by Max Monroe
Maybe there’s some way I can make it right?
Georgia pointed at my face. “I know that look. What are you planning?”
Man, those cheese fries are really wreaking havoc on my stomach. It was in turmoil.
When I shrugged my uncertainty, she made a suggestion of her own. “Maybe he’s finally getting a little glimpse into what he puts everyone else through.”
“Little Wheorgie is encouraging my scheming ways?”
Georgia nodded, and a devilish smile consumed her lips.
“Is it safe to assume this has everything to do with Thatch including the gargoyle dick in his best man speech?”
“You bet that prankster’s ass it does.”
Thatcher had finally met his match in me.
His match.
At pranking, I told myself. But the seed was already planted, and there was no way I’d be able to keep it from growing.
I strode through Thatch’s building and straight for his assistant’s desk.
“Hi, I’ve got a last-minute meeting with Thatcher Kelly.”
She looked up from her computer, and hesitance etched her face. “Uh…he’s in the middle of a conference call right now.”
“Oh, I know.” I played it off. “That’s why he asked me to come.”
She squinted in confusion and took in my not-exactly-business attire. I was pretty sure the waistband of Thatch’s underwear was sticking out of the top of my skirt like a rapper, for fuck’s sake. But people were always hesitant to deny you if you acted self-assured enough. “And you’re supposed to be on that conference call?”
“Yep,” I said, tapping her desk and walking toward his office door. “He’ll be happy I was able to make it in time.”
“But…wait…let me…” She stuttered over her words as she stood up from her desk. “I should probably let him know you’re here.”
“No worries. I got it from here.” I waved her off and proceeded to open his office door.
Thatch sat behind his big mahogany desk. His brown eyes rested behind a pair of sexy glasses and were lacking their playful edge. He was obviously concerned and very distracted with whatever was being said on the other end of the call. He didn’t look up from his desk until he heard the door close and the lock being flipped with a quiet click.
His hair was rough and unkempt as though he’d been running his hands through it constantly, and it made me want his hands in my hair. Tugging, pulling, you name it.
Oh, yeah.
My arousal was plain to see, and those brown eyes switched from serious to intrigued in a matter of seconds.
“Hi,” I mouthed, holding up a bag of “I’m sorry for falling asleep on your dick” fries. I moved around his desk until I was standing beside his chair.
He turned to face me and held up one finger, responding into the phone, “Unless you want your balls handed to you on a silver platter, I strongly suggest rethinking those investments.”
I smirked at the way Thatcher Kelly did business. I doubted many other people threatened their clients’ balls and got away with it.
I set the bag on his desk and went about my ogling. A sleek gray suit covered his huge, masculine body, and I wanted it uncovered. My pussy was pounding thanks to his all-motherfucking-business expression and its enhancement of his strong features.
He oozed power and authority, and I was getting all kinds of sexy-as-hell alpha vibes.
Oh yeah, Thatcher Kelly was a stud, and I was about to show him how sorry I was for falling asleep on his dick. The fries wouldn’t be the only meal consumed in the name of forgiveness.
I grabbed a pen and notepad off his desk as I heard him rattle off a few investment figures into the phone. I scribbled out a quick note and held it up for him to see.
Will there be anyone coming by your office in the next ten minutes?
He read the note and then met my eyes, shaking his head.
I flashed a smirk and a wink as I got down on my knees and placed my hands on his thick thighs, pushing them apart to make room. His eyebrows rose to his forehead as I undid his belt and slid down his zipper.
The second I slipped his cock out of his pants, he placed his hand over the receiver, whispering, “Cass, honey, what are you doing?”
“Telling you I’m sorry,” I responded as I stroked him in my hand. “Is that okay?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for a response, grazing my lips around his crown. Slowly, inch by inch, I slid him into my mouth as his eyes stayed fixated on what I was doing.
“Fuck,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “No, I’m still here, Mike.”
He tasted delicious, and I loved the feel of him against my tongue—velvety smooth and hard, really fucking hard. It was all I could do to pull it out of my mouth for a little more teasing. I used my hand to outline my lips with the tip of his thick cock, alternating that move with sucking the head into my mouth. Every time his cock jumped, I sucked harder.
“I already told you what I…I…th-thought about that,” he stammered as I tortured the underside with the flat of my tongue.
My gaze locked with his as I pumped my mouth quickly up and down his shaft. He couldn’t take his eyes off of me, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob with a swallowed groan when I tapped the end of him to the very back of my throat.
Then he swallowed another.
And…another.
It was safe to say he was thoroughly enjoying the blow job, maybe even a little too much for a conference call. But turned-on Cassie had absolutely no consideration. Even less than the normal me.
Seconds later, he mumbled a near-incoherent “I’ll call you back” to Mike and tossed his phone onto his desk with reckless abandon as he started to move his hips in rhythm with my mouth and hand.
“I have no idea why you’re doing this, but please don’t fucking stop.” His hands were in my hair, just like I wanted, encouraging me to continue with gentle yet firm movements.
