Chapter 5: Business or Pleasure
The whiskey was untouched, a failed prop. Mark stared at the slick black surface of his desk, the reflection of his own face a pale smudge against the ceiling lights. His 9 AM quarterly review with Donovan loomed in three minutes. His gut was a tight knot, part professional anxiety, part something else entirely.
The house was too quiet. Julie had been a ghost since dawn, slipping out of his room while he was in the shower. The memory of the soaked sheets, the stunned look on her face, the animal noise she’d made—it all sat in his chest, a live wire next to the mundane dread of financial projections.
The laptop chimed. He straightened his collar, clicked ‘Join’, and Donovan’s sharp, pixellated face filled the screen.“Mark. Let’s dive in. The Q3 cost overruns on the Henderson project.”
Mark’s mouth was dry.“Right. A supply chain issue with the custom actuators. We’ve re-sourced.”
The door to his office whispered open. He didn’t turn. He kept his eyes locked on Donovan’s digital frown. A ripple of movement in his peripheral vision. Then he felt her.
A hand, cool and sure, on his inner thigh. He froze. Donovan was talking about vendor accountability frameworks.
Her fingers traced the seam of his trousers. He shifted slightly, crossing his legs, trying to trap her hand, to stop this insanity. She evaded, her touch a feather-light scratch against the growing tightness in his groin. He cleared his throat.
“The mitigation added a four-percent buffer,” he said, his voice slightly strained.
Her head appeared beneath the desk, a shadowy smile in the dim cave of his knees. She unzipped him. The sound was catastrophic in the quiet room. He flinched, hoping the microphone hadn’t picked it up.
“You there, Mark?” Donovan’s voice crackled.“Yes.Apologies. A, uh, draft.” He felt the cool air on his exposed skin. Then her mouth.
Her tongue was a flat, hot stripe up his length. He sucked in a breath, held it. His knuckles were white on the desk edge.
“The buffer seems conservative,” Donovan droned. “Walk me through the contingency for a secondary failure.”
Julie took him deep. One smooth, swallowing motion that made his vision blur. He could feel the back of her throat, the gentle pressure of her lips at the root. She held him there, a perfect, impossible heat. He was fully, achingly hard in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
“The… the secondary,” Mark stammered, his brain scrambling for the spreadsheet that was suddenly a million miles away. “We… we factored a full actuator replacement. That’s captured in line item… fuck… fourteen.”
The curse slipped out. A beat of silence.
“Excuse me?” Donovan’s eyebrow lifted.
“Fourteen,” Mark barked, too loud. “Line item fourteen.” He could feel her smiling around him. She began to move, a slow, torturous bobbing, her hand cupping and gently squeezing his balls. Each descent of her head was timed, it seemed, with Donovan’s questions.
“And the integration timeline with the software team?”
Suck.
“Delayed.” Mark’s voice was tight.
“By how much?”
Lick, swirl at the tip.
“Two weeks. Minimum.”
“Unacceptable. What’s the critical path holdup?”
Deep throat, a groan he couldn’t fully suppress.
He was sweating. A drop traced a path down his temple. Julie’s pace increased, becoming wetter, messier. The obscene, soft sounds were surely leaking into the room. She pulled off, breathing heavily, and whispered, so only he could hear, “You taste like me.”
He almost came right there.
“Mark, you’re muted. I didn’t catch that.”
He fumbled for the mouse, his hand shaking. He clicked the microphone icon.“Sorry. Technical… glitch. The holdup is API documentation from the vendor.”
“Get them on a call today. I want daily updates.”
“Understood.”
She took him back into her mouth, and this time there was no restraint. It was a fierce, hungry sucking, her head pumping in a ruthless rhythm. He was a bowstring pulled to breaking. He could feel the pressure coiling at the base of his spine, a gathering tsunami. Donovan’s mouth moved on the screen, questions about scalability, about fail-safes, all of it nonsense noise beneath the roaring in his ears. Her fingernails dug into his thighs. He was going to lose it. He was going to come in her mouth on a quarterly review.
She kept taking him in and out, giving time to recompose himself. Then got right back at it. She wasn't going to let him go.
The review went on for one hour
With a guttural sound, he pushed his chair back, out from under the desk. The movement was abrupt, violent. Julie released him with a wet pop, her eyes wide, question and challenge both in them. He reached forward, his hand a blur, and clicked ‘End Call’. Donovan’s frozen, puzzled face vanished, before he could say bye.
The silence was instantaneous and absolute.
Mark stood up. His cock, slick from her mouth, stood out rigid and angry. He looked at her, still on the floor knees, a smear of her lipstick at the corner of her mouth. The corded tension of the last hour, the frustration of the meeting, the sheer audacity of her, crystalized into a single, white-hot point of intention.
He grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet. He turned her, bending her over the sleek, cold surface of the desk. Her palms slapped against the polished wood, skidding. The half-full glass of whiskey wobbled, tipped, and crashed to the floor. Neither of them looked.
