His Property (Book Four)

by Hannah Ford

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

  I felt the lash of the belt on the globes of my ass, his hand holding the back of my neck as continued to fuck me.

  He was belting me hard, harder than he’d ever whipped me, and I knew there would be marks.

  I bit my lip to keep from crying, but my body was on fire, the desire swirling so fierce and hard inside of me it was all I could do not to come.

  He pistoned me with his cock, and the belt, the whole time his hand holding the back of my neck, forcing me against the window.

  “Liam,” I cried. I tasted salt, and realized I was crying. I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or from what he was doing to me, just the idea of it, if they were happy tears or sad tears or just tears from feeling so much for this man that it was overwhelming.

  “You like that?” he grunted from behind me.

  “Yes.”

  “You like taking it like that, don’t you, slut?”

  “Yes. More. Leave marks. Make my yours,” I said, and as I’d thought, he began to mark my ass more, his belt lashing my skin, over and over and over, the force unbearable. The only thing that kept me from safe wording was my need for him, for this part of him, the darkest, most hidden part of him, the part that he was afraid of. I needed to prove to him that he wasn’t bad, that there wasn’t anything wrong with him.

  He pulled me back from the window and held me against him. “I’m going to come inside of you now,” he said. “Without a condom. I’m going to shoot my load right into your bare pussy.”

  “Yes,” I moaned. My pussy clenched around his shaft again, sucking him further inside of me. “Get me pregnant.” I wasn’t sure where the words came from. A baby at this point in my life would have been a total disaster, but my body had taken over everything. All I could think about was him, this man, and how I could get closer to him.

  My words sent us both over the edge, and I gripped his cock with my pussy as my orgasm shattered me, cresting like a wave as he emptied his seed into me, coating me with it just like he’d promised.

  I’d barely caught my breath before he’d taken me around the hips and pushed me down to the floor of the car.

  I looked up at him, confused.

  “I’m not done,” he said, staring down at me, the look on his face nothing but wicked.

  I waited, staring up at him.

  He was sitting now, his cock already almost fully hard again even though he’d just come.

  He took the belt and placed it around my neck, like a collar, tightening it until it was slightly hard for me to breath.

  I stared up at him, not breaking eye contact, letting him know I could take it, I would take it for him.

  “Suck me until I come again.”

  I took his dick in my hand, and the velvety stiffness pulsed in my fist. I covered his dick with my mouth, sliding down in one smooth motion before pulling him back out of me and licking around his head, the tip of my tongue sliding under the underside.

  “Fuck, Emery.” He groaned and pulled on the belt, tightening it around my neck. I knew that it, too, would leave a mark.

  I sucked on him hungrily, working my hand at the same time, as he held my hair with one hand, his other around the belt, working his hips, thrusting them into my mouth, not letting me have a break.

  Instead he bucked into me, forcing me to take him all the way down my throat.

  I could taste my pussy on his cock, could taste our juices mixed together, and it was unbelievable dirty and erotic.

  “Yes, baby,” he moaned as I began to deep throat him. “Yes, Emery, good girl, just like that, suck it until I come down your throat.”

  I did as he said, almost struggling to breath as he really began fucking my mouth, so hard and fast I was gagging.

  When he unloaded down my throat, I was shocked at the amount of come, since he’d just shot a load into my pussy.

  I swallowed, taking it, wanting to please him, to show him I could do it, to show him I was his.

  And when he was spent, and I’d taken every last drop, he pulled me onto his lap and whispered into my ear, “Tell me you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  We stayed like that, silent and wrapped around each other, until the car pulled up in front of his parents’ house ten minutes later.

  Liam helped me fixed my ruined dress before we got out.

  My hair was still damp from the ocean, and the smell of sand and salt hung in the air.

  We got out of the car, not waiting for the driver, and Liam took my hand and led me around to the side of the house, into the backyard.

  There was a bulkhead at the back of the house, one of those heavy double-door ones that led down into a basement.

  He stood outside of it, and for a moment, I thought he was going to take me down there to do more things to me. I wasn’t sure I could take it.

  “Jesus,” he said, looking at me. He ran his hand over my throat, where I knew there would probably be a bruise.

  “I’m fine,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “Please, Liam.” He knew what I was asking. I’d let him do what he needed to do, and now I wanted him to do what he’d promised.

  “Do you need… should we go inside first? You could change, shower, I could help you take care of your bruises.”

  “No.” I shook my head. I didn’t want to take the risk that he wouldn’t live up to his end of the bargain, that he would get out of this somehow, that he was going to delay or get distracted or change his mind about telling me what he was about to tell me.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Look what I did to you.” The self-hate dripped from his words, and I shook my head and took his hand. It was warm, and his fingers wrapped around mine.

  “I don’t care about that,” I said. “Please, I just need to know why. After we deal with that, we can…” I choked up. “We can figure out why we…” I was going to say why we like being like this when it’s so fucked up. But the words wouldn’t come. “But first you need to let me in.”

