He’s in his office, lights low, one hand around a glass of bourbon, the other lazily flipping through emails he doesn’t care about. Tie undone. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Completely relaxed.

That lasts about ten more seconds.

Because I walk in.

No knock. No warning.

Just lingerie—black, barely-there. One strap falling off my shoulder. Skin glowing. Confidence dripping from every step. I cross the room like it’s mine, because tonight, it is. Tonight, he is mine.

I don’t say anything at first. I just climb up on his desk.

Sit down right in front of him.

Lean back on my elbows.

And spread my legs.

His eyes snap up from the screen like he’s been pulled by a string. The bourbon hits the desk with a soft clink. His mouth opens slightly—but I beat him to it.

Calm. Measured. Dangerous.

“Break’s over, baby. It’s time to go to work.”

His breath catches.

He doesn’t move. Not yet. I watch him take me in—my parted thighs, the curve of my hips, the faint shimmer between my legs.

His jaw flexes. I can practically feel the tension crawling up his spine.

I raise one eyebrow. Just slightly.

That’s it. His chair scrapes back. He pushes away from the desk and drops to his knees between my legs like it’s instinct.

No words. Just action.

His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me just enough to tilt my hips forward. And then his mouth is on me—hungry, focused, filthy.

I gasp, but I don’t fall apart. Not yet. I stay leaning back, eyes half-lidded, watching him work.

Tongue flat, then pointed. Circling my clit, then sucking it between his lips. He buries his face deeper when my breath catches—fueled by it. Controlled by it.

The heat builds fast. Too fast. I clench the edge of the desk. He doesn’t stop. He devours me, sloppy and skilled, his mouth working like it’s his only job.

And it is.

Because I told him so.

I moan his name as my thighs start to tremble, and that just makes him double down. One hand leaves my leg, slides up my torso, tugs the cup of my bra down to tease my nipple with his thumb while his mouth keeps punishing me in the best way.

I come hard. Back arching. Head falling back. His name on my lips like a prayer and a threat.

But even after, he doesn’t move.

He stays on his knees.

Waiting.

Breathing heavy.

Watching my chest rise and fall, flushed and wrecked and dripping.

I look down at him. Smile slow.

He doesn’t need words.

I’ve already said all that’s necessary.