by Hannah Ford
The clasp of my bra is in front, and he undoes it, my breasts springing free and into his waiting hands. Elijah cups my breasts, using them to push me up against the wall behind me as his mouth claims mine, kissing me as I make sure to keep my hands behind my back.
His kiss is insistent, different than before – he’s always been strong with me, dominant, making it clear he was the one in charge. But this time, there’s an intention behind the kiss, the promise of where this is going to lead.
When he finally breaks away, my knees are weak, my head swimming dizzily. He picks me up and hauls me over his shoulder. I squeal and he slaps my ass, causing me to cry out in pain.
He throws me onto the bed so hard that my tits bounce.
“On your back,” he growls.
I scramble onto my back, not wanting to displease him.
“Spread your legs.”
I do as I’m told, spreading my legs apart as he shucks his pants and boxer briefs, letting his hard cock free. I stare at it, wondering how it’s going to fit inside of me.
He gives it a stroke. “Beg.”
“Please,” I groan. “I want it, Elij – sir. Please, I want it.”
He grins wickedly, then makes his way to the bottom of the bed, his movements smooth and beautiful, like a jungle cat. He takes my foot in his hand, massages the arch while he kneels on the bed in front of me.
“God, you are beautiful,” he whispers, and then he reaches down and grabs my ass, pulls me toward him, and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulled my panties off, and his mouth is down there, on my pussy.
I gasp as he blows hot breaths slowly onto my clit, pulling my thighs closed around his face, rubbing the sensitive skin against the scruff that’s bloomed on his cheeks since he shaved this morning. The friction, coupled with the soft strokes of his tongue on my clit, meld together to create a heady combination that feels so good I’m almost sure I’m losing my mind.
I arch my back, trying to pull him toward me.
But he grabs my hips and pins me to the bed.
“Don’t move.” He places an open palm spank on my bare pussy. “You know better.”
“Yes, sir.” I try my best to stay still as he keeps eating me, sucking my clit between his lips, finally spreading my legs back open.
“Your pussy is so tight,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my spread lips. He pushes his index finger inside of me slowly, then places the flat of his tongue against my exposed clit at the same time.
“Oh my God,” I groan. “Please, Elijah, I can’t… sir, please…” I don’t even know what I’m saying as I writhe beneath him. He eats me for what seems like forever – minutes and minutes go by as time ceases to exist. He works my pussy over, agonizingly slowly getting me ready for his cock.
He takes me to the edge of orgasm several times before pulling me back, spreading me and pushing another finger inside of me.
The whole time he’s telling me how good I taste, how he can’t wait to be inside of me, how beautiful I am, how tight my pussy is, how he can’t wait to take my innocence.
When my legs are jelly and my pussy has been worked over as much as it can be, he slides up my body, his hands on either side of me. He lies on top of me, his weight strong and warm and good.
He kisses me, and can I taste myself on his tongue.
“God, baby,” he groans into my mouth.
I can feel his hard cock against my thigh, so big and hard.
“I need… I need to tie you with the belt,” he says, his eyes taking on that familiar stormy look they get whenever he brings up what he needs to do to me. “It’s going to hurt when I first fuck you, and I want to make sure you can’t move.”
I reach out and run my finger over his cheek, looking deep into his eyes as I speak. “I want you to,” I say. “I want you to tie me with your belt.”
He hesitates for a moment. “It’s fucked up. Your first time – ”
This time, it’s me who quiets him with a kiss.
And then he’s pulling me close to him, my breasts flattening out against his chest, my nipples brushing against the soft hair that lightly covers his pecs.
He takes my hands and pushes them up over my head, ties me to the headboard with his belt.
And then he straddles me, his cock nestled against my pussy.
My heart pounds and I stay still as he fondles my breasts, his fingers playing me expertly as he starts to slowly rock his hips.
He’s not breaching my pussy, not going inside of me at all, just rubbing against my slit. But there’s nothing between us, just his cock against my bare pussy, the juices from his precum and my arousal mixing together and lubricating us both.
“Elijah,” I groan. “Oh my God, Elijah.” My wrists pull against the leather of his belt, desperate to touch him, to pull him close, to pull him into me slowly. The anticipation is driving me insane.
He grins at me devilishly, his hands resting on my hips.
“Look at my cock, baby. Watch it slide over your pussy. Goddamn, you are wet.”
I do as he says, watching as the tip of his hard dick nudges against my clit, sending blood rushing through my body.
“I’m going to push inside you now, baby.” The back of his fingertips trail down the middle of my body, down between my breasts and I arch up to meet them.
The tip of his cock breaches my opening, slowly, and I gasp at the unfamiliar intrusion.
“Good girl,” he says, holding my hips to the bed. “Just relax, baby. Relax and let yourself get fucked.”
And then he’s pushing in again, another inch or so, and my body tenses.
“Relax,” he says. “The next time I push in, I’m going to go all the way. It’s going to hurt, baby. You’re so tight. Just stay with me, okay?”
