Chapter 59: Indecency
The syrupy sweetness lingered on Olivia’s skin, a sticky, golden map of his desire that Ethan had meticulously traced and then devoured. He’d cleaned her with his tongue until she was gasping and shuddering against the dishwasher, her earlier sated languor burned away by a fresh, sharp hunger. But the day, with its mundane responsibilities, had pressed in. Ethan had virtual meetings; Olivia had an agent call.
Now, she sat in the sleek ergonomic chair at his home office desk, the one that looked out over the endless concrete canyons of midtown. The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting warm stripes across the polished teak. She was the picture of composed professionalism. Her hair, once a damp tangle, was now a smooth, chic fall around her shoulders. She wore a simple cream-colored silk blouse, unbuttoned just enough to hint at the curve of her breasts, but nothing overt. From the waist up, she was Olivia Hayes, global fashion icon, her makeup flawless, her expression one of intelligent engagement.
From the waist down, she was his.
Ethan knelt on the plush Moroccan rug beneath the expansive desk, a world of shadows and secret heat. The blouse was all she wore. Her bare legs were parted, one foot hooked around the leg of his chair, the other braced on the floor. The clean, subtle scent of her arousal, so different from the maple syrup, filled the intimate space beneath the desk, a stark contrast to the sterile, air-conditioned office ambiance above.
On the large monitor, Sandine’s face was a study in efficient boredom. Her jet-black hair was cropped sharply, her brow furrowed as she scrolled through a tablet. “…so the payment for the Milan show finally cleared,” Sandine was saying, her French accent clipping her words. “But there is a penalty clause for late transfer. I have forwarded the correspondence to your finance person. You should look.”
“I’ll have a look tonight,” Olivia said, her voice calm, smooth as the silk she wore. Her hand, however, was not on the desk. It was beneath it, tangled in Ethan’s hair. She guided his head firmly, insistently, against her.
Ethan needed no guiding. His world had narrowed to the musky, intimate darkness and the perfect, glistening shape of her. She was completely bare, shaved smooth as he preferred, and so wet he could see the delicate, gleaming folds in the dim light. He nuzzled her, breathing her in, before licking a slow, broad stripe from her entrance to her swollen clit.
Olivia’s breath hitched. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible sound, but he felt the muscles of her thigh tense against his cheek. On the screen, Sandine glanced up. “You okay, Liv? Sounded like you choked.”
“Just a… a tickle in my throat,” Olivia replied, her voice shifting to a slightly husky register. She cleared it delicately. “Dry air in here. Go on.”
She pressed Ethan’s face deeper into her.
He obeyed, his tongue delving into her soft heat, tasting her directly. She was addictive, a flavor both clean and profoundly erotic. He laved at her opening, spearing his tongue inside before swirling it back up to circle her clit. He paid meticulous attention to that hard, sensitive pearl, flicking it rapidly, then sucking it gently between his lips.
“So the shoot in Iceland is confirmed for next month,” Sandine continued, her eyes back on her tablet. “The aesthetic is ‘glacial fire.’ Very ethereal, very raw. They want you looking windswept and elemental. No retouching on skin texture. It’s a bold choice.”
“I like it,” Olivia said, and her voice was remarkably steady, though the hand in Ethan’s hair was now gripping fistfuls, pulling him tighter against her. Her hips gave the faintest, most controlled rock against his mouth. “It feels honest.”
Ethan intensified his efforts. He used the flat of his tongue to press hard against her entire vulva, then zeroed back in with pinpoint precision. He could feel her body responding, the inner flutters against his probing tongue, the increased flow of her arousal. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them upward, and her inner walls clamped down on them with sudden, fierce pressure.
A soft, shuddering sigh escaped Olivia’s lips. It sounded, to anyone else, like thoughtful consideration.
“The fee reflects the… exposed nature of the work,” Sandine said, looking up again, a slight frown on her face. “You seem distracted, Olivia. Is the connection bad?”
“No, no connection is fine,” Olivia said quickly, a brilliant, professional smile touching her lips. Her eyes, however, were slightly unfocused, staring at a point just above the webcam. “Just thinking about the… the logistics of Iceland in autumn. The cold.” As she said the last word, she ground herself down onto Ethan’s face, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that smothered him in her wet heat. He redoubled his efforts, his fingers pumping inside her while his tongue worked her clit in tight, relentless circles.
