His voice is low and sharp, smooth as black silk.
“Get your mouth on my cock and suck. Deep.”
God. The way he says it.
Commanding. Controlled. No hesitation.
A fresh gush of arousal slicks between my thighs at the sheer authority in his voice. That rough edge. That tension he never loses.
I fist him in one hand, holding him still as I look up at him. I want him to see it—the way I obey, the way I enjoy it.
Then I lower my mouth.
My tongue circles his head first—slow and teasing—flicking around the ridge, collecting the bead of arousal already gathered at the tip. I hold his gaze as I lick it up, making sure he sees every second.
He curses, the word a whisper ripped from his throat.
I work him for a moment, lips wrapped tight, cheeks hollowing, tongue dancing beneath the head and down his shaft. I can feel how much he loves this. How he’s losing pieces of himself in the feel of my mouth.
This man—so powerful, so put-together, so utterly in control—groaning because of me.
I pull off with a wet pop, keeping my fist tight around the base of his cock as I reach for the deck and draw.
I win.
But I don’t ask my question yet because I know this will end the game.
And I want another moment with his cock in my mouth.
I lick up his shaft again, watching him the entire time. I finally look down while I take him deep, inch by inch. My hand squeezes, guiding him as I slide lower.
He groans. Fists my hair. The sound he makes is feral—deep and primal.
Then he growls, voice wrecked and full of need:
“Così brava per me, piccola… così perfetta con la bocca piena del mio cazzo.”?*
And fuck, I throb at the praise. I don’t know everything he said, but enough to know he fucking loves my mouth on him.
Every filthy word vibrates through me like permission.
Like reward.
And I don’t want the game to end—but I’ve earned my question.
“Does he know you love him?”
I punctuate my question by taking him deep into my mouth once more—slow, unrelenting, sucking hard until his thighs tense beneath my hands. Then I release him with a wet pop, licking my lips as I look up.
“Grant. Does he know?”
I wait and watch.
But I already know the answer.
This thing between him and Grant—it’s not about a woman. It’s not about money. It’s not some petty power play in a boardroom, no matter how convincing their performance might be.
It’s deeper.