  His hand tightened around mine, and for a moment, I was afraid he was going to back out.

  Then he pulled me toward him, gently, his hands on the small of my back. “I love you,” he whispered.

  The air stole from my lungs, the words so unexpected.

  “I love you, too,” I said, choking up.

  “No.” He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes and tone serious, as if he was trying to convey something to me that was vitally important. “I love you. And I need you to know I’ve never said that to another person, and that… after… if you decide you don’t love me anymore, or that… you don’t want this, I will still love you. Always. I need to tell you that before we go down here.”

  “What’s down there?” I asked.

  “Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Starlight?” I prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “Vienna?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your parents?”

  He winced. “Yes.”

  He was staring at me, and I looked at the door, wondering how it could possibly hold the key to everything I wanted to know about him.

  Whatever was down there must have been serious. Trepidation slid up my spine, but I forced my mind to override it.

  I looked back at Liam.

  He was looking at me, gauging my reaction.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to sound more determined than I felt. “Then let’s go.”

  The End of Book Four

  Look for Book Five, Coming Soon!

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  THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE NANNY by Paige North!

  Excerpt: The Billionaire and The Nanny

  1

  Penelope

  I stand at the steps of a gorgeous brownstone on the Upper East Side across from the Metropolitan Museum, in a quiet, wealthy neighborhood. Taking a deep breath, I wonder if I should button the top button of my blouse or loosen it. I don’t want to appear too Super Nanny but I don’t want to look unserious either.

  I mean, this is Ethan Townsend we’re talking about.

  Ethan Townsend, the steel magnate always in the headlines for being difficult…and womanizing…and oh, yeah, richer and more handsome than God. Apparently, he inherited something unexpected two months ago when his brother-in-law and older sister died in a terrible car accident, something that has apparently turned his world upside-down.

  His seven-month-old niece—Lilly Belle Townsend—is now his charge to raise, and he knows nothing about being a father.

  That’s where we come in.

  Or rather, that’s where I’m supposed to come in. The problem is that I’m not even sure how long I’ll last. After all, the particularly demanding Mister Townsend has apparently run through three or four nannies from the agency in less than a month.

  Who’s to say I’ll fare any better than the girls who came before me?

  I decide on keeping the buttoned-up look for a more polished, professional vibe.

  I ring the doorbell and force a smile, remembering that I am in beautiful New York City in the fall.

  I have to remind myself to take it all in—the blustery breeze, the swirling leaves, the sounds of the bustling city in the background, the laughter of children playing at the park… A cool front is starting to blow through, marking the end of summer.

  NYC is so different than Southern Georgia, where I spent 99 percent of my life thus far. The only thing that changes there throughout the year is the humidity.

  I’m excited about the weather changes but nervous as all hell about meeting this man whose work in the steel industry has been a metaphor for his whole life—hard, cold, and unbending.

  Shiver.

  The door in front of me suddenly opens and reveals the man, the myth, the legend.

  There he is. It’s him. Holy hell. Breathe, Penelope.

  The man from my pre-job research—Ethan Townsend, CEO of the most successful Fortune 500 company this year, Townsend Industries—stands over six-feet-four with dark hair, short on the sides, long on top, and a five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw that is sexy as sin. He wears sharp, precise, well-fitted gray pants, steel-toned buttoned shirt, shiny shoes, and a frustrated expression on his face, like he wants nothing more than to get the hell out of the apartment so he can be where he really belongs. The office.

  “Yes?” he says in a disaffected tone, as if he hadn’t expected me.

  Dread floods my stomach, as he examines me. Top to bottom, his gaze lingers at my breasts, my face, even leaning to one side as if checking out my ass, undressing me with his cold blue eyes.

  Gulp.

  “I’m here from Le Nanny?” I say, sounding small and weak. My professionalism gets cut down to size with every second he stares at me. So much for new beginnings and confidence. This man makes me feel all too self-aware. I swallow again and try not to feel like his stare-down is about sex, but my desperately inexperienced, weak body knows it’s a lie.

  He’s only sizing you up, Penelope, my brain tries to rationalize. Trying to get a feel, a first impression. All men do it. He’s noticing how qualified and proficient I appear, how well-put-together, how perfect for the job I am. It’ll all be okay.

  I hold out my hand firmly. “You are Mr. Townsend? And I—”

  “No,” he says firmly. And then the ornate wooden door slams in my face, as the swirling, gusty wind curls all around me. I’m in a state of shock.

  Nobody’s ever just slammed a door in my face like that. But then again, I am used to Southern hospitality. This is New York, I tell myself, and the social conventions are quite different.

  But still…What the hell?

  I can’t be dismissed without even getting a chance. The money for this particular gig is better than I’ve ever received in the past. I need the money and I refuse to be thrown aside before this arrogant man has spoken two words to me.

