12. Tatum
Chapter 12
Tatum
I adjust the straps of the red lace number in my reflection, smoothing down the silk robe I'm wearing that hugs every curve I have. Surely Thomas won't be able to resist this – men are so damn predictable. The tiny camera device sits innocently in my hand, no bigger than a button.
"Time to put on a show," I mutter, practicing my most alluring smile. It feels foreign after years of fake ones.
My bare feet pad against the hardwood as I make my way to his office, the sound echoing through our too-quiet house. I've timed this perfectly – he always takes a break around 2 PM to check the markets.
"Hey, stranger," I purr, leaning against the doorframe.
He barely glances up, seemingly buried in paperwork. "What do you want, Tatum? I'm busy."
Ignoring his tone, I saunter over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of old volumes. "I thought we could... reconnect." I let the robe slip off one shoulder.
He sighs, eyes glued to his papers. "Not now. Maybe later."
I keep my voice light and teasing. "You always say that." My hand brushes against one of the books where Dominic instructed me to place the camera.
"Because I'm always busy," he snaps, finally looking at me with irritation rather than interest.
"Too busy for this?" I ask, letting the robe fall completely, revealing the lingerie underneath. His eyes flicker over me for a split second before returning to his desk.
"Yes, actually," he says curtly. "And put some clothes on; it's distracting."
Distracting? That's rich coming from a man who barely notices me unless there's an audience. I suppress a scoff and continue my act, slowly walking towards his desk, each step deliberate.
"Come on baby, I miss us," I lie through my teeth, leaning over his desk just enough to give him a view down my cleavage.
He grunts in response, scribbling something down. "We’re fine. Just... go find something else to do."
"But there's only one thing I want to do…"
I take a deep breath, sinking to my knees in front of his desk. The plush carpet tickles my legs as I slide under, positioning myself between his thighs. Thomas doesn't look up, still engrossed in whatever mindless drivel he's working on.
"You're impossible, you know that?" I mutter, my hands already working on his belt. "Always playing so hard to get."
"What are you doing Tatum?" he asks, finally glancing down at me. His eyes widen slightly but he doesn't protest.
"Just helping you loosen up a bit," I say, my voice dripping with faux sweetness.
He leans back in his chair, a smug smile spreading across his face. "I see. It's about time you did something useful."
Biting back the retort that rises to my lips, I focus on the task at hand.
I maneuver his pants and boxers down to his ankles, the cool air hitting his skin making him flinch slightly. A shame he can only last like ten minutes because he does have a decent sized dick. Typical of Thomas though – all show, no substance.
He leans back, eyes closed, already losing interest in my presence. I glance at the camera again, ensuring it’s positioned correctly on the bookshelf.
"Don’t take all day," he grumbles, as if I’m a service he’s booked.
"I wouldn’t dream of it," I reply sweetly, trying not to roll my eyes. I wrap my fingers around him, feeling the weight and warmth in my hand.
As I start, his breath hitches and he lets out a low groan. The sound is almost enough to make me gag, but I push through, knowing this is the perfect opportunity.
I move one hand down to the hidden mic Dominic gave me earlier. Carefully, I stick it under the desk while maintaining my rhythm. Thomas's breathing gets heavier; he's completely oblivious to anything other than what I'm doing.
He's panting now, practically a dog in heat. The thought disgusts me, but I keep going, focusing on securing the mic properly.
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. "Keep going."
I roll my eyes internally but comply. His hand tangles in my hair, trying to guide me faster, rougher. It takes every ounce of self-control not to bite him where it hurts most.
"Goddamn it, such a good girl," he moans louder now, completely lost in his own pleasure.
With the mic securely in place, I focus on finishing the job quickly. His grip tightens and within moments he's shuddering, pulling away from the desk and collapsing back into his chair.
"See?" he says between pants. "This is why you're still around."
I stand up, brushing off my knees and adjusting my tits back into place. Thomas looks at me with that same mixture of disdain and satisfaction.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind – what if Dom and his men were watching me? I did set up the camera after all? Heat rushes through me at the idea.
Is there something wrong with me that the thought of the crime syndicate watching me give head turns me on?
I look right in the camera's direction.
This game I'm playing is dangerous as hell, but suddenly, it's not just about revenge anymore.
It's about feeling alive for once.
"Why don't we take this somewhere more comfortable?" I trail my fingers along his arm. "Like right here on your desk?"
He pushes my hand away. "I told you I'm busy. Go do whatever it is you do all day."
"Come on, baby." I perch on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs slowly. "When's the last time we really had fun in here?"
"For fuck's sake, Tatum." He stands up, straightening his tie. "I've got meetings to prepare for. This isn't some teenage romance novel where we screw on every surface."
I lean back, giving him my best seductive look. "Don't you want to christen your desk?"
"What I want is for you to stop acting like a desperate housewife and let me work."
He's right I am desperate. But not desperate for him, desperate to fucking ruin him.