The soft hum of the fluorescent lights was the only noise that wasn’t a distinct result of him and me and sex. I released him with a loud pop and continued to stroke his length as I gazed up at him. My chest heaved and my voice was nothing more than a sexy rasp. “Don’t worry, Thatcher. I won’t stop until you come in my mouth.”
A deep, throaty groan left his lips. “Keep talking like that, and I won’t last another thirty seconds.”
I lapped up a few drops of precome and moaned. “You taste good, Thatch,” I said with a smirk before wrapping my lips around him again and sucking down his shaft.
“God, your mouth is heaven, honey.”
As I continued to work him over, the ache of arousal became too much. I needed just a little relief. I slid my shirt and bra up and over my breasts, baring them to his greedy gaze. “Baby, play with my tits while I suck you off.”
I didn’t have to ask him twice. He grabbed my breasts with his large hands and rubbed his thumbs across both nipples. I throbbed between my legs from his expert touch and had to fight the urge to turn the situation into an outcome where we both found release.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about him.
I lightly glided the surface of my teeth down his length, trailing it with my tongue.
“God, you’re good. Too goddamn good.”
“Oh, just wait, baby. I’m going to make you come…hard.”
As I watched him slowly unravel, I felt empowered by having this much control over his pleasure. And every thrust of his hips, every deep, heady groan, only spurred me on more. Hell, I was getting all kinds of good blo-jo vibes from Thatch, damn near getting off on it as much as he was.
I sucked him deeper and stroked him harder as I flicked my tongue against him in rhythmic movements.
“Fuck. Yes,” he hissed, and then groaned in a staccato rhythm. “Keep doing that.”
That’s it, baby. Come in my mouth.
When I knew he was close, I gently tugged on his balls and watched that little move push him right over the edge.
“Oh, fuck,” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of his office. He gripped my hair as his head fell back, and then Thatch growled the sexiest fucking sound my ears had ever heard as he finished in my mouth.
I gave him a minute to catch his breath, and to talk myself out of spreading out on his desk and finger-fucking myself while he watched, and then gently tucked him back into his pants.
Carefully, I got to my feet and placed a soft kiss to his shocked lips. “Have a good rest of the day at work, honey,” I said, grabbing my purse off the floor and tossing it over my shoulder and walking toward the door.
“Cass?” he asked, voice filled with surprise and awe and utter confusion.
My mind was a mess of unsatisfied arousal and surprising affection, and I knew I had to do something to get my head back in the game.
Before leaving his office, I glanced over my shoulder and left him with the only defense I had against the way my emotions were fucking with me—fucking with him.
“Oh, and enjoy the fries. They’re from the Shake Shack.” I waved with a little wiggle of my fingers. “See you at home, Thatch.”
Boom. Suck on that, prankster, I thought to myself as I strode down the hall.
But the elation over screwing with him only lasted a few seconds, and as I got on the elevator, I found myself touching my lips and grinning over what I had just done.
And I wasn’t completely sure it had anything to do with a declaration of a prank war.
Cassie winked and closed the door to my office with a soft click, but I still hadn’t moved a muscle.
Behind the solid wood of my desk, my wood was fading in the still-open fly of my pants. Shock didn’t really fucking cover what I was feeling at that moment—the surprise visit, the bag of takeout, the blow job, and the way she left things as soon as my dick left her mouth.
I’d done a lot of shit in my life, but I’d never been sucked off behind my desk. The whole showing up at work without warning thing was a boundary only crossed in serious, long-term relationships or between involved coworkers, and I’d never really had either.
I’d been in love with Margo, but the love had been young. Still a teenager, I’d been naïve and self-centered and completely focused on what she could do for me rather than the other way around. It’d probably have been a fleeting memory of adolescent hormones and mistakes had it not ended the way it had. But that was the kind of thing that never left you, was never forgotten. After all these years, all that was left of her in my day-to-day life were Frankie, Claire, and Mila—and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
“Mr. Kelly?” Madeline’s voice called, freaking me the fuck out and jump-starting the rush to zip up my pants.
I pushed the tails of my shirt in, zipped the fly, buttoned my pants, and then fastened my belt, all before taking a deep breath, running a hand through my hair, and pushing the button to respond to her call.
“Yeah, Mad?”
“Wes Lancaster is on the phone for you.”
Jesus. I wasn’t sure now was the best time to talk to him, but he was on a recruiting trip, so I’d expected him to call at some point wanting to run numbers. He didn’t have me on staff, but as much as we teased each other, he trusted me more than anyone else when it came to money. Thus, he brought me in to consult from time to time.
A puff of air left me as I fought for quick composure.
“Hey, Wes. What’s up?” I said as I answered, trying my best to sound casual.
That was my first mistake.
“No jokes?” he asked cautiously without even saying hello. “Something’s wrong. What’s wrong?”
I rolled my eyes. “I can be serious on occasion, you know.”
“Not with me. Not ever. Not in the history of our friendship.”
Pushing my back firmly into my chair, I rubbed at my facial hair. “God, you’re fucking dramatic, Whitney.”
“That’s better. But, yeah, you’re not getting off the hook. What’s going on?”