  “Mr. Townsend?” I knock, stuffing my indignity down and taking a deep, calming breath.

  Behind the door, I hear footsteps returning, the lock unlatching, and again, Ethan Townsend stands there holding onto the door frame. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I said no.” He begins closing the door again, but I reach out a hand to stop it from crunching on my fingers. His glare on me both scares the crap out of me and sends shivers down into the pit of my core.

  But I shove aside the ridiculous feelings of lust that I feel in his presence. He’s handsome as hell and his charisma is certainly all that the tabloids have made it out to be and more. But I’m a professional and I soldier ahead. “No, as in you don’t need a nanny anymore?” I ask. “Or no to me, specifically?”

  “No, I don’t want you, specifically. I’ll contact the agency and have them send someone else. Thank you for your time.” Again, he begins closing the door, and again, I stop it, this time with my foot. Shit. Why am I taking this so personally?

  “I’m sorry…” I force a smile and air back into my lungs. “But you don’t know the first thing about me. You haven’t even spoken to me, asked me any interview questions…nothing. I’m pretty sure you can’t fire me based on looks alone, Mr. Townsend.”

  “Actually, I can, and I will,” he says, blocking my view from the inside foyer. “I’m rich, and money is the only thing that matters in this town. I’m sure when I voice my displeasure to your agency, they’ll send someone more to my style. Thank you and goodbye.”

  “More to your style? Like the other handful of nannies you’ve already fired?” I shoot back, immediately regretting my hasty words.

  Shit, he’s already got me rattled.

  Ethan Townsend’s eyes narrow ever so slightly and his jaw muscle twitches. For some reason, I feel a surge of arousal and power, knowing I’ve somehow impacted him with my comment.

  His lip curls into something resembling a sneer. “If I run through two dozen nannies in the next two hours, the agency will supply more. Until I find someone who suits this position to my liking.”

  Is it simply a question of looks?

  I’m not a Victoria Secret model or anything, but I would say I’m pretty with a pleasant, desirable body…but hold on a second…what does that have to do with being a nanny anyway? This is sexism to the nth degree. Unless he has other physical requirements. Does he need someone taller, stronger? Is Lilly Belle Townsend a hundred-pound baby who needs an Olympic wrestler to wrangle her? I don’t get it. What could he possibly see in a few seconds of glancing me over that would make him turn me down?

  “Mister Townsend, I don’t think the nannies are the issue here,” I tell him boldly. And I mean it.

  For a long moment, the man just stares at me, and I could swear that he’s about to grab me by the waist and kiss me with those full lips of his. And I can feel exactly how my body would react if he did it, how my nipples would stiffen and my tongue would instantly meet his, letting him open my mouth and force his way roughly in.

  I feel a sudden moist flush between my legs and realize that I’m completely out of my depth here.

  As if he knows exactly the kind of effect he has on me—or perhaps, women more generally--Ethan snorts, checks his watch. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go.”

  I’m dumbfounded. Perhaps he was hoping for an older, more maternal-looking grandmother type and instead got a young woman who might look inexperienced to him, a man who knows nothing of childcare and thinks in stereotypes.

  But he’s only twenty-eight. He has no right to judge my maturity.

&nb
sp; “Wait…” Holding onto the door, I strain my ears.

  Behind him somewhere, I hear it—a baby crying. A soft, desperate, punctuated wail echoes from a monitor, the cry of a child who’s been trying to get someone’s attention unsuccessfully for some time now.

  I understand, baby. I totally understand.

  It dawns on me that this poor little girl, a creature of no more than seven months, has to live with this unforgiving, harsh man for the rest of her life. I imagine how lonely she’ll be in this mighty mansion, how desperate for attention and starved for love she’ll grow up to be later on. After getting a crap deal in life by losing her beloved parents, now she has to deal with a man whose entire life is made of steel—including his heart.

  “Are you going to get her?” I ask. I crane my neck to hear better, but he strains to push me out. “You don’t seem concerned that your baby is crying,” I say, glancing past his shoulder, wishing I could plow past him straight to the source of the wail.

  “I will attend to her right after you leave, Miss—“

  “Wallach,” I sigh.

  Somehow I doubt that he’s going to attend to anything once I’m gone. The baby’s obviously been crying for some time. Her voice is hoarse.

  The crying grows stronger, more frantic.

  Any worried mom or dad would show signs of unsettled nerves right now. It’s how humans have survived for as long as we have—that need to stop the crying, to appease, to shush and calm baby back to perfect contentment, creating a bond between caregiver and child. But Ethan Townsend doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

  Whereas I came here with one job and only job only in mind—to care for a child—and I remember that he’s not the child’s parent, so he may not even care. Unable to take the crying anymore, I push my way past him and head for the stairs. “Excuse me, please. I’m going to do my job.”

  2