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Without a word, he goes back up to his feet and, tangling his fingers in my hair, he keeps my head in place and crushes his lips against mine. I open my mouth and allow his tongue inside of me.
We kiss in a wild frenzy, a blanket of cum covering both of our tongues; for a moment, I leave all problems and doubts closed in the dark vaults of my mind.
When I pull back from his kiss, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. Pressing my head against his chest, I let myself fall into a deep silence as I listen to his heartbeat.
Oh, God, what am I going to do?
20
Malcolm
Henry is driving me back to my office and during the car ride I can't stop thinking about Athena's cum-soaked thong.
The way she smiled at me when I instructed her to wear it for the rest of the day and not take it off. The way I had her in the palm of my hand, molding her like a piece of clay. The genuine smile she gave me the moment I told her to unbuckle my belt.
Her hunger for my cock was undeniable. You just can't fake that.
Is she still wearing that thong?
Can she feel me between her legs during every meeting she takes, and every phone call she makes? And i
f so, does it make her stop mid-sentence and cause her words to catch in her throat?
Can she smell me as she moves across the room, like something wild beneath her skirt?
As these thoughts flash through my head, I can't help but smile.
Victory. Sweet fucking victory.
But just as quickly as that smile forms on my lips, it vanishes when my car pulls up to the front of my office building.
There's eight million fucking people walking around this city, but I catch a glimpse of a familiar man walking into my building, and it doesn't take much for me to recognize him. I could spot those high-arched caterpillar eyebrows from a mile away.
Ben Danvers.
What the fuck is he doing here? I watch as he enters the building.
He claps the security guard on the shoulder and by the way they're laughing, they seem to be sharing some private joke. Who the fuck does he think he is?
The way Ben is walking in, his chest puffed out in an exaggerated swagger, he's acting as if he owns the whole fucking place and that makes my blood boil. He has no business here.
I thought the fact that I nearly broke his face the last time he decided to come into my office would've been enough of a deterrent for him to never show up here again.
But I guessed wrong.
I hop out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me, and decide to follow him in, keeping a safe distance between us. That way, if I need to confront him, I can catch him off guard. Besides, my mind is raising about a thousand red flags and a hundred more alarm bells.
He's up to no good. I feel it in my bones.
Why else would he be here?
But despite my trepidation, I make it back to my office without an incident. I have no idea what floor he's on, or whose office he's visiting, but it isn't mine.
After he went up in the elevator, I never saw him again.
Not that that leaves me feeling any better.
In fact, it's just the opposite. My mind is fucking reeling.
