by Hannah Ford
Fuck.
“I know I’ve been such a bad girl,” she says, tossing the dress aside, spreading her legs for a moment as she gets back on her knees. The crotch of her panties is off-center just a little bit, and I catch a glimpse of her pussy lips. “But like I said, I’d like to negotiate with you, Mr. Armstrong.”
“What do you want?”
“You tell me who Ralph Palmer is,” she says. “And I’ll give you something in exchange.”
I reach down and hook my finger into the cup of her bra, running the back of my knuckle across her skin. “You will need to be punished very badly, Ms. Bennett.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I’ll have to use your body.”
“Use it for what, sir?”
“My own pleasure.”
She reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, and her magnificent tits pop into view, the nipples peaked.
She stares at me, and then she reaches down and begins to undo my belt, her hand tightening around the shaft of my cock. I watch as her hand moves up and down, up and down, stroking and jerking.
She’s staring at me, waiting for me to talk.
The sight of her small hand wrapped around my cock makes it throb. And then my eyes fall on the drawer in front of her. The drawer where the engagement ring I bought her sits inside, tucked carefully in its box.
I imagine Abigail’s hand around my cock with the ring on her finger, the diamonds sparking under the light. And then I imagine a wedding band stacked on top of it, elegant and timeless. I think of one on my own finger, the weight of it against my skin.
The desire for it is so shocking in its intensity, it’s like a bolt of lightning.
The opposite reaction comes almost immediately, and it’s just as equally shocking in its intensity.
I stand up and grab the back of her head, pushing my cock to the back of her throat, using her for my own pleasure the way I said I would.
If she thought she was going to come in here and demand answers from me about something I’m not comfortable sharing, then she was wrong. She’s also wrong if she thinks she can use sex to prey on my weaknesses, as a weapon to get what she wants from me.
So I fuck her mouth, holding the back of her head down on my cock, pulling out only to push my balls against her chin and then into her mouth, forcing her to suck and lick and tongue them.
Her eyes widen in surprise, but she needs to learn that I will not take kindly to any attempts to manipulate me, or for her to try and break the rules.
When I come, I take the tip of my dick and run it over her lips, letting the shots of cum hit her lips and cover her face.
When I’m done, my chest is heaving and she stares up at me.
“Get dressed, Ms. Bennett,” I tell her and then I walk out of my office and wait for her to clean herself up.
Chapter 3
ABIGAIL
I liked it.
The sex.
Him taking control, coming on my lips. I like our sexual dynamic, the way he dominates me. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to be in this relationship with him.
What I don’t like is the secrecy.
The refusal to tell me things.
The way he runs hot and cold.
Last night he was telling me he wanted to marry me.
“How can you marry someone who won’t even tell you things he knows that affect your own life?” I grumble as I hit the button in the elevator on my way back down to my floor. “It’s ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous?” Hailey asks as I step out of the elevator.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s nothing.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but I stop her. “What are you doing down here? Were you looking for me?”
“No. I needed to ask Isabelle Sweeting about the proof cover I sent her for the new James McKay book. She wasn’t replying to my emails, so I decided to go talk to her in person.”
“Did you get to talk to her?” I ask as we start waling over to my desk.
“Yup,” she says happily. “She told me that the cover I made didn’t embody the spirit of the book and that sales and marketing agrees with her. So I have to do it over.”
“Wow,” I say. “You seem very chipper for someone who has to redo an entire science fiction cover.”
Hailey holds her phone out. “Look.”
On the screen is a picture of a guy, about our age or maybe a few years older, with blond hair and blue eyes. He’s on a beach, shirtless, dressed in just a pair of red board shorts that show off his athletic body. His arms are wrapped around a golden retriever, whose tongue sticks out of its mouth happily.
“Who’s that?” I sit down at my desk and pull up my email.
“Tyler.”
“He looks like a Tyler.”
“Tinder Tyler,” Hailey reports.
“He looks like a Tinder Tyler, too.” I click new and begin typing an email to my mother. I don’t care if Elijah sees it. I have a right to contact my own mother if I want. “Mom, Do you know a man named Frank Palmer? If so, who is he? Call me when you get this. Thanks.”
I hit send.
“We’re meeting him tonight,” Hailey says.
“Wait, what?”
“We’re meeting him tonight.”
“We’re?”
“Yes. At Somersault.”
“Why am I involved in this?” I ask. “He’s not one of those creepy types that trolls Tinder for threesomes, is he?” Somersault is a club on the Upper East Side, and it’s basically my nightmare. Beautiful people, all in various stages of undress, dancing and drinking and looking to hook up.
“No! But I can’t go alone,” Hailey says, grabbing my arm dramatically. “Please, Abs.”
“Do you think this is a good idea?” I say. “I mean, what are you going to do? Hook up with this guy tonight?”
