Chapter 17: Hostile Takeover
Zariah’s voice was a calibrated instrument of calm, slicing through the boardroom’s stale anxiety. “The discrepancies were isolated,” she stated, her pointer finger tapping a perfectly manicured nail against a projected spreadsheet, her other hand resting lightly on the swell of her stomach beneath the table. Across the polished expanse, Dayne watched her, his emerald eyes glinting with a lethal promise that had nothing to do with quarterly reports. The moment the last investor offered a tentative handshake and filed out, his chair scraped back with a violence that echoed in the sudden quiet. He crossed the room in three strides, his hand closing around her elbow like a vice, and wordless dragged her, stumbling in her heels, into the private executive restroom, slamming the lock home before pushing her back against the cold marble tiles, his fingers already tearing through the silk of her panties. “Now,” he growled, his breath hot against her throat, “let’s discuss your outstanding performance review.”
He forced her to turn, her cheek pressed against the cold tile, his hands wrenching her skirt up around her waist. He knelt behind her, his breath hot on her skin, and without ceremony, his tongue delved straight into the tight pucker of her asshole. She gasped, her fingers scraping against the marble as his mouth worked her there, rough and insistent, his tongue fucking into her with a wet, claiming rhythm. “You fucking own every man in that room,” he grunted, his voice muffled against her skin, “but this ass, this tight little hole, is all mine.” He spread her wider, his tongue plunging deeper, licking and probing until she was shuddering and slick.
“Please, sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking with a desperate sob as she pressed back against his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything to keep my job.” He stood suddenly, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her wet entrance, and she flinched, begging harder. “Anything, please, just don’t fire me,” she choked out, the words dissolving into a gasp as he shoved into her, a single, brutal thrust that filled her completely. “Then take your fucking review,” he snarled into her ear, his hands gripping her hips to hold her still as he began to pound into her with a relentless, punishing rhythm.
They both cried out at the intrusion, her cunt so swollen and tight it choked his cock in a wet, vise-like grip. His rhythm faltered for a single, gasping second as her body resisted then fully surrendered, accepting him to the hilt.
His rhythm faltered for a single, gasping second as her body resisted then fully surrendered, accepting him to the hilt. “Fuck my ass next, sir, please,” she begged, the words a broken whisper against the tile as he pounded into her dripping cunt. He stilled, his cock buried deep inside her, and growled, “My wife would never let me do something so filthy.” He withdrew and slammed into her tight, untouched asshole in one vicious thrust, making her scream. “I appreciate you going the extra mile,” he snarled, his hands biting into her hips as he claimed her completely.
The initial, searing stretch stole her breath, a sharp, singular shock that melted into a deep, full ache as he settled inside her. “Fuck, Zee,” he groaned, his forehead dropping against her shoulder, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still. “You’re so fucking tight, taking my cock in this perfect ass.” She clenched around him instinctively, the practiced play from their shower making this raw claiming possible, and pushed back against his hips with a weak, pleading roll. “Am I being a good assistant for you, sir?” she gasped, her voice shaking as she deliberately twerked her ass on his buried cock, milking him with a slow, obscene grind.
He spanked her then, a sharp crack against her cheek that made her gasp and clench around him, but his eyes were locked on the hypnotic jiggle of her ass as she twerked back onto his shaft. "Oh God," he choked out, watching her perfect cheeks ripple with each slow, grinding rotation, her movements a dream designed to wreck him. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with feigned innocence, and whispered, "I hope I can keep my job, sir, please, I'm begging you," even as she kept milking his cock with that relentless, knowing rhythm. He couldn't form words, couldn't do anything but watch her perfect ass claim him, a sensation so profound he'd never felt anything like it in his life. He prayed through gritted teeth that no one in the hall would hear the guttural, helpless cry about to be torn from his lungs.
He prayed through gritted teeth that no one in the hall would hear the guttural, helpless cry about to be torn from his lungs. She sped up her twerking on his cock, her plea a broken chant against the tile, “Please, sir, tell me I can keep my job.” He pulled her hard against him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, and pounded into her with a sloppy, reckless abandon that shoved her whole body forward with each thrust. Their eyes made contact with each other in the mirror, a stark flash of shared possession, and when he saw the beads of milk welling on her chocolate breast, he lost it. He screamed out, “You can keep your job, fuck, yes!” and moaned as her ass suctioned the cum from his body in deep, pulsing draws.
and moaned as her ass suctioned the cum from his body in deep, pulsing draws. “Fucking hell, Zee,” he gasped, his hips still jerking against her as he emptied himself completely inside her clenching heat. She screamed his name, the sound raw and ragged, and he was still cumming, the wet slap of skin and their choked cries echoing through the office’s hushed corridors. Outside, his secretary, Margot, got up from her desk with a practiced sigh and quietly closed the heavy door leading to the private bathroom, muffling the noise. The staff at their pods exchanged knowing glances, a few giggling and whispering comments about how they wished it was them, before Margot clapped her hands sharply and said, “Alright, back to work.”
Margot thought, not for the first time, that Dayne better be damn lucky he paid the staff obscenely well, with family vacations and phenomenal Christmas bonuses, otherwise his behavior would never slide. Behind the closed door, Zariah’s legs trembled as Dayne carefully helped her stand, her skirt falling back into place over skin still flushed and sensitive. “You’re definitely keeping your job,” he rasped, his thumb brushing a smear of her lipstick from her jaw, his other hand splayed protectively over the curve of their child.
A sharp knock rattled the door, followed by Margot’s professionally crisp voice slicing through the heavy silence. “Your three o’clock is here, Mr. Moretti, and he’s brought federal paperwork.”