4. Sayer
SAYER
Her hand was on my chest. Small, steady, palm flat over my heart like she was checking to see if it was real.
It was pounding. She knew it. I could tell by the way her breath shifted, the way her eyes widened a fraction before she caught it and pulled her composure back into place.
She was good at that. Gathering herself. Putting the sharp edges back on before anyone could see what was underneath.
I wasn’t going to let her do it this time.
I covered her hand with mine. Pressed it harder against my chest so she could feel the full force of what she was doing to me. Her lips parted. Not a word. Just air.
“This is a terrible idea,” she whispered.
“You said that already.”
“I meant it both times.”
I brought my other hand up and tucked the loose strand of copper hair behind her ear. Her whole body went still.
“Tell me to stop,” I said.
She didn’t. Instead, she leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polished. She kissed me the way she did everything else—direct and certain and slightly reckless, her fingers curling into my shirt, her breath ragged against my mouth.
I pulled her closer, one hand at the back of her neck, and she made a sound that undid something I’d been holding in place for years.
I pulled back enough to see her face. Flushed. Her eyes were bright, and she was breathing hard.
“Sayer.” Her voice was rough. “I should tell you something.”
I waited.
“I haven’t done this before.” She held my gaze. No embarrassment, no apology. Just fact. “Any of it.”
Something hot and possessive moved through my chest. I didn’t let it show.
“We can stop,” I said.
“I don’t want to stop.” Her fingers tightened in my shirt. “I want you to show me.”
Six words. Six words, and every rational thought I had left was gone.
She wanted me to be her first. She wanted a man with experience, and she’d chosen me, and I should’ve been the kind of man who slowed this down. The kind of man who told her this meant more to me than one night on a couch in my office.
But her mouth was swollen from mine, and she was pulling me closer, not pushing me away, and the truth was I couldn’t say any of that yet. It was too soon. She’d think I was playing her. She’d put her guard back up and walk out of this building and I’d never get a chance again.
So I kissed her instead. Slower this time. I let her feel the difference between what she’d asked for and what I was actually giving her.
“I’ll show you everything,” I said against her mouth. “But you tell me if you want to stop. Any second. Any reason.”
“I won’t want to stop.”
Her words snapped the last thread of my control. I kissed her hard, tongues sliding, my hands working her blouse open and tossing it aside. My fingers found the clasp of her bra and freed it, and then her bare breasts were pressed against my chest, warm and soft, nothing between us.
I eased her back against the cushions, shifting over her. My hands slid down to peel her skirt and panties down her legs. She helped me, lifting her hips, until she was completely naked beneath me—flushed skin, copper hair wild, and those sharp eyes hazy with need.
I couldn’t stop touching her. My hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she moaned into my mouth. Every sound she made went straight to my cock.
Then Tatum pulled back, breathing hard, and tugged my shirt up.
I jerked it over my head and tossed it aside.
She slid off the couch to her knees between my spread thighs, her fingers working my belt and zipper with shaky determination.
She tugged my pants and underwear down, and my cock sprang free, thick and aching.
Her small hand wrapped around the base, and she looked up at me, lips parted.
“Show me,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
Fuck. The sight of her on her knees, naked and eager, nearly made me come on the spot.
“Stroke me, baby,” I rasped. “Firm grip. Up and down…yeah, just like that. Twist your wrist a little at the head. Yeah, that’s it.”
She followed every instruction perfectly, her hand gliding over me, learning the feel of my length, the way I throbbed under her touch. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, slicking her fingers. When she licked her lips and glanced up again, I groaned.
“You want to taste me?”
She nodded.
“Open your mouth. Take the head first. Use your tongue on the underside.” I slid my fingers into her hair, guiding gently. The wet heat of her mouth closing around me was pure heaven. “Suck…just like that. Fuck, Tatum. Take a little more.”
She experimented, swirling her tongue, taking me deeper with soft, curious sounds that vibrated straight through my shaft.
The visual—her lips stretched around me, eyes flicking up for approval—made my balls tighten.
I could feel her inexperience, but her enthusiasm more than made up for it.
The slick sounds of her mouth, the gentle suction, the way her tongue pressed against me… it was almost too good.