“Maybe. If he looks as good as his picture.” She waggles her eyebrows up and down and then twirls around in the chair she’s pulled up to my desk. It’s totally out of character for her – Hailey is supposed to be the responsible one, the practical one, not the one who ends up hooking up with some random guy she met on Tinder, a guy she knows nothing about.
“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” I ask again carefully once she’s twirled back around so that she’s facing me. I reach out and take her phone, scrolling through her convo with Tinder Tyler. It pretty much amounts to you’re hot, no you’re hot, we should meet, how about tonight at Somersault, okay sounds good k see you then thanks bye.
“Are you sure you should be giving me advice on what’s the best idea?” she shoots back, an edge creeping into her voice for the first time as she grabs her phone back.
“Fine,” I concede. “Point taken. I just want you to be careful.”
“I will. And you’ll be there to protect me. You and your security guard.” She giggles and glances over to where Chase is stationed by the elevator bank, his beefy arms crossed in front of him, monitoring everyone who’s coming and going. As far as I know, everyone else here thinks he’s just normal security. Wait until he follows me out for lunch.
I sigh. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll go. What time are we meeting him?”
“Nine.”
“Nine?”
“Don’t be an old lady,” Hailey sings as she gets up and twirls away from my desk. “Nine isn’t that late.”
I have a feeling Elijah is going to think it’s plenty late.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s not really your decision,” I say, hoping that my voice sounds strong, like my mind has already been made up and the issue’s already been laid to rest.
He stares at me incredulously. “According to the contract you signed, it sure as hell is my decision. I’m not going to have you out at some club, where anything could happen to you.”
“Will you keep your voice down?” I hiss. “The driver is going to hear you.”
“If you think I care if my driver hears me, Ms. Bennett, then I’m
sorry to say that you are sorely mistaken. I can assure you he’s heard much worse than this.”
It’s after work, and we’re in the back of Elijah’s car, on our way uptown to Canterfield’s, a high-end wedding and formalwear shop. I’m finally going to get my measurements taken so I can get a dress for Ryan’s wedding. Or, so that Marissa, Elijah’s assistant, can get me a dress for Ryan’s wedding.
“What do you think is going to happen?” I press. “That someone’s going to come into a club and hurt me? It’s a public place. Chase will be there. There will be a million people around.”
“Exactly. A million people, each of them an unknown.”
The car pulls to a stop at the curb near the store, and Elijah doesn’t wait for the driver before he opens the door himself and helps me out of the car.
“I’m going.”
“You’re not.”
We walk into the store, and as with so many things in Elijah’s life, I instantly feel out of place.
The space is wide and open, with dresses on display at carefully spaced intervals around the sprawling room, each of them with their own light shining down from the ceiling, illuminating the elegant fabrics. It looks more like a showroom than a store, the dresses more like works of art than something you put on your body.
“Hello!” A woman rushes over to us, her blond hair long and shiny, her red dress clinging to her slender body. She wears high black boots and her makeup is subtle save for a slash of red lipstick. “Mr. Armstrong! I’m Sadie. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Elijah takes her outstretched hand and introduces me, and I try to ignore the little wave of jealousy that nips at my body, its teeth sharp and annoying.
Sadie is exactly the kind of woman Elijah is used to, the kind that knows things about fashion and wine and art and has the sample size body to enjoy all of the clothes that she loves.
“We need to get Abigail’s measurements taken,” Elijah says.
“Of course. Will you be desiring to look at any gowns today as well?” Sadie asks.
Elijah looks at me and I shrug. I doubt they have anything in this store that will fit me, but I’m not going to say that in front of Sadie or Elijah because that’s kind of humiliating.
So I just say, “Sure. I’d like to get a feel for what kind of style I’d like” and hope it’s vague enough.
We follow Sadie to the back of the store, through a gauzy plum-colored curtain and into a dressing room that looks more like it should be in a fancy hotel room than a store.
“Would you like a drink?” Sadie asks. “Champagne? Coffee?”
Elijah declines.
“Abigail?” she asks, and she looks like she’s trying so hard that I almost forgive her for the fact that she’s so pretty.
“Water would be great, thank you.”
“Sparkling or still?”
“Sparkling.”
She disappears and returns a moment later with a glass of sparkling water in a fluted goblet, a single slice of lemon floating on the top.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Sadie gets to work, pulling out a measuring tape from seemingly out of nowhere. She starts at my hips, wrapping the tape around me. And yet the whole time her eyes don’t leave Elijah, who’s standing in the corner, glowering.
I don’t blame her for staring. Elijah looks as gorgeous as usual, his charcoal suit showing off every hard muscle of his body, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his pants hugging his ass in all the right places. His dark hair is slightly mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it all day in frustration at the incompetence around him. (Which, let’s face it, he probably has.)
Even his air of impatience adds to the overall package, making him seem only that much more desirable.
I wonder what Sadie would think if she knew he wouldn’t let me go out with my friend tonight. I decide to ask her.
“Sadie, do you have a boyfriend?” I ask.
