Page 70 of Work: Strictly Professional

With all the ridiculous numbers I’ve spewed at him up to this point, it takes me a little while to piece together what one thousand two hundred and twenty dollars buys in this neck of the woods. To help jog my memory, Derek opens his mouth and puts his middle finger in it, closing his lips around it and releasing it slowly. His head tilts back as he does it. Lids slide to half-mast and dark eyes turn sultry. His finger glistens at me, shiny and slick.

I know exactly what he wants, so I nod seventeen or eighteen times in rapid succession.

Derek smiles and starts unbuckling my belt carefully so as not to chink metal against metal. I stand there, jostled from side to side, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. My pants drop, and Derek grazes my boner through my boxer briefs with blunt nails before pulling them down as well. My dick bounces and sways from side to side when it’s free. It’s hard and pink. Desperate like me.

Derek taps his hand on one knee. It’s an invitation. I know that much, but I can’t work out quite what he wants. Does he want me to sit on his lap?

It doesn’t matter.

I don’t need to know. He shows me. With a hard tug of my wrist and a firm hand on the small of my back, he manhandles me skillfully. I’m on my feet one second, and the next, I’m over his knee, bare ass on display, hard dick squished between my body and his muscular thigh.

I know for a fact that if I didn’t have to be quiet, I’d have a lot to say about this. For one, I’d be advising Derek that this is far from an optimal position for prostate stimulation. It’s going to be awkward as fuck, and there’s no way he’ll be able to nail it from this angle. I turn my head and try to tell him with my eyes, but his focus is not on my face. He has the bottle of lube in hishands and he’s coating several of his fingers so liberally I find myself wondering if he’s planning to fist me.

You’d think that would worry me. You really would. But it doesn’t. All it does is send another cataclysmic wave of arousal through me. Impractical as it is, this position, combined with my forced silence, is really doing it for me. So much so that I scrabble at Derek’s ankle, urging him on when he takes too long.

He receives the message. I know that because he slides a thick finger into me in one fluid motion. One second, I’m me, admittedly, a version of me that happily submits to being put over another man’s knee, and the next, I’m savage. My spine arches as nerve endings spark and my sphincter pulses in shock. He didn’t give me the tip. He didn’t so much as circle my opening. There was no teasing. He just shoved his thick dick finger into me all the way up to the knuckle.

Llewellyn whirrs on, “It’s simply not possible, people. It will be a total disaster. We won’t be able to come back from this with the budget intact,” as pleasure and shock combine into something profound. Something that demands a reaction. The reaction forms in my throat. Air flows from my lungs through my vocal cords at speed. Vibrations rumble. I clamp both hands tightly over my mouth and start to pray. I pray for more. And less. And more again. Derek gives it to me. Stretching me, opening me. Sliding two fingers in and out of me until my ass stings and my eyes bulge from the pressure.

I crane my head back and shoot daggers at him. It’s too much. Too little. Not enough. Give me more, Satan.

I don’t know if he understands or not, but maybe he does because he pulls out and strokes my balls gently.

“Let’s all calm down,” Derek says, sounding bored. At first, his voice shocks me, and I think he’s lost his mind and is talking to me, but he isn’t. Of course not. He’s on a call. The man’s running a company and probing my prostate. Multi-tasking, I guess youcould say. “We’ve been through this before, and we can make it work. Lindsey, find out who we dealt with in the Building Standards Commission on the Kreszman building and get back to me. I’ll make the call myself.”

“Of course, Mr. MacAvoy,” comes the hasty reply.

The sensitive skin on my balls puckers, pulling tighter, as good things dance up my spine, making me shake my ass for more.

This time, he does tease. He rubs the pad of a finger over my sensitized hole. Not hard, but not soft either. A gentle weight that makes pleasure spike and my breathing uneven. He slides his finger into me. It feels different. Thicker. It hits differently too. He angles it down easily and hits my gland with blinding accuracy. It’s not the finger he had in his mouth earlier. It’s his thumb. He has his thumb wedged up my ass. Deep. All the way to the thickest part of the digit. He’s not pummeling my prostate either. He’s not tapping or drilling it. He’s massaging it. It’s a deep, almost constant pressure that makes my eyes roll back in my head. Light and dark flickers. Dark timber, glass. A sea of buildings. The ceiling.

I start to thrash. I dig my fingers into Derek’s leg and tear at his flesh with one hand. I catch the sound of my pleasure with the other. I try to at least. I try and try, but I can’t catch it all. I look back again and see Derek smiling down at me. His lips are bowed, eyes cruel but kind.

“Help,” I mouth. “Help,help!”

He reacts immediately. “Something’s come up. I have to jump off,” he says. “Llewellyn, could you drop me an email to catch me up?” Then he leans over me and ends the call.

His thumb slides deeper up my ass. Harder. Closer. My hips jerk, canting against his thigh, chafing my cock on the slightly rough wool of his suit. He holds firm, forcing me to absorb more pleasure than I thought I could take. It’s not just pleasurethat’s breaking my mind. It’s the absence of it. It’s the intensity of what he’s doing inside me and the total lack of attention being bestowed on my dick. It’s a balance, a precarious balance, almost like the balance between good and evil, but it’s a balance nonetheless.

He keeps me there, securely plugged by this thumb, as my dick weeps. Another gust of air blows through my vocal cords. This time, there’s no holding it back. My throat opens, my mouth too. Sound erupts from me. I shout my orgasm at the skyline. At the floor. At the ceiling. My voice bounces off glass, thick and full-bodied with one breath and a thin wail the next.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I cry, whipping my head up and jumping off Derek so fast that if I had all my faculties about me, I’d be concerned about sustaining whiplash.

I look down in horror.

Oh holy fuck.

Oh no. No, no, no.

I just came all over Derek MacAvoy. His suit is dark, almost black, and his lap is liberally covered in sticky white cum. My sticky white cum.

“Arghhh!” I shriek, spinning around wildly. “I’m sorry. Oh God. Oh no.” I look around frantically for something to wipe Derek down with. I find nothing. “Hey, Siri, remind me to put napkins in the Dark Lord’s top drawer.”

I left my phone at my desk so Siri can’t hear me for shit, but that’s a problem for Future Me. I also just called Derek the Dark Lord to his face and that feels like it might be a problem for Present Me, but I simply don’t have time to deal with it now. I’m busy. Derek’s pants are wool. Wool is absorbent. Everyone knows that. I need to act quickly. I reach down to my ankles, where my pants are pooled, and pat down my pockets, looking for a tissue or anything useful. I find nothing, so I quickly pat down a notably stunned-looking Derek’s chest. Also nothing.

It’s fine. It’s no matter. I’m about solutions, not problems. Check my resume. You’ll see. I yank off my bow tie and start wiping Derek down with it.

It makes it much worse. Now he’s not just drenched in cum, it’s smeared all over his thighs.

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