by Hannah Ford
The store was nestled between a coffee shop and a Thai restaurant, and I inhaled the delicious scent of spicy noodles and caffeine as I grabbed a shopping basket and picked out a pair of cute rose gold hoop earrings.
A few minutes later, I was debating whether or not the blue stones in a pretty silver ring were going to come popping out within a couple of days when suddenly, I felt someone behind me.
I stiffened, my senses suddenly on alert.
I started to turn around, but then the clean, crisp scent of his cologne hit my nose, and his hands tightened around my waist.
“You’re not answering my calls.” His voice was low, melodic, a growl of demand that I felt settled low in my belly. The urge to turn around and fall to my knees overcame me – he’d trained me well.
Instead, I railed against it.
I froze, trapped. I couldn’t turn around –if I did, he would be right there, facing me, and the idea of that was too much to take.
“What do you want, Landon?” I asked, surprised at how calm and steady my voice sounded.
One of his hands left my waist and dipped into the basket I was holding, his cufflinks glittering under the lights of the store.
He pulled out the things I’d chosen and tossed them down onto the display in front of us.
“Hey!” I protested, but now his hand was back on my waist, trapping me.
“If you want jewelry, I will get you jewelry. Real jewelry, worthy of you, not some dime store crap.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I said, and now the anger was taking over.
“Yes, you do.” He sounded arrogant, and I hated him. I hated him because he was a conceited asshole, but mostly I hated him because he was right.
From the front of the store, a clerk behind the counter was looking at us curiously, her eyes flittering down to Landon’s hands on my waist.
“You’re causing a scene,” I said.
“Come outside to my car.”
“No.”
His hands tightened on my waist, and something hot settled deep in my belly and went liquid down to my core.
“Meet me in my car, Aven, or I will make a scene.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving me breathless.
I picked up the jewelry he’d tossed onto the display and bought it, a sign of disobedience.
I wasn’t going to meet him in his dumb car.
I hated his stupid car and his stupid suit and his stupid arrogant attitude.
As much as my body wanted him, I was done with Landon Sheer.
I took the jewelry I’d purchased out of the bag, put the earrings on and slid the bracelet onto my wrist, then walked outside.
Landon’s town car sat in idling against the curb, the windows tinted so I couldn’t see inside.
But I knew he was waiting in the back, expecting me to come to him.
Fuck you, I thought, and I began to walk back to my apartment, heading down the street as fast as I could in the heels I was wearing, cursing myself for not doing what all the other smart New York women were doing and keeping a more comfortable pair of shoes in my bag for walking.
A second later, he was behind me.
I sensed him before he grabbed my arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded as he began pulling me back toward his car.
“Causing a scene,” he growled, hustling me into the backseat.
He got in behind me, and closed the door, hitting the lock. Immediately, the driver pulled out into traffic, heading back down toward Midtown.
Landon reached over and grabbed my purse, pulled out my phone and scrolled through my history.
“You didn’t answer my calls.” He showed me the screen. Five missed calls, all from Landon. I must not have heard it while I was walking from my interview to the jewelry store. But I wasn’t going to let him know that. Let him think that I didn’t answer.
“So?” I challenged.
“What were you doing with Paisley Daniels?” he asked, his voice even, his eyes leveling me with a steady gaze.
He was flawless, everything about him styled to perfection, from the sophistication of the cut of his suit, to the shine of his Italian leather shoes. His hair was expensively cut, his face shaved smooth, his blue eyes bright, his tie in a perfect Windsor knot.
“That’s none of your business.”
“We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way, Ms. Courtland.”
“The hard way,” I said cockily.
His palm twitched. Why weren’t you answering my phone calls?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.”
His eyes blazed with anger, and his jaw set into a firm, determined line as he slipped my phone into his pocket.
The town car rolled to a stop in front of the Sheer Building, Landon’s offices in Midtown.
Landon reached over and pressed a button on the console in front of him, and a speaker crackled to life. “The back door, please, Jeff.”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply.
The car began to pull around to the back of the building.
“I’m not going inside with you.”
He leaned in close then, so close that I was sure he was going to kiss me. But then, at the last moment, he stopped. “You will come inside with me,” he said. “Or I will pick you up and carry you in.”
My heart pounded against my chest at his closeness. His lips were right there, full and tempting, the scent of him invading my every nerve ending.
“What do you want from me?” I whispered.
“Aven,” he growled, and for a moment, again, I was sure he was going to kiss me. But then he reached over and opened the car door.
I followed him out.
We took a private elevator up to the 38th floor.
The décor was sleek, modern, everything done in shades of black and charcoal with hints of silver and chrome fixtures.
A receptionist sat at a horsheshoe-shaped desk, her hair in a frosted blonde bob. “Hold my calls,” Landon barked at her.
“Yes, of course, sir.”
He led me through another door, down another hallway.