I nod and take a deep breath.
“Relax,” he says again, and I do my best to do as he says, to just relax and let it happen.
And then he pushes into me, his whole entire cock, and the pain rips through me, intense and tight, like my body is being torn apart.
I cry out his name, my hands straining against the leather of the belt that is tying me down, and now I know why he wanted me tied, because if my hands were free, I would have grabbed his arms, told him to stop.
Instead, I’m bound, helpless as he pushes seemingly even further into me.
“Elijah!” I cry, “I can’t – ”
But he presses his mouth to mine, smothering my cries with a kiss, his hands in my hair, his tongue rubbing against mine. He stills his body, letting me get used to the excruciating pressure of his cock inside of me.
And then, finally, he breaks the kiss.
He brushes my hair back from my face and begins to rock his hips slowly. At first it’s uncomfortable, but soon the pain and tightness begins to morph into a deep pleasure, one that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “God, Abigail, you feel amazing.”
He begins to move faster, the whole time his eyes on mine, kissing me every so often, the kisses alternating between sweet and soft and more intense.
“Look,” he tells me, finally, raising up just a tiny bit on the bed. “Look at where I’m inside of you.”
I move my eyes down, watching in wonder as he moves in and out of me.
“Elijah,” I moan.
He’s deep inside of me now, and he lowers his mouth to my raised nipple and sucks it into his mouth. I grip my pussy on his cock experimentally, tensing my muscles down there, and he groans.
“Fuck,” he grinds out. “Fuck, baby, if you keep doing that I’m going to come.”
He’s moving even faster now, hitting places inside of me that have never been hit before, and with every thrust I can feel his balls against my ass.
I can feel myself getting close, and when he pulls off my lips this time, I whisper to him that I’m going to come, too.
He stops moving, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to tease me, to stop moving right
when I’m about to come.
But then I see uncertainty come over his face, and he hesitates. And then, he reaches up and unbinds me from the bed. He leaves the belt around my right wrist, and takes the other end of it and wraps it around his own wrist, binding us together.
He intertwines his hand with mine, and he’s inside of me and his dark eyes are on mine, and I feel like I’m falling.
“Abigail,” he breathes. “Jesus, Abigail, what is this?”
I shake my head, not able to answer his question, not knowing the answer.
And then he begins to move again, faster and faster, so fast I can feel his cock brushing against my clit with every thrust as he seemingly pushes deeper and deeper inside of me.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper. “Elijah, I’m going to come.”
“Come on me, baby. Come on my cock.”
And I do, my pussy clenching as the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had moves through me like a symphony building to its crescendo. It’s deep and full and I can feel it not just through my body, but through my soul.
And as I come, I can feel Elijah coming inside of me, making me his, coating my insides with his seed, warming me.
And when he pulls me toward him afterward, his semi-erect cock still inside of me, it takes forever until my heart returns to its normal rhythm.
And the whole time, his question beats in my mind, over and over again.
What is this?
Chapter 3
ELIJAH
Condom.
It’s the first thought that pops into my head when I wake up the next morning, Abigail curled in my arms. She’s breathing deeply, her lips parted slightly, her face relaxed in contentment.
A condom.
Fuck.
We didn’t use one.
What the hell was U been thinking?
I was fastidious when it came to condom use, couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex without one.
But I’d wanted her so badly, so badly that I’d taken the belt off her wrists and wrapped it around mine, binding us together. The thought of something between us, even just a condom, was unbearable.
Even now, my cock is hard already, wanting more.
I summon all of my self-control and head for the shower, turning it as cold as I can stand, trying to cool myself down, to wash her off of me, because her scent clings to my skin and it makes me crave more of her.
It doesn’t work.
When I return to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, Abigail is sitting up in bed, her phone in her hand.
“Good morning.”
“Hi. Have you been up for a while?” She’s still naked, the sheet loose around her, dipping down just enough in the front to show off the top of her breasts. It’s all I can do not to push her down onto the bed and fuck her again.
“No.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I slept well.” I don’t elaborate, don’t tell her that it was the best sleep I’ve had in who knows how long, that usually my nights are punctuated by tossing and turning, restless dreams and clock watching until I convince myself around 4:30 that it’s an acceptable time to wake.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, studying me, concern in her wide blue eyes.
No, Abigail, everything is not okay. For some reason seeing you with my family yesterday made me want you even more, when it should have made me want to push you away. Last night I had the inexplicable urge to bind myself to you, and at one point, I had the urge to tell you I loved you.
“Everything is fine,” I say, keeping my voice even.
“Was last night… I mean, was it…was it okay?”
She looks nervous, and I realize she’s talking about the actual sex part of it, that she’s worried that perhaps she didn’t please me.
“It was more than okay,” I say, feeling myself start to thaw a little bit. “It was amazing.”
She grins. “Good. Cause, you know, I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I thought it was pretty amazing too.”