“I just got my dick sucked, how’s that?” I asked when no other explanation came to mind, trying to put him off by oversharing.
“Nope. I’d say that’s pretty normal too. What’s abnormal, T-Rex?”
“You’re a pain in my goddamn ass.”
“I’ve heard. I’m waiting.”
“Jesus Christ—”
“Mr. Kelly?” Mad buzzed in on the intercom. “Kline Brooks is on line two.”
“Hold on, Wes,” I said into the phone and pushed the button to answer her. “You might as well conference him in, Mad.”
She didn’t answer, but in a matter of moments, Kline was in on our call.
“Thatch.”
“Wes is on the line too, Kline.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Kline asked suspiciously.
Fucking hell. I didn’t crack jokes all the time. I could answer a call normally, for fuck’s sake.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing!” Wes exclaimed, fucking victorious.
“I hate you both.”
“You love me,” they both said at the same time.
I rubbed at the pinched center of my forehead.
“Does this have anything to do with Cassie?” Kline asked astutely. The clever fuck. I’d be murdering him later for bringing this up now.
“What? What about Cassie?” Wes asked like a teenage girl hungry for gossip.
“He fucked her last night,” Kline supplied helpfully, and I sighed.
“Holy shit!” Wes exclaimed.
“Then she fell asleep on his dick before he came,” fucking asshole Brooks went on. Wes guffawed.
“She just blew me in my office, thank you very much,” I told him as though I had something to prove. I regretted it the minute the words left my lips.
Kline’s voice vibrated with glee. “There it is!” That asshole had baited me, and I’d gulped that shit down without hesitation.
“So you were serious,” Wes put in.
“And what did Crazy Cassie do after she blew you?” Kline asked way more sincerely than I’d ever heard anyone deliver those words before.
I dropped my head back, and I pulled at the choking tie at my neck. “She said to enjoy the bag of French fries she’d brought me and that she’d see me at fucking home.”
“Fucking home?” Wes replied like a smartass. “What’s that?”
“At home, jackhole. My home. I swear to God, Kline, she’s moving in with me. I don’t know what happened, but I think she’s suffering from some kind of psychotic break. With Georgia in the middle, you and I probably won’t be able to be friends anymore.”
The sounds of two varying degrees of laughter filled my ear.
“This isn’t funny! One sleepy bone, and this chick thinks she lives with me!”
Wes stopped trying to soften his laughter and dove into it full out. “This is fucking hilarious.”
Kline finally took pity on me. He found compassion through his laughter, but he found it. He was definitely above Wes on my list of friendship today. “Relax, man. She’s probably fucking with you.”
My elbows went to the surface of my desk as I leaned forward quickly. “Why would she do that?”
“Would you fuck with you right now?”
Obviously, I would. He took my silence as an affirmative.
“Exactly.”
“Shit.” I hadn’t even considered how similar we were.
“Plus,” he went on, “I told Georgie about your freak-out this morning, and she may have been getting ready to leave for lunch with Cassie when I did.”
“Fuck! Kline, I told you not to spread this shit around.”
“And I told you I was going to tell Georgie. I’m not even sorry.”
Wes continued to laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”
“Listen,” Wes said, just barely softening his chuckles enough so that he could speak. “If she’s gonna fuck with you, why don’t you fuck with her?”
My eyes narrowed at the empty spot on my off
ice floor. “What do you mean?”
“She’s obviously expecting you to squirm. Turn it around on her.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Kline agreed.
I pondered to myself and decided I could do that. I was way more comfortable as the messer than I was as the messee. “Fine. I’ll text her something.”
“Make sure you tell us what it is,” Wes demanded.
“Didn’t you guys call me for fucking reasons?”
“Mine can wait,” Wes said just as Kline murmured, “This is suddenly more important.”
“Fuck you guys.”
“Bye, Princess Peach,” Kline said in dismissal through his chuckles.
Wes’s laugh trailed on after Kline hung up.
“You seriously don’t have questions for me?” I asked.
“We’ll talk about it all when I get back. But you better fucking tell me how this plays out.”
“Don’t worry, Samantha. I’ll fill you in on all the happenings of Sex and the City.”
Slamming the phone into the cradle before he could say more, I picked up my cell phone off the corner of the desk and pulled up her number to text.
Me: Thanks for “lunch.” I need to stop by the drugstore on my way home. Need me to pick you up anything, honey?
Sent. Think you can mess with me? Think again, honey.
Student, meet teacher.
I reread the text and triple-checked that the message was in fact from Thatch.
Did he just send me a goddamn kissy-face emoji?
I opened and closed my eyes a few times, just to be sure what I was seeing was real.
For the love of freaks, he really sent that.
I knew I was a talented cocksucker, but I had told him I would see him at home after putting him back into his pants. Home, meaning his home, meaning he should’ve thought I was off my rocker and actually trying to move in with him, meaning that text message should’ve been him freaking the hell out. Not all kissy-faced and asking me if I needed anything from the store.
Why wasn’t he losing his shit over this?
I grabbed my phone off my coffee table and called Georgia.
