I freeze. The sellers are still talking, discussing renovation timelines, and I’m trying to focus on their words while Savannah’s hands slide down my chest.
“Gentlemen,” I manage, “could you give me one moment? Continue your discussion. I’ll be right back.”
I mute my microphone and turn off my camera.
Then I spin my chair around.
Savannah is standing there in the most sinfully gorgeous lingerie I’ve ever seen. Black lace that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Her hair is down, tumbling over her shoulders, and she’s looking at me with a mixture of desire and defiance.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Getting your attention.” She steps closer, straddling my lap. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”
“I’ve been?—”
“Save it.” She drops to her knees between my spread legs, fingers ripping my belt open like it insulted her. “You’re going to watch me swallow every inch while your little meeting keeps talking.”
My zipper rasps down. She frees me, thick, flushed, a fat bead of pre-cum already leaking. She drags her tongue from my balls to the tip in one slow, filthy stripe, humming as she tastes me.
Then she sinks down, hot, wet mouth taking me to the root in one brutal glide. My head slams back against the chair. The sellers drone on about profit margins while my wife gags herself on my cock, throat fluttering, spit pooling at the base.
She pulls back, gasping, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to my shaft. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “Pregnancy makes me so fucking horny I could ride you in the middle of the Spanish Steps.”
I fist her hair, guide her down again. She moans around me, the vibration shooting straight to my balls.
She bobs slowly at first, tongue swirling the underside, then faster, cheeks hollow, mascara already smearing. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, and she looks so goddamn perfect I almost come down her throat right then.
Her free hand slips between her thighs, rubbing herself through soaked lace. I hear the wet sounds over the muted voices. She pops off long enough to gasp, “Touch me, Ledger. Feel how wet I am for you.”
I yank her up by the hair, spin her, and bend her over the desk. Papers scatter like confetti. The laptop wobbles. I rip the lace panties down her thighs, spread her open, and groan at the sight—glistening, swollen, ready. Two fingers plunge deep, curling hard. She cries out, loud enough that I clamp my hand over her mouth.
“Quiet, princess,” I growl against her ear.
She pushes back, fucking herself on my fingers, muffled moans vibrating against my palm. I add a third, stretching her, thumb grinding her clit in vicious circles. Her walls flutter, slick coating my knuckles, dripping down my wrist. “That’s it,” I rasp. “Soak my hand like the greedy little wife you are.”
She comes hard, body shaking, pussy clenching around my fingers, a fresh gush of wet heat flooding my palm. I keep pumping, drawing it out until she’s sobbing into my hand, legs trembling.
I pull my fingers free, spin her again, and lift her onto the desk right in front of the screen. Her legs wrap my waist, heels digging into my ass. I line up and drive into her in one savage thrust, bottoming out. She gasps, nails raking my shoulders. The desk creaks dangerously.
“Look at them,” I snarl, thrusting slow and deep. “Look at the camera while I fill my pregnant wife.”
Her eyes flick to the screen, then to me, wild and defiant. She clenches deliberately, and I lose it. I slam home, once, twice, and come with a silent roar, pumping her full, hot spurts painting her walls. She follows a second later, body shaking, pussy milking me dry, a strangled cry muffled against my shoulder.
We stay locked together, breathing hard, cum already leaking down her thighs onto thousand-euro contracts. The sellers are wrapping up, none the wiser.
I help her down, fix her lingerie, and wipe the mascara from under her eyes with my thumb. She licks her lips, tastes me, and smiles like she just negotiated the deal of the century.
I kiss her one more time and straighten my clothes. Then I unmute my microphone and turn on my camera.
“Apologies, gentlemen. Where were we?”
One of the sellers clears his throat. “We were discussing the renovation timeline.”
“Right. Continue.”
Savannah slips out of the office, and I catch the satisfied smile on her face before the door closes.
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. I’m distracted, my mind replaying what just happened, but I manage to negotiate favorable terms and close the deal. When I finally sign off, I find Savannah in the bedroom, changed into normal clothes, reading a book like nothing happened.