He could feel the first tremors of her orgasm building in the tautness of her thighs, the ragged rhythm of her breath she was trying so hard to control. He looked up, his vision filled with the underside of the desk, the elegant line of her torso, the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling slightly faster now. He drove his fingers deeper, stroking that hidden, rough place within her that made her see stars.
“The cold will be… a challenge,” Olivia managed to say, her voice now carrying a faint, breathy tremor. “But we’ll… manage.”
The first climax took her quietly, a wave of tension that broke in near-silence. Her body arched minutely in the chair, a subtle movement anyone would miss. Her hand clenched in his hair, painfully tight. Internally, she convulsed around his fingers, a series of rapid, fluttering spasms that squeezed him milky tight. A low, guttural moan vibrated in her throat, but she transformed it, miraculously, into a soft cough, covering her mouth with her free hand.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” Sandine asked, peering at the screen.
“Positive,” Olivia breathed, the word exhaled on a sigh of release. She slumped back in the chair, her body going lax for a glorious second. Ethan didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on her, licking gently through the aftershocks, lapping up the fresh rush of her climax. He was painfully hard, the fabric of his jeans rough against his erection, but this was her moment. His pleasure was secondary to the exquisite torture of her performance.
“Good,” Sandine said, seeming satisfied. She launched into a detailed breakdown of travel arrangements, hotel accommodations, and the creative director’s notoriously mercurial moods. Her voice became a drone, a distant buzz of logistics.
Beneath the desk, Olivia came back to life. The post-orgasm languor was burned away by the persistent, delicious friction of Ethan’s mouth. She was hypersensitive now, every touch a lightning bolt. She began to move against him again, not the subtle, controlled rocks from before, but a more urgent, needy rhythm. Her whispers, meant only for him, fell like a secret sacrament into the shadowy space.
“Right there, son… yes… just like that,” she murmured, her head tilting back, her eyes closing. “Use your tongue… oh, God… use your lips.”
He obeyed, sucking her clit into his mouth, applying varying pressure, listening to the hitch in her breath each time he changed his technique. Her whispers grew more desperate, more fragmented.
“Don’t stop… baby, please… I’m so close again… it’s so much… sandine is talking about… about per-diems…” Her sentence dissolved into a sharp gasp as he slid a third finger inside her, stretching her beautifully, filling her completely. She was drenched, every stroke of his fingers making a soft, wet sound that was surely audible in the quiet room. He prayed the microphone wasn’t that sensitive.
On screen, Sandine frowned again. “Is that… rustling? Do you have a window open, Olivia?”
Olivia’s eyes snapped open. She looked directly into the camera, her expression one of perfect, slightly annoyed composure. “It’s the air conditioning unit. It’s been clicking all afternoon.” Her voice was steady, almost irritated. Superb. Yet, beneath the desk, she was frantically riding Ethan’s face, her thighs trembling with the effort of restraint. “Please, continue.”
Sandine shrugged and went back to her notes. “As I was saying, the per-diem is in Icelandic króna, which is a nuisance to convert, so just keep all receipts…”
Olivia tuned her out completely. Her entire universe was the relentless, clever tongue between her legs and the glorious, stretching fullness of his fingers. The pressure coiled again, tighter, hotter than before. This was not a quiet climax. This one was a tidal wave building behind a dam of her own willpower.
“Ethan… I can’t… I’m going to…” she whispered, a frantic, broken sound.
He pulled his mouth away for a second, looking up at her. Her face, in the sliver of light, was a mask of agonized pleasure. “Do it, Mum,” he breathed, his voice husky. “Let go. For me.”
The permission shattered her. As Sandine droned on about exchange rates, Olivia Hayes’s second orgasm tore through her with silent, violent force. Her body locked, every muscle straining. A soundless scream shaped her lips. Her back arched off the chair, only the armrests keeping her upright. Her internal muscles clenched around his fingers in a relentless, rhythmic pulse, so powerful he could barely move them. Her foot, braced on the floor, slid, knocking against his shoulder.
