Chapter 11: The Conference Call
The city outside Sid’s window was a muted blueprint, the dawn a slow bleed of grey and pink at the edge of the skyscrapers. Kirti was a warm, solid weight against his side, her breathing deep and even. The memory of the night was a physical imprint—a delicious soreness, the ghost of sand in the sheets, the profound, secret knowledge of what they’d done.
He watched her sleep, the fierce confidence of her waking self softened into something vulnerable. Her cap was gone, her short hair messy against the pillow. He traced the line of her jaw with a feather-light touch.
Her eyes fluttered open. Dark, aware, immediately smiling.
“Morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.
“Morning.” He leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep. It tasted like promise and yesterday’s wine.
She stretched, a languid, cat-like movement that made the sheet fall to her waist. “I feel like I got run over by a very pleasant truck.”
“Good.”
She laughed, rolling onto him, her elbows planted on his chest. “I meant what I said on the beach. About doing it again.”
“The beach part, or the later part?”
“All of it.” Her smile turned wicked. “Any of it. Now, preferably.”
Her phone, charging on the nightstand, chose that moment to blare a corporate ringtone. The screen flashed: CEO - CONF CALL.
Kirti froze, a split-second calculation flashing in her eyes. Sid saw it—the professional instinct warring with the hunger still burning in her limbs. He grinned.
“Take it,” he said, his voice low.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re trouble.”
“You love it.”
She answered, hitting the speaker button. “Kirti here.” Her voice was suddenly crisp, professional, a stark contrast to the naked woman straddling him.
“Kirti, good, you’re on. Let’s get started.” The CEO’s voice, dry and authoritative, filled the room.
Sid’s hands went to her hips. He pulled her forward, settling her fully onto his lap. She was already wet from their kiss. He could feel her heat through the thin sheet. She inhaled sharply but silently.
“We’re reviewing the Q3 pipeline,” the CEO droned. “The competitive landscape is shifting.”
Sid pushed the sheet aside. He lifted her simple cotton shirt, dipping his head to take one nipple into his mouth. He suckled hard, his tongue circling the peak.
A stifled gasp hissed through Kirti’s teeth. She clenched around nothing, her body bowing.
“Kirti? You there?”
“Yes,” she choked out, pushing her chest harder against his mouth, one hand tangling in his hair to hold him there. “Yes, I’m here. The landscape. Shifting. Understood.”
Sid’s other hand slid down, under the waistband of her shorts. He found her, slick and swollen. He rubbed two fingers through her folds, then pushed one inside.
Her head fell back. Her eyes screwed shut. She bit down on her own knuckle.
“We need a more aggressive content push on the new platform,” a VP chimed in.
“Agreed,” Kirti forced out, her voice strained thin. “A more… comprehensive penetration.”
Sid smirked against her breast. He removed his fingers, shifting her. He pushed her shorts to the side, positioned himself, and in one smooth, silent motion, filled her.
She jerked, a full-body spasm. A choked-off moan escaped before she could capture it. It sounded like a cough.
“You okay, Kirti?”
“Fine.” The word was taut, breathless. “Just… a cramp. In my leg. Go on.”
Sid began to move. Slow. Shallow. Maddening. Each retreat was a tease, each advance a shock of perfect friction. He kept his eyes locked on hers, watching the battle. Her professionalism was a cracking veneer. Her nostrils flared with each inhale.
“And what’s your preliminary take on the influencer budget?” the CEO asked.
Sid paused, buried deep inside her, not moving. Waiting.
Kirti’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary grind. She swallowed. “I think… we need to be bold. Unpredictable. We can’t just… follow the same… script.”
He rewarded her with a deep, rolling thrust. Her eyes rolled back for a second before she snapped them forward, focusing on the phone as if it were a lifeline.
“Could you elaborate on ‘unpredictable’?” the CEO pressed.
Sid’s pace quickened. He kept it quiet, the sound absorbed by their bodies and the plush bed, but the force was undeniable. He fucked her with deliberate, driving strokes, each one punching a tiny gasp from her lungs.
“We… ah… we need to surprise them,” she managed, her words starting to fracture. “Create moments that feel… authentic. Urgent.”
One of his hands slid around to her front, finding her clit. He pressed and circled.
Her composure shattered. A high, thin whine escaped. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her body trembling violently.
“Kirti? Audio issue?”
She shook her head, as if they could see her. “Bad… connection,” she rasped. “Sorry.”
But she was gone. Sid felt her inner muscles begin to flutter, then seize. Her control evaporated. She came with a series of silent, shuddering convulsions, her internal grip milking him, her mouth open in a soundless scream against his shoulder.
He held her through it, still moving, dragging out her climax. As the last tremors subsided, he withdrew. He pushed her forward gently, onto her hands and knees, her back still to the phone. He stroked himself twice, hard and fast, and came across the back of her thigh in hot, possessive stripes.
“Let’s circle back on that after the analytics review,” the CEO said, oblivious. “Ten minutes, everyone.”
The line went dead with a click.
The only sounds were their ragged breathing. Kirti collapsed onto her forearms, her body quaking with aftershocks and suppressed laughter.
“You,” she panted, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. “You are going to get us caught. Fired. Publicly disgraced.”
Sid wiped his hand on the sheet, a deep, satisfied exhaustion in his bones. “Worth it.”
She rolled onto her side, facing him, her eyes brilliant with adrenaline and mischief. “I didn’t finish my thought. I was going to suggest a guerilla marketing stunt.”
“You suggested something better.” He leaned in, licking a stripe from her jaw to her ear. “You taste like salt and conference calls.”
She laughed, shoving him playfully. “I need a shower. And coffee. And then…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the mess on her thigh, then back to his face. A new, speculative heat entered her eyes.
“And then?” he prompted.
“And then I’m hungry,” she said simply. She swung her legs off the bed and stood, a portrait of naked, unselfconscious power in the morning light. She walked toward the open-plan living area, toward his sleek kitchen. “You have butter, right? The real kind.”
A current, low and electric, hummed to life in the room. Sid watched her go, remembering the wildness of the beach, the surrender of the night. This was different. This was domestic. This was her, in his space, turning the mundane into a provocation.
“Yeah,” he said, following her. “I have butter.”
The sun cleared the building across the street, flooding the apartment with a sudden, golden glare. It lit the dust motes dancing in the air, the city stirring to life below, and the deliberate, hungry look they exchanged over the cold marble countertop. The phone was silent. The world outside was noise.
In here, there was only the next step, the next touch, the next silent scream waiting to be born.