Chapter 23 #2
I scoff, and yes, as I’m doing it, I realize how much I find myself scoffing at Brody Miller.
Probably as much as he fucking smirks. But he’s infuriating, and sometimes there just aren’t words that can better intimate the overwhelming, all-encompassing frustration I feel when he’s being impossible. Which is always.
“You’re suddenly a finance major, then?”
“Hell no. That sounds boring as fuck, actually. But I bet I can make it fun. Maybe incentivize the study process a little?” He pumps his eyebrows.
I almost forget to be difficult and perk up. Finance is boring as fuck. And incentives do sound promising…
But no. I’m not letting him steadily turn everything in my life into yet another reminder of him.
It’s bad enough that wrestling has been affected.
Someday, years from now, I don’t want to be standing in a boardroom getting hard in front of shareholders because discussing terminal value unlocks some kind of subconscious Pavlovian kink.
“Stock analysis.”
Brody raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, what?”
“Stock analysis. The last question on the practice exam I was working on was about stock analysis.”
His eyes narrow as he comes around the table and sits on the chair next to me, dragging my laptop closer and opening it. He gestures at the screen for me to input my password to bypass the screensaver, then reads the question.
“Wrong.”
“What? No, it isn’t.”
“The question asks what the implied share price of a firm that has an enterprise value of $850 million dollars, with $120 million in cash, $300 million in debt, and 50 million shares outstanding.”
“It’s calculating equity value, which is used for stock analysis, to calculate the market value of what shareholders own.”
Brody hums thoughtfully, ignoring my reasoning for my answer being correct. “So what’s the answer to the actual question?”
I bend forward to scratch out some basic math to calculate the answer.
“$11 per share,” I answer.
He types in an answer on the screen and bites his lip. “Wrong,” he says, the word coming out like a low growl.
“No it’s not, it’s—” I look over my math and go over the question in my head, silently cursing myself.
“I forgot to add the cash back. Equity value is the enterprise value, minus the debt plus cash. So the share price is six hundred and seventy million divided by fifty million, not five hundred fifty million divided by…”
My voice trails off, realizing that Brody is studying me the way he should be studying how to do jumping jacks or whatever Exercise Science majors learn.
“Good girl,” he says slowly. “But you still got it wrong the first time, so we’ll compromise on your reward.”
“Compromise?”
“Yeah, compromise. Like a shareholder accepting a moderate dividend rather than a full payout.”
I gape. “You’re equating corporate finance to getting off now?”
“Wasn’t that the point?” Brody lifts an eyebrow like it should be obvious. “You didn’t earn the full payout, but I’ll give you a little something to make you happy.”
I’d rather eat lead than admit that this is working. But it’s working. Goddamn, it’s working. I am hard and regretting my decision to wear khakis instead of athletic pants like Brody is wearing.
“Come here.”
This time, I obey. He’s barely two feet away from me, so there isn’t far to go. I make my best guess and figure he wants me on my knees in front of him. He spreads his legs and pushes his foot between my thighs.
“Sit.”
Brow furrowed, I sit, basically straddling this foot. Then he starts to move his foot, rubbing it between my legs in a way that I don’t want to admit is working for me. But before I know it, I’m meeting the movement of his foot, rocking against him.
“That’s a good girl. Keep rubbing yourself off on my leg and tell me why shareholders would accept a moderate dividend instead of a full payout.”
I straighten and stare at his leg in horror. “I’m not a dog.”
“Do it or I’ll make you howl like a dog in heat,” he says calmly.
Reluctantly, I press into his shin and slide down to sit on his black and white off-brand sneaker. I fidget uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me look or feel ridiculous.
Then Brody palms himself over his grey athletic pants, readjusting his thick erection so it’s supported and held against his stomach by the elastic of his waistband.
My mouth waters as Brody’s hand slides up and down the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, and I groan.
My hips have started rocking on their own accord, grinding my swelling cock against the top of Brody’s shoe.
“What is the benefit of accepting the lesser payout, Becky?”
“I, uh—the company could be sacrificing some earnings to make investments?”
“Good. How does that benefit the shareholders, though?”