Finally, we were in his actual office, a sweeping room with views of the Manhattan skyline that took my breath away. The décor in here matched everything else – dark colors, heavy furniture. The ceilings were so high it was disconcerting – I was used to everything in New York being small. But wealth had no bounds, and I shouldn’t have been surprised.
He shut the door, then moved to his desk, sat down and stared at me.
He took in a long, slow breath through his nose, his hands clapped in front of him as if he were deciding what to do with me.
“You are not to have any contact with Paisley Daniels again.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. And you are not to take the job with Miles Marx.” He said these things as if they were a given, as if he still had the right to tell me what to do.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll talk to who I want. And if I am offered the job with Miles Marx, I will absolutely take it.” My curiosity wanted to ask him why, exactly, he didn’t want me working for Miles –and to call him out on how he knew I had an interview at Stratton, since he’d obviously had me followed -- but I thought better of it. This is what he wanted – he wanted me to ask him questions, to get caught up in the back and forth, to get tangled in his twisted web.
But that was over.
Landon and I were over.
And I was done with this, done with him.
I turned to go.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.
“I’m leaving. If you’ve brought me here to tell me what and what not to do, then I’m sorry, but I’m done.”
My hand reached for the knob and turned.
But it was locked.
Of course it was.
I searched for the latch, but there was nothing.
My eyes fell onto the keypad by the door.
O
f course there was a keypad.
Just like the doors at his house in Vermont, Landon was the only one who could open the door – he’d have to use his fingerprint.
He was behind me now, so close I could feel his body heat, and my breath hitched.
“Please,” I said. “Please, why are you doing this to me?”
“No, angel,” he rasped. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m not doing anything.” Tears filled my eyes, and my hands clenched into tight fists at my sides. “Please, just… you have to stop tormenting me like this, you have to leave me alone. You can’t just keep leaving and then showing back up. It’s not fair.”
I felt his hands on the back of my neck, brushing my hair away from my skin.
Instantly, my body responded, wanting more, wanting more of him, more of his touch, his lips, his skin.
I fought the urge to lean back into his body, but it didn’t matter.
He pressed into me from behind, his chest massive and strong.
“Is this what you wore to your interview?” he breathed, his hands sliding over the curve of my hips.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“Dirty mouth,” he said, and now he sounded amused. His hands slid around to my jacket, and he began to unbutton it.
I reached up and grabbed his hands, pushed them away.
“You will keep your hands at your sides, Ms. Cartwright. Or I will cuff you.”
He placed my hands at my sides, then returned to the buttons on my jacket, undoing them one by one, until it was loosened. He pulled it off my shoulders, then began to work on my blouse.
His knuckles skated against the curve of my breasts and then brushed over my bare torso as he removed my shirt, leaving me there in just my red satin bra and skirt.
“Landon,” I groaned. “Please, Landon, you have to just let me go. I can’t take this anymore.”
His grip on me loosened slightly.
There was a moment of silence, one that seemed to stretch on for infinity, and then finally, he pressed back into me.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, Aven, but I can’t let you go.”
And then his hand slipped into his pocket and I moaned as I heard the clinking of metal as the cuffs came out. A strangled cry escaped through my lips as I realized he’d had them the whole time, that he’d always been planning to cuff me.
The metal was clipped against my skin, the other side of the handcuffs clipped to the doorknob.
He gathered my hair, turning and twisting it hard in his hands. “God, you are so beautiful.”
His other hand pushed up my skirt, tugging it up over the curve of my ass, exposing my tiny thong and leaving my ass cheeks bare.
His thumb pushed against the button of my asshole, and I clenched and gasped, tried to wiggle away.
“Shh, baby,” he said. “Shh, it’s better if you don’t fight me.”
His thumb pushed just a tiny bit inside, so tight, so pinching, so biting, and warm heat spread through my entire body.
I bit my lip to keep from screaming as his index finger pushed into my pussy at the same time, spreading me.
“You like that, baby?”
“Yes, sir.” It was a whisper, but it was true. I liked it.
“What do you like?”
“I like what you’re doing to me.”
His hand released my hair and spanked my bare ass, so hard my cheeks jiggled, and I knew it would leave a mark. “Don’t tell me our time apart has made you shy, Ms. Courtland.”
“No, sir.”
“Then say what you like.”
“I like when you put one finger in my ass and one in my pussy.”
“Yes, you do, don’t you, bad girl?” His index finger pulled out of my cunt, smearing my arousal against the opening of my ass. He pulled his thumb out and pushed it back in.
“Landon,” I moaned.
“Yes, angel?”
“Please, I can’t ---”
“You can’t what? Take two fingers buried in your cunt?” He pushed his thumb back into my ass, and his index finger was now joined by his middle finger inside of my pussy. “I think you can.”
I whimpered, my knees going weak as I gave myself over to him. Whatever resistance I’d tried to muster was gone.
