Chapter 7: The Office Desk
The scent of vanilla from a plug-in air freshener did little to mask the underlying aroma of stale coffee and polished chrome. Caitlin’s office was a glass box suspended above the city, and Josh felt exposed standing in it, his reflection fractured across a dozen angled surfaces. He’d been sitting in the leather armchair, its warmth unnerving, listening to her talk about earnest money and inspection contingencies for the colonial on Maple. Her voice was crisp, professional, a stark contrast to the raw screams that still echoed in his memory.
She was behind her desk, a sleek monolith of glass and steel, wearing a cream-colored blazer with her hair pulled into a severe, elegant knot.She pointed at something on a floor plan. “The lender will require a structural survey given the age, but I think we can use that to negotiate the price down.”
Josh stopped hearing the words.He was watching her mouth, the precise movements of her lips. He saw the faint shadow of a bruise on her wrist, just below her cuff. His own guilt was a cold, hard stone, but beneath it pulsed something hotter, darker.She’d orchestrated everything. The house, the rug, the silence. She’d wiped herself and dropped the cloth on his chest.She’d reduced it all to a transaction, and he’d been her willing instrument. Anger, sharp and clarifying, cut through his confusion.He stood up. The movement was deliberate, slow.Caitlin’s sentence trailed off. She watched him, a slight, questioning arch to one eyebrow, the professional mask perfectly intact.He didn’t say a word. He walked around the side of the desk. Her eyes tracked him, the mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of uncertainty.He reached her, loomed over her where she sat in her high-backed executive chair. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.
Then he bent, hooked his hands under her arms, and lifted her from the chair.A short, sharp gasp escaped her, a genuine sound of surprise. He turned her and sat her down on the edge of the glass desk. Papers slithered to the floor.A coffee cup wobbled. He stepped between her legs, his hands planted on the cool glass on either side of her hips, caging her in.
“You’ve had what you want,” he said, his voice low and rough.“The performance. The dirty secret in the empty house.You got your fantasy.” He leaned closer, his breath disturbing the fine hairs at her temple. “Now I get what I want.Right here.On your territory. Whilst we’re at your fucking workplace.”
He didn’t wait for permission.He crushed his mouth against hers. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but of possession and anger. Her lips were stiff for a second, then they yielded, opened.Her tongue met his with a desperate hunger. One of his hands came up and yanked the pin from her hair, sending the blonde cascade tumbling over her shoulders and the cream-colored blazer.The professional knot undone.He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Her blazer was already off, pushed from her shoulders. He unbuttoned her blouse with fumbling haste, not bothering with the cuffs, just pulling it open. Her lace bra was flimsy, sheer. He palmed her breast, his thumb rough over her nipple through the fabric.She moaned, her head falling back.
He pushed her back until she was lying flat on the cold, hard glass of the desk. The city skyline sprawled behind her, a indifferent panorama of windows and clouds. He shoved her skirt up around her waist, his fingers snagging on the waistband of her tights. He tore them, along with her panties, in one ragged pull, the sound shockingly loud in the quiet room.
She was exposed, laid out on her own desk, legs dangling over the edge. The chilled glass against her back, the heat of his gaze between her legs.Her pussy was already wet, glistening under the harsh office lights. A thin, slick sheen coated her inner lips.
Josh dropped to his knees on the plush corporate carpet.He hooked his hands under her knees, pushing them wider, bending her almost double. He didn’t tease.He didn’t start softly. He leaned in and buried his face in her with a grunt, his tongue driving straight into her opening.
Caitlin cried out, a sharp, shocked sound that bounced off the glass walls. Her hands flew to his head, fingers knotting in his curly black hair, not to push him away but to hold him closer, to grind herself against his mouth. His tongue was relentless, a stiff, plunging muscle fucking into her, mimicking the brutal rhythm he’d used in the colonial. He could taste her, musky and complex, a taste he now knew intimately. He pulled back to focus on her clit, sucking the swollen nub between his lips, flicking it hard and fast with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh, god, Josh… fuck…” she panted, her hips lifting off the glass, seeking more pressure. “Just like that… yes!”
Her words, her desperation, fueled him. This was her domain, her world of polished surfaces and calculated smiles, and he was reducing it to this: a woman spread on a desk, moaning obscenities as he ate her cunt. He slid a finger inside her, then two, crooking them, finding a rough, textured spot deep inside.She screamed, her body bowing off the desk.
“You like that?” he muttered against her wet flesh, his voice thick and muffled. “You like getting your pussy eaten on your fancy desk?Where you make all your smart little deals?”
“Yes! Oh, fuck yes!” she shrieked, her professional cadence utterly shattered. “It’s so good!Don’t stop!Make me come! Please, make me come right here!”
He drove his fingers deeper, his mouth working furiously on her clit. Her thighs began to tremble, clamping against the sides of his head. Her orgasm built, a rising tide of tension, and then it broke over her with a violent, shuddering intensity. She came with a long, guttural wail, her inner muscles clamping rhythmically around his fingers, her juices flooding his mouth and chin. He didn’t let up, licking and sucking her through the convulsions until she was gasping, weakly pushing at his head, oversensitive and spent.
He stood up, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand. He was painfully hard, his erection straining against his jeans. Caitlin lay on the desk, utterly wrecked, her clothes in disarray, her skin flushed, staring at the ceiling with dazed eyes.
Slowly, she pushed herself up on her elbows.Her gaze, when it found his, was no longer calculating or masked. It was dark, hungry, and utterly complicit.She reached for his belt.
Outside the glass walls, the city went about its business, blind to the raw, grimy act performed high above in a cage of light and ambition. The coffee in the fallen cup cooled, a brown stain spreading slowly across a discarded floor plan.