The convulsions seemed to last for an age. Tears welled in her tightly shut eyes. Ethan kept his mouth pressed to her, drinking in her release, feeling her body convulse against his lips. Slowly, slowly, the tremors subsided. She collapsed back into the chair, boneless, her chest heaving. She looked utterly ravished, a state completely at odds with her poised upper half.
Somehow, she found her voice. It was weaker now, breathy, but she forced it into a semblance of its normal tone. “I… I think that all sounds perfectly reasonable, Sandine,” she interrupted, cutting off the agent’s monetary monologue. “Email me the final itinerary. I trust you on the rest.”
Sandine blinked, surprised by the abruptness. “Oh. Okay. That’s… that’s all I had, really. You sound tired, Liv. Get some rest before the Vogue fitting tomorrow.”
“I will. Thank you.” Olivia’s smile was brilliant, fragile. “Talk soon.”
She reached forward with a hand that shook only slightly and clicked the mouse. Sandine’s face vanished from the screen, replaced by the serene background of a mountain vista.
For three full seconds, there was silence in the sun-drenched office.
Then, a ragged, shuddering sob of relief and ecstasy burst from Olivia’s lips. It was followed by a wild, unfettered laugh. She slid bonelessly from the chair, collapsing onto the rug beside Ethan, her silk blouse falling open completely. She was glistening, trembling, her face flushed a deep, beautiful pink.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, her body still twitching with aftershocks. “Oh, my God, son. That was… insane.”
Ethan gathered her into his arms, kissing her sweaty forehead, her temple, her smiling mouth. He could taste the salt of her exertion and the lingering sweet tang of her arousal on his own lips. “You were incredible,” he murmured against her skin. “The way you just… talked right through it.”
“I almost didn’t,” she laughed, a breathless, giddy sound. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a proper kiss. It was hungry, deep, full of shared conspiracy and adrenalized lust. Her hands fumbled with the button of his jeans. “I need you. Now. Inside me. I’m so empty.”
He helped her, shoving his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He was already throbbing, pre-cum beading at his tip. She didn’t wait. She pushed him onto his back on the thick rug and straddled him, not bothering to remove her blouse. It hung open, framing her magnificent breasts as she positioned herself over him.
She sank down onto him in one slow, devastating motion, her head falling back as he filled her completely, stretching her tender, sensitized flesh anew. A long, low moan of pure satisfaction tore from her throat, now loud and unguarded in the empty room.
“Yes,” she hissed, her eyes rolling back before finding his again. She began to move, rising and falling with a languid, claiming grace. “My boy. My perfect boy.”
He gripped her hips, watching her ride him, her body a symphony of moving flesh in the striped afternoon light. The professional was gone, utterly incinerated. In her place was a goddess of need, taking her pleasure from him without hesitation or shame.
Her movements grew faster, more urgent. She leaned forward, her breasts swaying near his face. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she cried out, her rhythm faltering then restarting with renewed frenzy.
“I’m gonna… again…” she panted. “So soon… it’s too much…”
“Come for me, Mum,” he growled, his own end rushing up to meet him. The sight of her, the feel of her, the memory of her composed voice while she was coming apart on his tongue—it was too potent. His balls tightened, a familiar, deep pressure building.
She screamed as her third orgasm seized her, a raw, uninhibited sound that echoed off the office windows. Her body clamped down on him like a vise, triggering his own release.
He thrust up into her, holding her hips hard against his as he erupted. The force of it was staggering, as it always was with him. Pulse after thick, hot pulse filled her, a seemingly endless torrent. He could feel her stomach distend slightly against his own, swollen with the volume of his seed. He kept pumping into her, through her own climax and his, until he was spent, utterly empty, and she was collapsed on his chest, a sweaty, trembling, satiated weight.
They lay there for long minutes, tangled on the rug, the only sound their slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city forty stories below. The golden light had begun to soften, fading towards twilight.
Olivia finally stirred, lifting her head. She looked down at their joined bodies, at the mess they’d made, and a slow, sated smile spread across her face. She shifted, and a trickle of his release escaped, tracing a warm path down his thigh.
“Sandine,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from suppressed moans and final screams, “would be so very jealous.”