His other hand grabbed at my hip, forcing me up onto my toes so that he could get a better angle on my pussy and ass.
He began to fuck me then with his fingers, in and out, in and out, falling into a rhythm.
The pain I’d felt at being violated in such an intimate, unexpected way slowly receded, like a storm passing through the ocean, and now all that was left was the soft, sweet waves of exquisite pleasure.
He fucked me like that for what seemed like forever, his fingers moving in tandem as he held my hip steady with his other hand.
He pressed his lips to the back of my neck, his freshly shaven skin brushing against my nerve endings, his tongue moving down my bare spine as I arched up into him, calling his name as I began to come.
He hadn’t given me permission, hadn’t told me I could, but I couldn’t hold back.
His fingers inside of me, the exquisite rhythm – the bliss of it was too much and my orgasm rocketed through me.
When I’d finally stilled, he took his fingers from me, but kept his body pressed against mine.
He kissed my mouth, and I turned my head, hungry for his kiss, hungry for something intimate -- although intimate wasn’t the right word, since having him buried inside of me in my most private places was one of the most intimate things we’d done. But I wanted the emotion of his kiss, the heat of his mouth on mine.
“I’m going to make you come again,” he rasped against my ear. “I’m going to make your cunt spasm on my cock.”
I moaned.
“I want to see your face when you come,” he said. “So I’m going to uncuff you now. If you try to move, if you try to get away, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped back, then uncuffed me from the door handle and led me over to his desk.
He sat down in his black leather chair, his eyes appraising my half naked body.
His stare was penetrating, and shivers skittered up my spine, my nipples hardening into two tight peaks. I closed my eyes.
“Take off your bra, Ms. Courtland.”
I reached behind me, unhooked it, feeling my breasts drop out, my skin pebbling under his gaze.
“Look at me.”
I looked at him, sitting there in his chair, his eyes blazing, the heat between us so intense I swore I could feel it brushing against my skin like the summer sun.
“Come to me.”
I took a few steps closer, and Landon reached down and slid his hand under my knee, pulled my leg up so that my foot rested on the arm of his chair. My skirt was still bunched around my waist.
“Such a pretty little pussy,” he murmured as he pushed my soaked thong to the side. Then his mouth was between my legs, and I gasped, gripping his shoulders as he began to work me over with his tongue.
He open-mouthed kissed my pussy as he spread me open with his fingers, his tongue probing, fucking, his lips moving whisper soft over my clit.
“You taste so sweet, so innocent. The only one who’s ever tasted your pussy is me, isn’t that right, angel?”
“Yes, sir.”
My head tipped back and my hands dug into his shoulders harder as he put his mouth back on me.
Another orgasm tore through me, this one even more intense than the one I’d just had before, the waves of pleasure so intense I felt as if I were leaving my body. I cried out his name as the final waves rolled through me, then collapsed against him, spent.
I felt wrung out, my limbs loose, my pussy aching.
“I’m not done with you yet, Ms. Courtland.” The timbers of his voice echoed through my nerve endings as he stood up from his chair and undid my skirt, pulled it off along with my thong until I was naked except for
my black high heels.
Landon grinned at me, then began to circle me, his gaze traveling over my body. When he was back in front of me, his jaw tightened.
“Take my shirt off.”
“Yes, sir.” I reached up, my hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, but I was thankful to have something to do. Already pleasure was stirring back up in my body, warm and hot, settling back between my legs, even though I was sore and sensitive there, not sure how I was going to be able to take any more of this exquisite torture.
Landon allowed me to touch him, to run my hands over his muscled chest, down the flatness of his stomach, brushing the ridges of his six-pack, lingering on the line of hair that started at his navel and disappeared below his belt.
When I tried to move lower, he grabbed my hand. “Not yet, angel.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for my next directions.
“Lie down on my desk,” he instructed.
“Landon, I can’t… what are you going to do?“ As much as I wanted him, I knew my body wasn’t used to this. I’d only just lost my virginity to him, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for this physically.
“On. The. Desk.”
I obeyed and climbed onto the desk, keeping my legs clamped closed.
He moved toward me, and he pulled his belt from his pants, slapping it against his palm.
Then he took off his pants and boxers.
He towered over me, his shadow covering my body. I gazed up at him, emotion overcoming me. I’d been so angry when I’d gotten here, but now that he was here, touching me, his body so beautiful, his eyes stormy with that torment I’d come to know so well, I felt nothing but love for him.
His cock was hard, the head swollen with need, and I groaned as he pressed it against my opening.
“You won’t move.” It was a command.
“I won’t move, sir.”
His eyes alighted with approval, and he moved his hips just the slightest bit so that the head of his dick brushed against my clit.
I gasped and my body responded immediately, bucking against him, trying to get closer to him, to pull him into me.
Too late, I remembered he’d told me not to move – he pulled his cock away and a moment later the belt reigned down on my lower belly, licking my clit as hot pain seared my flesh.
