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I imagine the confidence in every movement, the hard, deliberate bob of her head, the perfect depth, the flutter of her tongue, and the hot, humid breath brushing against my skin until the fantasy feels close enough to reach for.

I’m already rutting into my own palm before I realize I’ve even unzipped my trousers. My cock leaks across my knuckles while every coherent thought disappears beneath the image of Emma’s hands, her mouth, and those neat little nails painted a color I’d never be able to name even if I spent the rest of my life trying.

The darkness beyond the glass walls gives me permission to indulge every filthy detail. I work my hand harder, matching the pace I imagine she’d set for me, rough and expert, every stroke carrying the same promise of absolute control while threatening to push me over the edge with one careless movement that would leave me spilling straight down her throat.

In my head, she smiles against my shaft, barely enough to catch, before taking me deeper. Her lips wraps around me until a groan claws its way out of my chest.

I want to hear her. I want to watch that look of concentration settle across her face while she works me exactly the way she wants, patient enough to keep me balanced on the edge while every pull of her mouth promises release without ever giving it to me.

I picture her breaking eye contact only long enough to glance down, watching herself take me before looking back up again with that same calm confidence she brings into every meeting, as though she’s completely in control and fully aware that I’ve surrendered it to her.

Her fingers tighten against my thighs, her nails digging in just enough to leave marks I’ll still find tomorrow, while her tongue teases and coaxes until every muscle in my body locks tight.

I can’t stop imagining reaching for her hair, feeling it spill through my fingers after coming loose, gathering it in my fist while she presses closer between my knees.

I want to hear my name leave her lips. I want to watch her smile when she realizes how close I am, knowing she’ll keep me suspended there because she can.

Every stroke of my hand feeds the fantasy until it feels dangerously real, my breathing turning ragged as the pressure builds higher and higher.

My hips start moving against my own grip before I even register it, chasing the image of her mouth, her hands, her eyes fixed on mine while she refuses to let me look anywhere else.

The tip erupts before I can give any warning, white arcs ribboning across my hand before splattering onto my slacks and catching the edge of the desk beside the monitor stand.

I try to swallow the sound, but it tears free anyway, a guttural exhale ripping from my throat while the aftershocks race the length of my spine.

I stay where I am, my fist still wrapped around myself while my breathing refuses to settle. My free hand reaches into the bottom drawer for the box of tissues, and even while I clean up I can’t stop picturing her with her lips sealed around me, her eyes bright, knowing, and fixed on mine.

I’d like to believe this is as far as I’ll let it go, that tonight is the line I won’t cross again. But I’ve never had much talent for convincing myself of things I already know aren’t true.

CHAPTER FIVE

Emma

MARCH 15TH

I stop just inside the park entrance, my feet refusing to go any farther, but Lena keeps walking like she hasn’t noticed I’ve frozen.

Ahead of us, the park spills across the riverfront, packed with Wolf Shield employees, spouses, kids darting between picnic blankets, grandparents unfolding camping chairs, coolers wedged beneath folding tables, and enough dogs racing around to qualify as their own department.

Children shriek around an inflatable obstacle course, voices competing with music fighting its way out of a speaker somewhere near the food tents. A man in a Wolf Shield polo crouches in front of a stubborn little girl who’s waving both arms as she argues that unicorns absolutely deserve face paint.

I stare across the crowd. “This isn’t what I pictured.”

Lena glances around before looking back at me. “What did you picture?”

“Name tags. Forced small talk. A raffle everyone pretends they’re excited about.”

Her mouth curves. “It’s Family Fun Day. We’ve got a raffle.”

“Of course you do.”

“But you’ve got hours before they spring it on you.”

“So this is the warm up?”

“They distract everyone with free food first.” She fishes a paper wristband from a volunteer’s table, presses it into my hand, then starts backing away. “I’m getting lemonade.”

I follow after her. “You can’t disappear already.”