“They could—” I swallow the abundance of saliva building up in my mouth and grip Brody’s calf in one hand, my other grasping onto his other thigh so I can get better leverage. “Th- the profits from reinvesting could benefit shareholders.”
“Yes,” he says, aggravatingly calmly. “So they’re accepting short-term profits with the goal of receiving a bigger payout over time. How might this compromise cost them, though?”
“Cost them?”
He nods, his bored gaze on the hand that has crept farther up his thigh.
It seems unintentional, but I desperately want to touch him.
Taste him. Feel something other than the friction of my groin rubbing against his shoe.
The hand that’s been stroking his cock thumbs the waistband of his pants, pulling it down just enough to let the swollen red tip barely peek out.
Oh God, please take it out. Maybe I say it out loud.
Or mouth the words. I don’t know. Brody always seems to know what I want.
He gestures with his hand to indicate that I should keep going if I want him to keep going.
I spread my thighs wider to get more friction where I’m grinding against him.
“Risk versus return,” I say breathlessly. “The company could choose to invest the money in ways that don’t benefit the shareholders as much.”
“Such as?” Brody asks, pushing his waistband down to expose more of his thick shaft.
“Risky projects could mean a higher return but could also tank. Stable projects would mean lower returns but could contribute to sustainable growth and longer-term profits.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, and uses both hands to push his pants down below his ass. The movement makes his leg flex, foot pressing up into my groin so deliciously I let out an audible shudder.
Brody holds his hand out to me, and I know by now that he’s not asking for my hand or anything I’m holding. I lean in and spit in his palm. He spits as well, then uses our combined saliva to slick his hand down his rigid length.
From this angle, I have the perfect view of the thick vein that runs up the bottom of his shaft. My tongue darts out to lick my lips, wanting to drag it along the path and lick the pre-cum from his tip when I get there. I swallow and whimper as Brody’s foot shifts again, and I fall forward a bit.
“So how can shareholders guarantee their interests and get their maximum payout?”
“They can negotiate agreements for a mutually beneficial balance.”
“Like?” His hand moves steadily up and down his cock, rounding over the head each time he reaches the tip, spreading his pre-cum down his shaft while mine soaks through my underwear.
The words rush out of me, breathy and barely holding on to the brain cells needed to answer the question.
“The company can choose a moderate payout ratio, giving shareholders some cash now, while keeping enough retained earnings to fund operations, growth, and higher-risk projects. If the business profits rise, the shareholders get a bigger payout over time. If they don’t, they aren’t losing all the money that would be going to the shareholders, because only the agreed upon funds would be earmarked for investment. ”
“So how does this entire scenario relate to you right now?” Brody asks me, his voice finally starting to show signs of his own arousal.
What happens if I get the answer wrong? Does this stop? Or does it keep going? Which is better or worse? Either way, this is torture. I want to come, but not like this, although the closer he gets to his orgasm, the more I realize it doesn’t matter as long as I can have his cum.
“To me?” I repeat, almost trancelike, attention focused solely on Brody’s hand and how close I know he is. I know it because I feel it. My hips grind harder and faster with each stroke, building and building in tandem. I’m right on the edge.
“Yes, you. If you’re the shareholder in this scenario, and I am the company, what do you stand to gain or lose?”
“Mmmph. I don’t know… I, um… Fuck.”
I can’t fucking think. I barely understand the question. I’m burning up from the mortification of being so close to blowing my load in my pants while rubbing myself off on his foot, from the heat and tension in the room, from the sound of his voice, from my impending orgasm and the promise of his.
“No contract was made, Becky. No agreements on what your payout was going to be or who would get what in this exchange.”
My eyes widen and flick up to meet his. Still pumping himself with one hand, he reaches out and grips the back of my head with his other. The pain of his fingers gripping my hair so tightly makes my eyes roll back, and I gasp into his mouth, his face suddenly in mine dizzyingly fast.
“I’ll tell you what we’re both going to get out of it,” he growls. “I’m going to give you my cum, but I’m holding something back to use for future earnings.”
“What’s that?” I breathe heavily.
“I’m going to walk away with the memory of you coming all over yourself from humping my cheap knockoff sneaker.”
I want to argue that it’s not going to happen. To push him back and scream at him that he’s wrong. That I would never allow myself to be debased in such a way.
But there’s no point.