MR. STERLING'S TERMS

Chapter Three

NOVA

The board call started at nine sharp.

Eight faces on the screen. Seven men and one woman, all senior partners and regional directors spread across four time zones, all looking at Dominic with the specific attentiveness of people who understood that his time cost more than most of their quarterly budgets.

I sat at the far end of the conference table with my laptop open and my fingers on the keys and my cunt still aching from two hours ago.

Dominic sat at the head.

He hadn't looked at me once since we walked in. Full composure. Jacket on, tie perfect, the complete assembled architecture of Dominic Sterling in professional mode — controlled, precise, commanding the room without raising his voice or shifting in his chair.

I typed notes.

Tried to concentrate.

Failed completely.

Because every time I shifted in my seat I felt it — the specific deep soreness of him, the memory of his cock buried inside me at seven am on his desk, and my body had decided that information was more important than anything the Tokyo regional director was currently saying about Q3 projections.

Twenty minutes in, a folded note appeared at my elbow.

I hadn't seen him move. Hadn't seen him write it. It was simply there, slid precisely to the edge of my laptop, and I looked up and Dominic was talking to the screen with the full focused attention of a man who had absolutely not just passed me a note like we were in secondary school.

I unfolded it under the table.

Four words.

*Don't move. Stay still.*

I looked up.

He was already looking back. One second of direct eye contact across the length of the conference table — composed, dark, completely certain — and then his gaze returned to the screen.

I felt his hand on my knee.

Under the table. Warm and heavy through my skirt, sliding up my inner leg with the same unhurried patience he brought to everything, and I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles went white and stared at my laptop screen and typed absolute nonsense for thirty seconds because every functioning brain cell I owned had relocated south.

His fingers found the hem of my skirt.

Pushed underneath.

I pressed my lips together and breathed through my nose and kept my face pointed at my laptop and watched the cursor blink on a half-finished sentence while his fingers slid up and found my underwear and pressed against my cunt through the fabric and I nearly bit through my own lip.

"Nova." His voice. Calm. Professional. Directed at the screen.

I looked up.

"Pull up the Henderson variance report." Still not looking at me. Talking to the screen. His fingers pressing slow circles against my cunt under the table. "Page four."

I opened the file.

My hands were shaking.

Page four. I clicked to it. Turned my laptop to face the camera. Said: "Here, Mr. Sterling," in a voice that came out level and professional and cost me everything I had.

"Thank you." He moved on. Back to the Tokyo director. Back to Q3 numbers and regional variance and the specific details of a deal that was worth nine figures and required his complete attention.

His fingers pushed my underwear aside.

Bare fingers on my bare cunt and I stopped breathing entirely.

He worked me slow. Deliberate. Two fingers pushing inside me while his thumb found my clit and pressed in the specific way he'd already learned made my eyes lose focus — and I sat at the end of that conference table with eight board members on a screen and Dominic Sterling's fingers knuckle-deep in my cunt and typed notes with hands that wouldn't stop shaking and stared at my laptop like my life depended on it.

The Tokyo director asked a question.

Dominic answered it. Four sentences. Precise. Not one word wasted. His fingers didn't stop moving the entire time.

I was going to cum in a board meeting.

That was happening. That was a real thing that was about to happen to me.

I pressed my feet flat on the floor and gripped the table edge with one hand and kept my face pointed at the screen and felt it building — that tight coiling heat climbing fast because he knew exactly what he was doing and was doing it with complete precision and I'd already cum twice this morning and my body had zero resistance left.

*Don't move. Stay still.*

I didn't move.

I stayed still.

I came with my teeth sunk into my lower lip and my hand white-knuckled on the table edge and my face arranged in the careful neutral expression of a woman taking thorough notes, silent and shaking from my cunt to my knees while eight board members discussed quarterly projections forty floors below the city sky.

Dominic talked through the entire thing.

Didn't pause. Didn't shift. Didn't do anything except curl his fingers slightly inside me at the exact moment I shattered and feel me clench around them and withdraw his hand with the same unhurried calm he'd used to push it under my skirt.

The call ended at ten fourteen.

Eight faces disappeared from the screen.

The room went quiet.

I sat at the end of the table with my skirt pushed up and my cunt throbbing and my notes a complete disaster and I looked at Dominic Sterling straightening his cuffs at the head of the table and felt something between fury and desire so intense I couldn't separate them.

"You did that on purpose," I said.

"Obviously." He closed his laptop.

"In a board call."

"You held up well." He stood. Picked up his jacket. "The Henderson report was particularly convincing."

I stared at him.

He looked back with that composed almost-expression and said: "Lunch is at twelve-thirty. I need the Morrison contracts reviewed before then."

"Dominic."

"Mm."

"If you ever do that again—"

"You'll what." He said it quietly. Not a challenge. Genuine. Dark eyes on mine across the length of the table.

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Because the honest answer was: *you'll do it again and I'll let you and we both know it.*

He smiled. Actual smile. First one I'd seen from him — brief, real, devastating — and then it was gone and he was walking to the door with his jacket over his arm.

"Morrison contracts," he said. "Before twelve-thirty."

He walked out.

I sat alone in his conference room with my underwear soaked and my notes ruined and the specific humiliating knowledge that I had just cum silently in a board meeting because Dominic Sterling told me to stay still and I had stayed very, very still.

I pulled my skirt straight.

Opened the Morrison contracts.

Tried to remember what words were.

Twelve-thirty. He wanted them reviewed by twelve-thirty.

I looked at the clock.

Two hours.

I closed the Morrison file and sat back in the chair and pressed one hand flat against my cunt through my skirt and thought about lunch and what happened after lunch and whether Dominic Sterling had any idea what he'd started.

He did.

That was the problem.

He knew exactly what he'd started and exactly where it was going and he was the most deliberate man I'd ever met in my life and every single thing he did was on purpose.

Every. Single. Thing.

I opened the Morrison file again.

Got through four pages before my phone buzzed on the table.

One message. No greeting.

*My office. Now. Bring the Morrison file.*

I looked at the message.

Looked at the closed conference room door.

Picked up my laptop and the Morrison file and walked out.