Chapter 4: Nathan muffles his groan with a fist as Anna works his shaft with both hands and mouth, her tongue swirling around the head before she deepthroats him to the base—his hips bucking wildly as he shoots thick ropes of cum straight down her throat while his colleagues drone on about quarterly earnings.
The new reality was a drug, and they were both addicted. The polite fiction of their friendship had been burned away, leaving something raw and hungry in its place. For a week, they’d existed in a bubble of Nathan’s penthouse, exploring each other with a frantic, desperate energy that felt like making up for lost time. The world outside—her apartment, their friends, her work—felt like a distant rumor.
Anna stood in the doorway of his home office, watching him. He was framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sprawling, twinkling grid of the city laid out behind him like a circuit board. He was on a video call, his profile sharp in the soft glow of the desk lamp. He looked every inch the successful venture capitalist: crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a focused frown on his face as he listened to a tiny, pixelated head in a box on his monitor.
“The projections are solid, Mark,” Nathan said, his voice calm and authoritative, a stark contrast to the way he’d groaned her name into the pillows just that morning. “But the burn rate is still too high. I need to see a revised plan by EOD Friday.”
A dangerous, thrilling idea uncoiled in Anna’s mind. It was a impulse, born of the new power she felt coursing through her, the power to shatter his controlled exterior. She padded silently into the room on bare feet, the polished floor cool against her skin. He didn’t see her approach.
She slipped under the vast, mahogany desk, into the hidden space where his legs were. It smelled of leather and clean carpet. The world narrowed to the cave of his knees, the expensive fabric of his trousers, the faint, familiar scent of his cologne.
Nathan’s voice hitched, just for a fraction of a second, when he felt her hands on his belt. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat. “Yes, I’m still here. Go on.”
The click of the belt buckle was deafening in the confined space. The rasp of the zipper was worse. She could hear the faint, tinny voice of Mark on the computer, droning on about market saturation. She looked up. Nathan’s jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, but a muscle in his thigh was twitching under her palm.
She freed him. He was already half-hard, thickening in her hand. She heard his sharp, inward breath, saw his knuckles whiten where they gripped the edge of the desk.
“That’s a valid point,” Nathan said, his voice strained. He shifted in his chair, a subtle movement that pressed him more firmly into her hand.
Anna leaned forward and took him into her mouth.
He was warm and silken, tasting faintly of salt and skin. She started slow, teasing, using her tongue in a way she’d learned drove him wild. His hips gave a minute, involuntary thrust. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound he barely managed to strangle into a cough.
“Apologies,” he said, his voice tighter now. “Something in my throat.”
She smiled around him, a wicked, private thing. She took him deeper, her head bobbing in the shadows, her world reduced to the feel of him sliding over her tongue, the sounds of his ragged breathing, the tinny corporate-speak from the monitor above. She worked him with her mouth and hand, a slick, filthy rhythm completely at odds with the sterile conversation about equity and dividends.
His control was fraying. She could feel it in the tension coiling through his body, in the way his fingers suddenly tangled in her short hair, not guiding, but clutching. He was trying to hold himself still, but it was a losing battle.
“I… I need you to circle back on that, Sarah,” he managed, his voice rough. He was losing track of who was speaking.
Anna pushed further, taking him all the way to the back of her throat. She gagged, the sound muffled, tears springing to her eyes. The visceral reaction seemed to shatter the last of his restraint.
His grip in her hair tightened, holding her there for a moment as his body went rigid. “That’s—that’s a wrap. We’ll… reconvene next week.” His voice was a hoarse, broken thing.
He fumbled for the mouse, a clumsy click echoing in the room. The video call window vanished.
The moment the screen went dark, a guttural, “Fuck, Anna!” ripped from his throat.
He came in hot, pulsing jets down her throat, his entire body shuddering. She swallowed, taking every drop, the act itself a deeper intimacy than anything that had come before. She stayed there, on her knees, until he was spent, until his grip on her hair loosened and his body slumped back in the leather chair, boneless and wrecked.
For a long minute, the only sound was their ragged breathing. The city lights blinked, indifferent.
Slowly, she crawled out from under the desk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood and looked at him. He was flushed, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled where he’d gripped it. He looked utterly debauched.
He stared at her, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of shock, awe, and sheer animal satisfaction.
“You are…” he began, then shook his head, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “You are terrifying.”
Anna leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. A different, colder kind of tension was seeping into the room, replacing the sexual heat. “You have a meeting with Elena tomorrow.”
The smile vanished from his face. Elena. His on-again, off-again girlfriend from business school. The one he’d never quite managed to fully end things with. The one who didn’t know that the world had just tilted off its axis.
Nathan ran a hand over his face. “Shit. It’s just a funding pitch. Her startup.”
“Right,” Anna said, her voice flat. The high of her power was receding, leaving behind the sharp edges of their complicated reality. She turned and walked towards the door, the thrill of what they’d just done already curdling into something uncertain.
“Anna,” he called out, his voice soft.
She paused at the doorway but didn’t look back.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Her. It’s over. It has been for months.”
She finally glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes catching the lamplight. “Then make it over.”
She left him there, in the sleek, expensive room, with the ghost of her taste in his mouth and the weight of her words in the air. The game had changed again. It was no longer just about the two of them in a bubble. The real world was knocking, and it was bringing all its complications with it.