Se connecterWe don't make it to the elevator.He pulls me back from the door by my wrist and I turn around and he's looking at me with his shirt half open and his hair wrecked from my hands and his eyes still dark and certain and nowhere near done."Declan," I say. "We should go.""Should we?" He pulls me by my wrist back into the corridor. Past his office. Toward the conference room at the end of the hall."The conference room?" "Every Monday morning," he says, pushing the door open, "you sit in that chair, third from the left, and you cross your legs and click your pen and I stand at the head of that table and I talk about quarterly projections and I think about absolutely nothing that is on those slides."He walks me to the long table.Lifts me onto it.Steps between my thighs."Declan." My hands find his open shirt. "We have a meeting in here at nine AM.""I know." He kisses my jaw. My throat. "I'll think about this the whole time.""That's unprofessional," I breathe."Mm." His mouth finds m
His tongue parts me and pushes deep and I arch so hard my shoulders lift off the desk.He eats like a man who has been thinking about exactly this for months and has a very specific idea of how it goes. No fumbling. No guessing. He finds my clit immediately and circles it in slow deliberate strokes that make my thighs shake on either side of his head and my hands scramble for something to grip and find nothing except the edges of his desk."Declan," I gasp. "Your mouth, oh gosh, your tongue..."He hums against me and the vibration goes through my whole body like a current. His hands press flat on my inner thighs, spreading me wider, holding me open and still while his tongue works me in patterns that keep shifting, slow then fast then slow, circling then flicking then sealing his lips and sucking until I'm crying out and my hips are fighting against his hands trying to grind against his face."Please," I sob. "Please, I need to cum, I'm so close..."He pulls back.Just slightly. Just
Arc 12: After HoursThe office is empty at midnight except for us.It's always us. That's the thing nobody tells you about working late with a man like Declan Hurst. You think you're staying because of the project deadline. You think he's staying because he's dedicated. And maybe that's true. Maybe the first six times it was exactly that simple.But tonight he called me into his office at eleven forty-five and closed the door and didn't say a single word about the project.He's at his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and he's looking at me the way he's been not looking at me for three months. Like something he's made a decision about.My stomach drops.In the best possible way."Sit down, Nora," he says.I sit in the chair across from his desk. Cross my legs. Try to look like my heart isn't doing something embarrassing."You know why I asked you to stay?" "The Henderson file." "No." His eyes hold mine. Steady and dark and decided. "Not the Henderson file."The air conditio
Arc 11: The Massage TableI roll my hips and he grabs me so hard I'll have bruises.Good. I want the bruises. I want to sit down tomorrow and feel exactly where his hands were.The stool is the perfect height, my feet flat on either side of him, thighs spread wide, and I ride him slow and deep, every downstroke taking him completely, every upstroke dragging him through every place inside me that matters. His cock reaches deep in this position, deeper than the table would have allowed, and every time I sink down his jaw tightens and his hips push up to meet me."You feel incredible," he grits out. "Katya, your pussy feels so...""Tell me," I breathe, riding him. "Tell me how it feels.""Tight," he says roughly. "So tight and so wet and so warm and so delicious, you're gripping me so hard...""Because you feel that good," I gasp. "Because your cock is..." I sink down hard and we both make sounds. "You fill me so perfectly..." He grabs my hips and pulls me down onto him hard and I cry o
He pulls the stool to the end of the table and sits and hooks both my legs over his shoulders and looks at my pussy like it's something he's been wanting since I walked through the door and maybe he has.His hands are still oiled.He runs them up my inner thighs slowly, both thumbs tracing the crease where my thighs meet my core, and the warm slick pressure so close to where I need it makes my hips roll up chasing it."Please," I breathe."Please what?" His thumbs sweep closer. Not touching. Almost."Touch me," I say. "Mikhail, touch my pussy, please..."He parts me with both thumbs and looks at me open and glistening under the warm treatment room light and makes a sound low in his throat that goes directly into my bloodstream."Beautiful," he says quietly. Like it's not even for me. Like he's just saying what he sees.Then he lowers his head and licks through me slowly from bottom to top and my back arches completely off the table."Oh!" Both hands fly to his hair. "Oh God, yes..."H
Arc 11: The Massage TableThe massage place is quiet.Soft lighting, warm oil smell, that specific silence that exists nowhere else except places designed specifically for bodies to be touched. I've been here three times before. Different therapist each time. Tonight the receptionist smiles and says Mikhail will be with me shortly and I nod and sit down and think nothing of it.Then Mikhail walks in.Six feet two of Eastern European absolutely nobody warned me about. Broad through the chest, forearms that belong on a sculpture, dark hair pushed back from a jaw that should be illegal in a professional setting. He smiles at me, professional and warm, and holds the door to the treatment room open and says: "Ms. Torres? I'm ready for you."I follow him in.The table is warmed. Low music. Dim light. He hands me the sheet and tells me to undress to my comfort level and leaves while I do it. I take everything off because I always take everything off, that's what the sheet is for, and I lie fa