“Enough, baby,” I growled after a few minutes, gently pulling her off before I lost it. I lifted her back onto the couch and lay back against the arm, pulling her over me so she straddled my chest, her knees bracketing my ribs. My hands gripped her waist. “Come here.”
I nudged her higher, sliding my hands to her ass and positioning her until she hovered over my face. The angle was awkward on the sofa—her hands braced on the back of the couch—but she didn’t hesitate.
The first slow lick through her soaked folds pulled a sharp cry from her throat.
She tasted sweet and addictive. I held her steady and devoured her—long, firm strokes of my tongue, circling her clit, then sucking it gently between my lips.
Her thighs trembled around my head as I worked her relentlessly, until her hips jerked and she came hard with a broken moan, flooding my tongue.
I kissed her inner thighs softly as she came down, then eased her back down my body. Tatum’s chest heaved, her face flushed with pleasure. She reached between us, wrapped her fingers around my cock, and positioned the head at her entrance. Slowly, she pressed down.
The heat of her was overwhelming. She was impossibly snug, and I felt the moment it stung—her breath hitched, body tensing as I stretched her.
“Easy,” I murmured, voice strained with the effort of holding still. My thumb found her clit and rubbed slow, firm circles. “Relax for me, Tatum. Let me in. You’re so fucking tight…so wet. That’s it, baby. Feel my thumb on your clit. Good girl.”
Gradually her features softened, her body relaxing as pleasure overtook the discomfort. She sank lower, taking every inch until I was buried to the hilt inside her. The slick, fluttering grip of her walls around me was pure ecstasy—hot, silky, and pulsing.
“Fuck,” I groaned, hands tightening on her hips. “You feel incredible. So deep inside you, baby.”
Tatum started to move, rising and falling on me.
At first slow and careful, then faster. Her tits bounced beautifully with every thrust—full, perfect, nipples tight.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The obscene sounds of her sliding up and down my shaft filled the room—slick, rhythmic slapping mixed with her soft sighs turning into gasping moans.
“That’s it, ride me,” I growled, thrusting up to meet her. “Look at those pretty tits bouncing for me. You’re taking me so well. You hear how wet you are? That filthy sound every time you sink down on me? Fuck, it’s driving me insane.”
I kept one thumb on her clit, the other hand gripping her ass as she rode me harder.
The rhythmic squeeze of her body, the way her walls fluttered and milked my length with every bounce, the sounds—her moans, our skin slapping together, the slick evidence of her arousal—it all built into an overwhelming storm of sensation.
I felt every inch of her, the impossible heat, the way she clenched when I hit that perfect spot.
“Keep going just like that,” I rasped, voice thick. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You’re gonna make me come so hard. Fuck, Tatum…”
Our rhythm turned frantic, her gasps becoming desperate cries as another orgasm built. I kept talking her through it—filthy praise mixed with raw need—until pleasure crashed over both of us. We came together, then she slid off of me until my arm was around her, her legs draped over mine.
She curled against me on the couch, her hair loose across my chest. I couldn’t remember when it had come down. Sometime between the second kiss and the moment she’d said my name like it was the only word she had left.
My shirt was on the floor. Her blazer was draped over the arm of the couch. The city was still there through the windows, but neither of us was looking at it.
She traced one of the tattoos on my forearm with her fingertip. Slow, following the lines without asking what they meant. Her breathing had steadied. Mine hadn’t.
“You okay?” I asked.
She tilted her head up. Her eyes were soft in a way I hadn’t seen before. No sharpness, no deflection, no joke loaded and ready. Just her.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay.”
I pressed my mouth against her temple. Held it there.
Tell her. Tell her this isn’t just tonight.
Not yet. She’d run. She’d think I was saying what I thought she wanted to hear, and she’d close every door she’d just opened.
I’d watched her do it in the conference room, in our first working session, every time something got too close.
She’d snap back into the armor so fast, you’d forget it had ever come off.
So I held her instead. Let the silence do what words couldn’t yet.
“I’ve got a shower,” I said after a while. “If you want to clean up. We could clean up together.”
She lifted her head. Looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
“You have a shower in your office.”
“I work late a lot.”
“Of course you do.” She sat up, pulling my shirt off the floor and holding it against her chest. “Lead the way.”
I stood and offered her my hand. She looked at it for a second. Then she took it.