She slides back against the pillows in contentment, her dark curls fanning around the pillow, her legs peeking out from under the sheets.
My cock presses against the towel around my waist and I bite back a groan.
I need to take her again. Need to feel that pussy around my cock. The way she’d clenched me last night, the look on her face when I’d first pressed into her, how she’d bitten her lip and arched her back, how pliable her body was, how responsive to my commands.
I need to put some space between the two of us, so I walk into the dressing room that connects my bedroom to the spacious closet that’s a part of the master suite.
When I emerge, I’m in a black suit, my feet already encased in my normal Italian black dress shoes.
Abigail is still sitting on the bed, looking sexily rumpled. Jesus. I press my hands into fists.
“You should get ready for work,” I say firmly.
She looks at the clock. 7 am. “You’re right. I need to go back to my apartment to get my things, and by the time I get back uptown, it’s going to be cutting it close.” She swallows and wraps the sheet around her tightly, her eyes casting around the room for her clothes.
Her sudden modesty is endearing, especially because of what happened between us last night, and the things I’ve done to her body.
My nails dig into my palms. “Your things are in the room down the hall.”
“What things?”
“Your things. From your apartment.” I adjust my tie, cross the room to where my tablet sits on the nightstand, pick it up and place it in my briefcase. “They’ve been put in a room down the hall. Once my assistant Marissa has a chance to organize them, they will be brought in here.”
“Wait.” She shakes her head, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands. “How did you get stuff from my apartment?”
“It wasn’t hard, Abigail. You have no doorman, no alarm system, and a standard lock with a shit deadbolt.”
“You broke into my apartment?”
“No,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t do anything. I was here all night, with you.”
“That’s a gross invasion of privacy.” She looks outraged.
“We will have breakfast,” I say. “In an hour. I suffice that’s enough time for you to get ready?”
“Yes, but –”
“I have something to take care of at work. The car will pick you up and take you to the restaurant, and I will meet you there.”
Everything inside of me is screaming to run to her, to pull her into my arms and push her down onto the bed, fisting those tousled curves as my tongue pushes past the seam of her lips. I imagine how warm her body is from sleep, how responsive she would be first thing in the morning.
Instead, I force myself to leave the room.
Last night I allowed myself to get too close to her. Meeting my family, having the kind of sex that’s… well, not the kind that I ever have.
She needs to know the rules.
I will go over them at breakfast.
And then everything will be back on track.
Chapter 4
ABIGAIL
“This doesn’t look like the kind of place that serves breakfast,” I grumble as the host pulls out a chair for me and I slide into it.
Elijah is already seated at the table, his head bowed over an official-looking document. He’s scowling, striking things from it, scribbling things in the margin, his handwriting seemingly indecipherable.
“Are you displeased with my choice of restaurant, Ms. Bennett?” he asks, his voice making it clear that even if I were, there’s nothing I can do about it. He gathers up his papers and slides them into his briefcase.
“The restaurant is fine.” It’s fancy (of course it is) and I look around, taking in the tables filled with patrons who are either businesspeople dressed in smart-looking suits or the kind of hipsters who scream money – guys with spiky hair in leather jackets, beautiful women who speak with Frenc
h accents and wear jeans so tight and boots so high you wonder how they don’t topple over.
The ceilings are high, there’s a chandelier hanging over us, the waiters are dressed in starched shirts and black pants, and the chef’s name is on the menu.
It’s not that I have a problem with the restaurant. It’s that I know Elijah is trying to send me a message. We’re back on his turf now, back to the buttoned-up Elijah who keeps his emotions in check, the one who has people on all who are able to break into my apartment and gather my things in the middle of the night like it’s a normal occurrence.
Gone is the guy from last night, the one who ran around the room with his soon-to-be nephews and arranged pepperoni in the shape of a smiley face on their pizza because it made them laugh.
Now he’s all business.
“I ordered us both the filet with scrambled and wheat.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” I try, just to annoy him.
“No, you’re not. You ate pepperoni last night.”
Oh. Dammit.
“I realize that our meeting last night was cut short by the arrival of my family,” he says, pulling out a legal pad as the waiter returns to our table, setting down a carafe of coffee and two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
I fill my cup with coffee, ignoring the frown Elijah gives me as I add copious amounts of cream and then ask the waiter to bring Splenda. This is probably the kind of place where you’re not supposed to add sugar to the coffee, because it offends the chef or something. I’ve heard about places like that, fancy restaurants where they don’t put salt on the table cause to flavor your food is considered taking away from the way it’s supposed to be enjoyed.
I glance to the side. Sure enough, no salt.
“Yes, among other things,” I say.
“I want to make sure that we outline the parameters of our relationship so that there is no confusion. Number one, you will live with me, provided you are allowed to stay in my bedroom at night.”
“Agreed.”
He makes a note on the pad. “You will accompany me to Ryan’s wedding in two weeks.”