She looks at me with interest. Probably thinks I’m going to invite her to have a threesome or something. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, if you did…Do you think it’s appropriate for a woman with a boyfriend to be able to go out to a club with her friend?”
“Abigail.” Elijah’s voice is a warning from the other side of the room. But I don’t care. There might be consequences later, but even Elijah isn’t crazy enough to do anything to me here, in this fancy store, in front of all these people.
“What?” I say innocently, catching his eye in the mirror across from us as Sadie moves the measuring tape from my hips to my waist. “I’m just asking a hypothetical.”
“Well, I guess it depends,” Sadie says, tearing her eyes away from Elijah long enough to make note of my measurements on the tablet she’s holding. “Why would I want to go to a club if I had a boyfriend?”
“It’s not to pick up guys,” I say, rolling my eyes. “My – I mean, what if your friend had just gotten broken up with by the love of her life. And she just wants a night out to blow off some steam.”
“I don’t know,” Sadie says, wrapping the tape around my bust. It’s only stopped from being awkward by the annoyance I feel from her obviously contrived answers. “If I had a boyfriend, I’d probably want to stay home and be with him. I wouldn’t care about being out at clubs.”
“It’s not… my friend is –”
“Are we ready to see dresses?” Elijah asks impatiently.
“Yes, Mr. Armstrong. I have some that I think would be perfect for you, Abigail,” Sadie says, giving me a warm smile.
“Thank you, Sadie.”
She blushes under his praise and then scuttles out of the room.
Elijah stays quiet in the corner, staring at me in the mirror.
“What?” I ask.
He still doesn’t say anything.
“If you think I won’t take you over my knee right here in this room, Ms. Bennett, you are very much mistaken.”
I swallow as he moves toward me, slow and sanguine, like a jungle cat.
“That’s what you’re banking on, isn’t it?” he continues. “That I won’t punish you here, that I won’t take the chance that someone will see?”
His hand slides down over the small of my back, and he squeezes my ass gently. Even so, I suck in through my teeth. His touch may be soft, but my ass is tender from all the punishments it’s taken and even the slightest touch makes me aware of what he’s capable of.
“What if there are cameras?” I try.
He smiles. “Chase checked the room before we came in. No cameras. No one else here but us. He’s right outside, making sure no one comes in. Unless, of course, an employee needs to get back here.”
He fists the bottom of my dress, pulls it up until it’s over my ass.
“Elijah –“
“Put your hands on the mirror, Ms. Bennett. Palms flat.”
I close my eyes and do as I’m told.
He takes the back of the thong I’m wearing and twists it so that the fabric becomes tight, biting into my skin and bunching up into my clit.
“Count out loud, please.”
He pulls his hand back and spanks me.
“One,” I say softly.
“Louder, Miss Bennett.” The next spank is harder, his palm open, his hand seemingly even bigger than usual.
“Two.”
Another blow.
“Three.”
Another, and this time when he strikes me, his hand lingers on the globe of my ass, fondling it after the spank.
“Four.”
Another, this one the hardest yet.
“Five.”
His jaw ticks as he returns my dress to cover my ass again.
My heart is beating double time against my ribs, the way it always does when he punishes me.
For a moment, his hand plays with the fabric at the bottom of my dress and the desire in his eyes burns so bright I’m sure he’s thinking about fucking me right here, about pushing me into the mirror, holdi
ng my hands behind my back as he slides into my pussy.
But before he can decide which is worse – fucking me right here, in the dressing room, or leaving me turned on and humiliated until he can make me come later – his phone rings.
It’s not his usual ringtone, instead something different that causes him to frown and reach into his inside suit coat pocket.
“Yes,” he barks into the phone. His eyes hood, his shoulders tensing. “How the fuck did that happen?” He listens for a moment. “Jesus Christ, Shawna, this is completely unacceptable…I understand that, but you were hired to do a job, and the parameters of that job were made very clear. If you were not up to the task, then you should have said so.” He hangs up before she can respond. He begins to pace, his hand tightening around the phone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, just Sadie returns, holding three dresses in her arms.
“Here we go!” she trills, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Now, these are sample sizes, so you won’t be able to try them on, but I thought they’d be a good starting point, at least to get an idea of your tastes and what you like.”
“We’re leaving,” Elijah says. “Come on, Abigail.”
Sadie looks as if he just told her that her dog died. “Mr. Armstrong, if these dresses aren’t to your liking, I am sure I can find something more suitable to your tastes.” She looks so crestfallen that I almost feel sorry for her.
“That won’t be necessary.” And then without a thank you or a we’ll be in touch or any of the things a normal person would say, Elijah is taking my hand and leading me out of the store.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask as he pulls me outside and into the back of the car that’s been double parked outside, waiting for us.
“Take us home,” Elijah instructs the driver. He’s on his phone, furiously typing an email.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer me, and so I reach out and grab the phone out of his hand, holding it out of his reach.
“Abigail, this is not the time to test me.”
“Is it your father?” I ask.
