She takes a breath. Not a theatrical one. Just a small inhale, right against the mic, and my spine lights up like someone traced it with heat.
“He pushes her panties aside, two fingers sliding through slick heat, and she can barely breathe. Her hips lift from the bed, seeking friction, needing more. He’s everywhere, tongue tracing the swell of her breast, teeth catching on her nipple until she’s begging, wordless, hands tangled in his hair.”
Her rhythm is perfect. Not rushed, not shy. Like she’s done this a hundred times, for a thousand listeners, each one convinced she’s speaking just to him. To me.
I inhale sharply.
My cock is hard now. Fully. Pressed tight against my trousers. I haven’t touched it. I don’t need to. Every word lands somewhere deep, bypassing thought entirely.
“She whimpers as he finally slides inside—slow, stretching, filling. They move together, her nails raking down his back, their bodies tangled, hungry. The sound of skin on skin, her breathless cries, his name on her lips. He thrusts harder, deeper, until she’s moaning in his arms, shuddering around him, her cunt pulsating.”
Jesus Fucking Christ.
“Her sounds are quiet,” she continues. “Broken breaths. Soft gasps. The kind that slip out when pleasure is too full to contain. He stays with her, holds her there, until she’s shaking, until her body gives up and gives in.”
Something tight coils in my gut. Fast. Sudden. Unwanted.
I try to breathe through it. Try to pull back. But her voice doesn’t let me. She has me wrapped around her fingers.
“When she comes,” she murmurs, “it’s like a wave breaking slowly. Long. Overwhelming. She clings to him, trembling, breathless, undone.”
My hips jerk once, involuntary. I swear under my breath.
This is obscene. This is unprofessional. This is?—
“Come for me,” she breathes. “Do it. Let go. I want to feel it. I want to feel your cock fill its seed in me.”
Something snaps.
The orgasm hits me without warning, violent and humiliating in its intensity. I suck in a sharp breath as I come hard in my pants, pulse after pulse, warmth spreading as my cock empties against the fabric. My hand slams flat against the desk, knuckles white, teeth clenched to keep from making a sound.
It takes several seconds before I can breathe again.
I sit there, staring at the tablet, chest heaving, body still buzzing. My pants are ruined. My office smells faintly of sex. And I’ve just come like a teenager from nothing but a stranger’s voice.
I drag a hand down my face, slow, controlled, forcing myself back into my body, back into reality.
What the hell did you just do?
My eyes drop to the file name again.
Z.D. Assistant applicant.
I lean forward, elbows on the desk, head in my hands.
Who the fuck is Z.D.?
And how fast can I get her in this office?
4
ZATANNA
I wakeup with my stomach in knots and a sour taste in my mouth. It’s not hunger—though I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s cup noodles—but dread. The kind that digs its claws in and doesn’t let go.
One day left.Twenty-four hours before I’m officially homeless.
I stare up at the stained ceiling, listening to the city rattle by outside my grimy window. My phone lights up with a notification: another text from my landlord. The words barely register anymore. It’s just a countdown clock ticking louder and louder.
