I’m doing my best to focus on the presentation when Jake lets out a falsely discontented mumble. “This one won’t go away. I’m afraid I have to take care of it.”
My eyes widen with shock, and I can’t help but look around at my colleagues. What if some of them guess what’s happening? But I can barely believe it myself, so I doubt it.
The low, raspy moan Jake releases has me pressing my knees together under the table. “I can’t wait to be back with you, red,” he says, his voice altered by lust. I can already hear the metal of his thick bracelet as he pumps his erection. “I miss the soft touch of your hands, the deft grazes of your tongue, and the tightness of your pussy. You have the best cunt I’ve ever had, you know?”
Yes, I know. He’s been very vocal about it in the past and never fails to remind me.
Mr. Sinclair keeps blabbering about whatever expansion he has in the works, but I can’t register any of it for the life of me. Not when I have Jake in my ear, letting out small grunts and moans, his breath heavy and his voice tense as he pours lustful promises into my ear. “We’ll be doing that sexathon when I get back, red. I’ll fuck you for—What was it? Twenty-six hours and some minutes?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me.
“Your pussy can’t take that much of me, though, can it? I’ll have to give it some breaks and fuck your throat instead. And your arse, too. Best fucking arse I’ve ever had as well, by the way. Jesus fuck, I can’t wait to ram into that tight hole again and make you scream my name. I’ll pull your hair the way you like it and make you take my whole cock. Maybe we could try it with the piercings too. I bet you’d like them rippling in and out of that little pink hole of yours.”
I know he’s using those words to fuel his own fantasies as he masturbates, but they work on me too well. I’m wet and aching, my clit throbbing at the prospect of him doing all those things to me.
This is insane. I’m stuck with two dozen of my colleagues and my rambling boss, and in my ear, Jake is spewing the lewdest, dirtiest promises I’ve ever heard. If anyone looks my way, they’ll notice how flushed I am and how I can’t stop rubbing my knees together.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the clinking of his bracelet speeding up as he jerks off faster. I can even hear the fleshy sound of his urgent tugging. “I wish I could put this load inside you. Nothing’s more beautiful than your cunt when it’s been fucked raw. It looks so pretty, drenched in your juices while my thick cum seeps out of you. And I know you fucking love it when I pump you full of it. You clench around me like a proper little cum whore, and it drives me fucking insane.”
My insides clench as if following his directions, and I realize I’m breathing too hard. I’m trying to focus on it, to contain myself, when he adds, “It’s all yours, red. All of it is for you. Will you take it? Will you swallow it every time I come down your throat, keep it inside you when I nut in your arse, and stuff it back in your pussy when it overflows?”
“Yes,” I breathe out, my voice so quiet only the man to my left hears it, turning around with a questioning glance. I dismiss him with a brief shake of my hand, too absorbed by Jake to come up with an excuse.
“Here it is,” Jake grunts in a way that I know all too well. “Here’s my cum for you, red. It’s all for—Ah, fuck!” he roars.
I sit there, the most aroused I’ve ever been at work—if not ever—while Jake comes all over his hand on the other side of the continent. My clit pulses in unison with his moans and grunts. If I could sneak a hand between my legs, it would only take a few rolls of my fingers to follow him in bliss.
The rare brain cells that aren’t devoted to this auditory masterpiece are used to keep my composure, sitting perfectly immobile when all I want to do is find the nearest bathroom stall to seek my own release.
“Jesus fuck, red,” he whimpers. “Just knowing you’re there makes wanking phenomenal.” I can hear the relief and fulfillment in his voice, which was so rough moments prior. Contrary to him, everything in me is still tense and needy. “Fucking hell, I ruined the sheets with this one.”
There’s nothing but his heavy breath for a moment. “I bet you’re so fucking wet right now,” he says with pride, “sitting with all these arseholes, wearing your perfectly tailored suit like you’re one of them. But I know you’re so damn horny you wish I could be there to fuck you. We’d show those cunts how it’s done, wouldn’t we? I’d hoist you up on whatever table is there and eat you out like you’re my whole lunch, red. I’d make you shatter on my tongue, maybe fucking your pussy with a finger or two as I do. Then I’d probably turn you around so you can see them watch you as you get fucked from behind. I’d make it so good, love… I’d make it so damn good you can’t help yourself but come hard all over my cock. And every single guy in the room would wish they were me, getting to fuck you this good. But they could never, could they? Only I could make you come so hard you see stars.”
His dirty words and raspy voice have me nearly toppling over the edge. I can see so clearly how shocked they would all be, realizing I’m not, after all, a block of ice with a hole in it.
As if I’m getting punished for the scandalous thought, the woman on my right taps my shoulder, pulling me out of my fantasies and ripping me from Jake’s invisible hold. I jolt back into the present at once, and the scene before me might as well be right out of a nightmare.
Everyone’s focus is on me.
Did I accidentally moan or something?
It becomes clear that Mr. Sinclair, on the other side of the table, is waiting for me to say something.
“Ex-Excuse me?” I ask, my voice a trembling mess.
“Oh no, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble,” Jake says in my ear.
“I was asking if you could share the advances we’ve made regarding the merger,” my boss repeats.
Shoot, I’m so not ready for this. As I push back to rise from my chair, I accidentally knock down my neighbor’s pen, which falls to the floor. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity, I lower myself halfway under the table and remove the earbud. I discreetly place it in my jacket pocket and grab the pen to hand it to my colleague.
“Are you alright, Genevieve?” Mr. Sinclair asks. “You look unwell.”
“Sorry, I’m feeling a little hot, is all.”
“A bit early for menopause, isn’t it?” A few people laugh at his joke, all men, and he waves his hand in a dismissive way. “Ralf will handle it. Don’t worry, dear.”
Part of me is relieved that I won’t have to talk right now, but another is seething. The condescending tone and the patronizing attitude rub me the wrong way, and they instantly make my arousal fade away. The rest of the meeting unfolds without incident while my phone vibrates in my jacket now and then.