He shoved her cotton shorts and underwear down to her knees in one brutal yank. She was already wet; he could see the glistening evidence, smell it mixing with the spilled whiskey. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against her.
“You think this is a game?” His voice was gravel.
“It's not.” " ... Bucket ... list" Her retort was muffled against the desk.
He drove into her. No pause, no gentle push. A single, deep, claiming thrust that buried him to the hilt and slammed her chest into the keyboard. The air left her lungs in a pained oof.
He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He set a pace that was pure punishment, each slam of his hips rocking the heavy desk, jolting her forward. The creak of the floor, the edge of the desk on her stomach, her choked gasps, his own ragged grunts. He fucked her with a focused, relentless anger, all the suppressed tension of the call finding its outlet in the savage rhythm of his body against hers.
“You wanted my attention?” he snarled, one hand fisting in her hair, pulling her head back. “You’ve got it.”
“Yes! God, yes, just like that!” she cried out, the words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
He released her hair, gripped her hips instead, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her still for his assault. The angle was deep, punishing. Each thrust hit something inside her that made her see stars. Her arms gave out. She collapsed onto the desk, her cheek pressed against the cool surface, her vision filled with the blurred reflection of their joining in the dark screen of the monitor.
Her breath fogged the black glass, each ragged exhake syncing with his thrusts. The pleasure was a scalding tide, rising too fast, threatening to pull her under. She was close, so close, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth desk.
Then his hand left her hip.
The crack of his palm against her ass cheek was thunderous in the quiet room. A sharp, stinging bloom of heat radiated through her entire body, shocking her nerves alight. She cried out, a sound swallowed by the wood.
He did it again.And again. Not a rhythmic spanking, but relentless, unpredictable strikes, each sharp slap landing on the already tender flesh of her ass and upper thighs. The pain wasn’t separate from the pleasure; it fused with it, each blow driving the coiled tension in her core tighter. She was sobbing now, each impact jolting her forward, forcing his cock deeper.
“Please,” she gasped, the word mangled. She didn’t know what she was begging for.
He flipped her over as easily as turning a page. Her back hit the cold desk, the monitor wobbling dangerously. He didn’t pause. His hands hooked under her knees, pushing them back toward her shoulders, folding her in half, exposing her completely. The new angle was obscene, invasive. He shoved back into her wetness, and she screamed.
He fucked her senseless. The world narrowed to the slap of their skin, the creak of the desk, the raw scrape of his body pistoning into hers. His eyes were locked on where they joined, watching himself disappear into her, glistening and used. Her legs trembled in his grip. Every coherent thought was pounded out of her; she was just a vessel for this feeling, a knot of sensation about to unravel.
She felt the orgasm building, a precipice she was about to fall from. Her head thrown back, she choked on his name.
His hand moved from her knee to her throat.
It wasn’t a romantic caress. His fingers closed, firm and deliberate, just under her jaw. The pressure was instant, restricting her air, making the blood pulse in her ears. Her eyes flew open, wide with a fear that instantly morphed into a deeper, darker surrender. The climax that had been hovering exploded, detonating through her in silent, shuddering waves as he choked her, her cunt clamping around him in vicious, milking spasms.
He watched her face, saw the tears leak from the corners of her eyes, saw her lips part in a soundless cry. He held the pressure until her struggles became weak, then released. She dragged in a shattered, whistling breath.
He pulled out of her, his cock slick and hard. He grabbed her by her hair and she slid off the desk, her legs buckling, catching herself on the edge before sinking to the floor. She looked up at him, her vision swimming. He fisted his hand in her hair, not gently, and guided his dick to her mouth. He slapped it against her cheek, again, and again.
She opened, to make it stop. He pushed past her teeth, not stopping until the head bumped the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering. He held her there, his grip in her hair unyielding. “All of it,” he grunted, and pushed forward.
She took him, inch by unbearable inch, until her nose was pressed against his skin and he was fully sheathed in her throat. He held her there, letting her struggle to breathe through her nose, her body convulsing. Then he withdrew, only to plunge back in, setting a brutal, face-fucking rhythm. Saliva dripped from her chin. She was utterly used, a thing for his release.
His movements grew jerky, frantic.
He pulled her off, his cock springing free. One hand still tangled in her hair, he used the other to jerk himself roughly. The first thick, hot stripe landed across her cheekbone. The next spurt hit her lips. The rest pulsed onto her forehead, her closed eyelids, in warm, possessive streaks. He emptied himself onto her face, painting her with it.
Then he went back all the way in her mouth. Her eyes were closed, she didn't see it coming. She moved her head backward in a reflex to pull away. Her body hit the desk hard. Her hand, flailing, connected with the base of the monitor. It teetered for a moment. Then it crashed to the floor, the screen facing down with a sickening, plastic crunch. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet.
Mark looked down at her, at the wreckage of his desk, at the woman he had marked, trembling on his floor. He pulled his dick out of her mouth and wiped himself with her hair. He bent over and murmured "Bucket List. I needed a new job anyway"
He slowly loosened his grip in her hair, his fingers uncurling as if releasing a bird he wasn’t sure could fly.