leave me alone.
He heads toward the other side of the concession stand, where a long hallway leads down to the actual theatres.
Laura and I step out of the way of the concession line and huddle by the self-serve frozen yogurt machine.
“Is Jessica’s writing going okay?” I ask. “I know she had some complications during her pregnancy, so if she needs more time –”
“Oh, no, Jessica’s fine.” Laura bites her lip. “It’s just that she’s been contacted by Lucy Bastille.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Lucy’s no longer with Armstrong Media.”
“I know. She’s at Paper Scribe now. She’s editorial director, and she asked Jessica if she’d be interested in writing for them.”
“Oh. I see.” I try to keep my voice light, the professional smile plastered on my face. But inside, I’m screaming. That bitch! She started a new job and then just immediately tried to steal one of my authors.
“I know it’s a delicate situation. Jessica is really happy at Armstrong, and she adores you as her editor. But of course, money’s always a factor. Especially with a new baby. And…”
“And Lucy’s promising her a great deal,” I finish for her.
“Yeah.” Laura sighs and pushes her glasses up on her nose.
A woman with a toddler pushes between us, heading for the frozen yogurt machine, and I resist the urge to scream at her.
“Anyway, I was thinking we could set up a pitch meeting? You and Lucy could pitch Jessica on what you’re thinking for her next deal?”
“That sounds great!” No, it does fucking not. Having to pitch my own author to stay with me? I found Jessica Chase. I bought her first book on proposal when no one else was interested in it. I meticulously edited that first book, stayed with her when it didn’t do well, and when her second book was skipped by the major chains. I bought her third book anyway, because I believed in her -- that was the book that went on to become a bestseller.
“Oh, good.” Laura reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Thank you for being so cool about this. I just… I know it’s a sensitive situation.”
“Of course.”
I bury my anger.
It’s not Laura’s fault.
It’s no one’s fault but Lucy’s.
And Elijah’s.
Chapter 5
ELIJAH
I’m getting very good at watching her. At making sure I know where she is at all times.
Like now, when I stand to the side while she talks to that agent Laura whatever-her- name-is, watching as they chat by the ice cream machine, some annoying little rug rat pushing between them and spilling his yogurt all over the floor.
I pull my phone out and pull up Abigail’s email account while I wait, the account that I have access to, the one that allowed me to delete the email from Joy Morgan, Will’s alleged stalker, before Abigail could read it. Of course, nothing is ever completed deleted. A copy of all employee emails are kept on the Armstrong Media server.
Not that it matters. It was banal, as far as emails go.
Just a couple of lines, asking Abigail to meet with her. I removed it from her inbox immediately.
I scan through the rest of Abigail’s emails, picking up where I left off earlier. I ignore the ones that are obviously work related. As much as she wants to think otherwise, my need to know what she’s up to is directly related to her safety, and not to a need to control everything she’s doing at all times.
I scroll past the work emails, making a note to go back and read the ones from men later.
And then my eyes fall on a familiar name.
Katherine Armstrong.
My mother.
I click on the email, the blood pounding in my ears.
Abigail,
Thank you for having breakfast with me. I’m sorry I left so abruptly. As you can probably imagine, this is a very strange situation, which is complicated by the fact that I am hoping to bring a date to Ryan’s wedding, which I know Eli will not approve of. I was wondering if perhaps we could get together to discuss this further. Let me know what times and dates work for you.
Sincerely,
Katherine
It’s marked as already read.
“Do you know what she just told me?” Abigail asks, appearing in front of me. She crosses her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. That, coupled with the email I just found, makes the desire to punish her slide through my veins, dark and deep.
“No.”
“She told me that Lucy Bastille is now the editorial director at Paper Scribe Publishing. And that she wants Jessica Chase.”
I hand our tickets to the girl taking tickets, who obviously recognizes me, as she makes a surprised ‘O’ face before ripping them and handing the stubs back to us.
I place my hand on the small of Abigail’s back and hustle her down the hallway toward our theatre, not wanting to get caught up in small talk, or worse yet, a request for a selfie.
We enter the darkened theater.
“She wants to have a meeting,” Abigail’s saying as we make our way to the seats she chose for us earlier. “A pitch meeting. For my own author. The one I discovered.”
“What did you think was going to happen? Of course Lucy was going to find another job.”
“I’m not the one who wanted Lucy fired.”
We’re sitting down now, and her leg is pressed to mine. I place my hands on my thighs, te
lling myself that I will not punish her here, that she’s not ready for that. And yet she’s making it so damn hard.
“Are you saying this is my fault?” I keep my tone measured.
“I’m saying that if you hadn’t fired her, then none of this would be happening.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously true.”
“Abigail, if it wasn’t Lucy, it would have been someone else. That’s how publishing works. You put your blood sweat and tears into getting someone established, and then someone else comes along and tries to take them away. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”
“So you’re saying I’m naïve?”
“I’m saying that you’re too trusting.”
“Is this about Hailey?” she asks. “Because –”
“No, Abigail, this is not about Hailey.”
The lights go down and the previews begin. I can feel her next to me, the heat radiating off of her. I glance at her profile, those full lips, the soft curve of her jaw, the way her hair hits her shoulders, the swell of her breast.
My hands clench.
Not here.
“You didn’t tell me my mother emailed you,” I say, my voice low.
Abigail blushes, the heat rising on her cheeks. She bites her lip, caught. My cock swells with blood as all sorts of naughty thoughts pulse through my mind. Her, on her knees, my cock choking her.
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“You are making this extremely difficult.”
“Making what extremely difficult?”
“You have been told over and over again, Abigail, that your safety is paramount. That you are to tell me when things come up that put that into question. And yet you keep disregarding my simple requests. I know you’re not stupid, far from it. Which leads me to believe that you are being willfully disobedient.”
“No,” she says. “I’m not. I just thought it wasn’t important.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
She stays quiet, but I can tell the wheels in her head are turning.
“You think some of my demands are unreasonable.” On the screen, a preview for another romantic comedy is playing, something just as over-the-top and ridiculous as I’m sure the one we’re about to watch will be.