Chapter 2: The Conference Call
The office holiday party bubbled beyond the boardroom’s soundproofed door, a muffled symphony of forced laughter and clinking glasses. Inside, the air was cool and still, smelling of lemon polish and ozone. Selene stood before the floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror, watching her colleagues blur into colorful, drunken shapes. She sipped her champagne, the bubbles sharp on her tongue.
Her phone vibrated on the polished mahogany table. Leo’s name glowed on the screen. A slow smile spread across her lips.
She answered, putting him on speaker. “Hey, sweetheart. How’s the head?”
“Throbbing,” Leo’s voice was stuffy, weakened by the flu. “I miss you. The place is too quiet.”
“I miss you, too.” Her eyes lifted to the reflection of the door as it opened silently. Mateo slipped in, locking it behind him. He was already undoing his pants, his gaze fixed on her with hungry simplicity.
“Tell me about the party,” Leo begged, a lonely man seeking connection.
“Oh, it’s dreadfully boring. Consultants sucking up to VPs.” She set the phone down, centering it on the vast table. With deliberate slowness, she hitched her tight black dress up around her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The cold air of the room kissed her skin.
Mateo was behind her now, his hands rough on her hips, his cock already hard and pressing against the cleft of her ass. She leaned forward, bracing her palms flat on the table, directly beside the phone.
“But,” she continued, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper for Leo, “I’m hiding in the boardroom. Needed to pace. This new automotive client is a monster.”
“You’ll handle them. You always do.” Leo’s trust was absolute.
“Keep talking to me,” she breathed, and the breathlessness was real this time as Mateo’s thick head nudged against her opening. “It helps the stress.”
She reached back, guiding him into her. He was always too eager, slamming forward in one brutal, delicious stroke that filled her completely. A choked gasp escaped her lips, which she quickly covered. “Sorry—wooden floor. Hard soles. Pac-ing.” She punctuated the lie by rocking back onto him, taking him deeper.
“You sound out of breath,” Leo said, concern etching his voice.
“Just… frustrated.” Mateo set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her forward, making her knuckles white against the table. The wet, rhythmic slap of their joining was obscenely loud in the sterile room. She knew Leo could hear it, a模糊的背景音 beneath his own congested breathing.
“What is that sound?” he asked.
“My heels. On the parquet.” She moaned, then bit her lip. Mateo’s hands dug into her flesh, his grunts soft behind her. “Tell me… tell me what you had for soup.”
As Leo began detailing the bland chicken broth, his voice a tinny stream of devotion from the speaker, Selene let her head fall forward. She watched their reflection in the dark mirror—the powerful, muscular young man fucking his boss’s wife, the wife taking it with a savage grace, and the tiny glowing rectangle on the table between them, pulsing with a husband’s love. The degradation was a drug, purer than any champagne.
Mateo, emboldened by her animalistic response, leaned over her. “You’re so fucking tight,” he growled into her ear, his voice too low for the phone to pick up.
“Shhh,” she hissed, but she pushed back against him harder.
“Is someone there with you?” Leo asked.
“No, no one.” She panted. “Just… thinking out loud. About the client. He’s such a… cock.”
The profanity, so unlike her usual curated speech, excited Mateo further. He fucked her with a punishing intensity, his balls slapping against her. Selene felt the coil in her abdomen tightening, a real climax building on the foundation of her grotesque theater.
“Leo,” she whimpered into the phone, her voice cracking perfectly.
“Yes, darling?”
“I wish you were here. I wish you could… hold me.” The words were ash in her mouth. Mateo’s fingers found her clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. The double sensation was too much.
“I’m holding you now,” Leo’s muffled voice came through. “In my thoughts.”
It sent her over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her, silent but catastrophic, her internal muscles clenching around Mateo’s driving cock in a series of violent spasms. She saw stars, her mouth open in a soundless scream.
Mateo couldn’t hold back. With a choked, guttural sound, he buried himself to the hilt and came. She felt the hot, sudden rush of his release flooding her, a stark contrast to the cold room. It triggered a second, smaller shudder in her.
The sound she made was a sharp, truncated cry.
“Bless you!” Leo said instantly.
She froze, Mateo still lodged inside her, dripping. Then she understood. He’d mistaken her climax for a sneeze.
A laugh, cold and silent, shook her shoulders. She played along, sniffling. “Thanks. God, I think I’m catching your cold. The stress, it wrecks my immunity.”
“Come home soon,” he said, love and worry saturating every syllable.
“I will. I love you.”
“Love you more.”
She disconnected the call. The room plunged into a silence broken only by their ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from the party.
Mateo pulled out, a slick, dark sound. He zipped himself up, looking pleased, oblivious. “That was wild. The phone thing. Kinky.”
Selene straightened her dress, her movements precise, already distant. “It was adequate.” She walked to a cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a small leather clutch. From it, she produced a slim glass syringe and a mini disinfectant wipe.
“What’s that for?” Mateo asked, frowning.
“None of your business.” Her tone could freeze lava. She turned her back to him, pulled her dress up again, and carefully, meticulously, inserted the syringe into her used, dripping channel. She extracted her prize—a mix of her own fluids and his spend. She capped it, labeled it with a ‘M’ and today’s date, and placed it in the clutch.
Mateo watched, his bravado crumbling into confusion. “What the fuck, Selene?”
“You’re dismissed,” she said, not looking at him. She smoothed her hair in the mirror. The woman who stared back was perfectly composed, a masterpiece of control. The only evidence was a faint flush on her chest and the scent of sex that clung to her skin, soon to be masked by perfume.
He left, a tool returned to its box.
Selene stood alone in the boardroom. She could still feel the phantom ache of him, the warmth of the deposit now chilling in the syringe in her bag. She thought of Leo, asleep in their bed, trusting, his immune system fighting a mere virus. He had no idea of the disease he was already hosting, the infection he sipped every morning with a smile.
She finished her champagne. The party outside was reaching its drunken peak. She needed to make an appearance, to be seen. But first, she opened her clutch once more, looking at the syringe beside her lipstick. It was a good harvest. Thick. Potent.
Leo would enjoy his coffee tomorrow. He’d kiss her, and taste a younger man’s vigor, and call it love.
She touched up her lipstick, a slash of violent red, and went out to mingle.