Page 25 of Painted Truths

His mouth widens in a downright devilish manner before he stands, buttoning his jacket and, without so much as taking his eyes from whatever has held them captive, takes his leave.

“Catch you in the next cartoon, Henry.”

Shaking my head, I quickly get down to the business end of why I’m here.

“Soraya?” I recognise one of my favourites as she walks into the room. She’s also masked with curly black hair and dark eyes, which she heavily accents with thick black liner. She’s a knockout and as far from my light-filled Peaches as possible.

I never opt for blondes here.

Her face breaks into a smile as she grabs my hand, wordlessly leading me through a maze of rooms until we come to an unused one, and before I’ve even slammed the door, she’s already sinking to her knees, expertly popping my buttons to get to my swelling cock.

Standing against the door, I let her take control, aware that she knows exactly what I need. Throwing my head back and closing my eyes, she takes the head of my dick deep down into her throat before hollowing her cheeks and sucking with abandon.

And while this is precisely why I came here—no outside noise, no bullshit, just a pair of full lips wrapped around my hard cock, moving up and down with enthusiasm, despite her evident prowess in the refined art of cock sucking, it’s not enough.

It’s never e-fucking-nough.

It isn’t until I allow a single flash of wide blue eyes to cross my vision that I’m able to hold my shaft deep inside her mouth as she gulps down my hot, sticky cum.

And the torment continues.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Olivia

It's Friday, the end of my fifth work week and my first proper work friend, Freya Thornton, PA to Ryan Solomon, Senior VP of Marketing, asks me out for drinks after work with the whole floor.

"Come on, Liv. You've survived over a month of the madness at DeMarco. So it's only right that we celebrate!"

Freya went out of her way to befriend me. I've learned that's just her nature. Her boss is a dinosaur who stomps his way through the office every morning, snarling left and right. His favourite past-time is issuing unnecessary grunts and growls at Freya for things like not getting his coffee order right, even when she does every single time, and for being late, even though he always arrives after her. Plus, she is never, ever late.

Added to that, the fact that his marketing strategies belong somewhere in the seventies, he is just a fossil too far past his prime. Like our oh-so-friendly Andrea, it's yet again a question of how on earth do these people keep their jobs when they're so bad at them? Freya said she stayed on with him because underneath it all, he'd be lost without her, and I knew then that I'd found a kindred spirit.

Call me sheltered or not, but my idea of a good friend is someone who is essentially kind. Kindness is everything to me, hence how I knew she was meant to be my friend.

Shooting a big smile her way, I tell her, "Give me five minutes."

I quickly jot down a text to Samuel to let him know that I won't need him for the evening and would be okay to get an Uber at a later stage. I hate the idea of him waiting around for me. It's bad enough that he remains outside for me every evening; I couldn't make him wait for me to finish drinks with the work gang on top of that.

Plus, it was the weekend, after all. So Samuel deserves his time off too.

Or at least that's what I'll tell Alex when he surely admonishes me for not letting him make sure I get home safely.

Having touched up my makeup, which I'm now a semi-pro at, courtesy of Jo, I hightail it out of the Ladies’ and to the elevators where most of the other PAs from the management floor are waiting.

Sans Andrea, obviously, because we peasants are clearly beneath her.

Today's outfit is another pencil skirt, except this one is red linen and, again, it's tight to my curves. I've paired it with a plain white shirt with long sleeves and an oversized collar and my skyscraper heels that I've come to love. They imbue me with boundless confidence every day, kind of like the red lip.

Our destination is a live music Irish bar called Mulligans that serves pub grub and is just a stone's throw from the office. According to Martha, who I was delighted to see joining our ragtag bunch, Mulligans serves the best margaritas in the city. We quickly grab several tables and get down to the business of office gossip, which they all seem to be pros at.

I'm not much of a drinker, which I've been informed by Jo is a scandalous state of affairs in this day and age. But I have been drunk occasionally, so I know I can have one or two drinks now without saying or doing something embarrassing.

Martha was spot on. The margaritas are cosmic, as in, out of this world yummy, and I end up having the best chat with Freya and another PA, Anna, about the best shade of red lippy for our complexions.

"I don't know how you got that shade so perfect for your complexion and hair. I have tried so many shades, and I just can't pull off a red lip."

"Give me one second, Anna. I have my friend's salon's phone number here. She's a miracle worker."