23. Chapter 23
Rylen
The leather of Maddox’s executive chair is still warm from his own body heat, when he shoves me into it. It’s a heavy, throne-like thing that smells of expensive hide and that amber-scented soap he’s been using lately.
"Stay put," he murmurs. His dark eyes are glinting with a brand of mischief that usually means trouble for my heart rate.
"Maddox, the floor opens in twenty minutes," I protest, though my hands are already gripping the mahogany armrests. This office is the inner sanctum of the most exclusive club in the city; outside these soundproofed doors, people pay thousands for the kind of attention he’s focusing solely on me right now.
Instead of answering, he drops to his knees, his silk suit trousers rustling as he disappears into the knee-hole of the massive desk.
"Maddox—" I gasp as I feel his hands find the button of my fly.
"Fix your face, love," his muffled voice comes from below, vibrating against my thighs. "You look like you're about to be executed. Try to enjoy the perks of the job," he says flirtatiously, before taking my cock into his mouth.
The world quickly narrows down to the sensation of his tongue and the cool air of the office hitting my skin. I throw my head back, a groan building in my throat, my fingers digging grooves into the leather. Then, the heavy oak door swings open with a confident thud.
"Maddox? You in here? The shipment of Macallan is—"
I bolt upright, my spine snapping straight as a board. Astrid is standing in the doorway with a clipboard tucked under her arm. She stops dead, her brow furrowing as she sees me sitting in the boss's chair.
"Rylen?" she asks, blinking. "Where’s Maddox? I thought he was in here."
Under the desk, Maddox doesn’t stop. In fact, he swirls his tongue around the head of my cock with a deliberate, agonising slowness. My toes curl inside my boots. I have to swallow hard, forcing my vocal cords to work through a throat that feels like it’s closing up.
"He’s... uh..." I grip the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white, "he's attending to some business right now."
Maddox picks up the pace. The suction is incredible, a rhythmic heat that makes my vision swim.
I try to subtly shift the chair back, a silent plea for him to let go, but his hands clamp onto my hips like a vice, pulling me deeper into his mouth.
"That's… odd. I don't have anything scheduled for now," Astrid steps further into the room, tilting her head as she studies her clipboard. "And why are you sitting at his desk?"
"The... computer," I manage to choke out, my voice an octave higher than usual. I frantically grab the mouse, staring at a screensaver of a tropical beach as if it were the most complex code in the world. "I’m helping him… f–fix something. You know how he is."
Astrid lets out a sharp, genuine laugh, walking toward the desk. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird the closer she gets.
"God, tell me about it," she sighs, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk, just inches from where Maddox’s head is bobbing. "The man can run a multi-million dollar empire, but show him an Excel spreadsheet and he acts like you’ve asked him to perform surgery. He’s utterly useless with technology. "
I laugh a little too loud to cover up the moan dragging its way up my throat. Down below, I feel a sharp, sudden nip. Maddox’s teeth graze over my balls in a clear, painful warning. A hiss escapes my teeth before I can stop it.
"Rylen?" Astrid jumps slightly, "Did something hurt you?" She tilts her head to peer over the desk. I wave a dismissive hand between us, shaking my head and she jerks back.
"Static," I lie, my eyes watering. I can feel the heat of Maddox's breath against my skin and the vibration of a low, wicked chuckle. "Old building. Lots of... static."
"Well, fix your issue quickly I guess," she says, but to my horror, she doesn't turn to leave. Instead, she flops down onto the brown leather couch running parallel to the desk. "I’ll just wait for him. My feet are killing me in these heels and I need him to sign off on the liquor restock anyway."
I look at her, then down at the desk that’s currently housing the owner of the club while he works me toward a breaking point. Maddox takes a particularly deep, wet slide, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming his name.
"Actually, Astrid," I strain, my voice trembling, "he said he might be a while. A long while. A last minute meeting with... investors?"
"Trust Maddox to schedule a meeting without informing me," she grumbles. "Never mind—I've got nowhere to be for the next ten minutes," she says, picking up a magazine from the coffee table. "Keep working, tech genius. Don't mind me."
Maddox's hands move to my thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. He isn't going anywhere until I spill down his throat.
"So," Astrid says, flipping a page, "did he say anything about the guest list for the end of year masquerade? He was being rather picky about the VIP tier."
"He... he mentioned..." I start, then gasp as Maddox’s hands slide upward, his fingers curling around the base of my balls while his tongue does something complicated and cruel. "He mentioned keeping it... tight."
"Tight…" she muses. "Typical Maddox. The man’s a control freak. Honestly, Rylen, I don't know how you put up with him. You’re the only one here he doesn’t treat like a disposable asset."
The irony of her words is not lost on me.
Right now, I feel very much like an asset being put to work.
My hips betray me, twitching forward. My knees knock against the underside of the desk, hitting Maddox’s shoulder.
Stop , I think. She’s right fucking there.
Maddox’s response is to use both his hands.
He reaches up, his palms flat against my stomach, pushing my shirt up slightly as he doubles his pace. I’m so close I can see stars.
"Rylen? You're turning red," Astrid says, finally looking over the top of her magazine. Her eyes narrow in concern. "Are you having an allergic reaction or something?"
"Just... focused," I wheeze. I grab a pen and start scribbling nonsense on a notepad just to keep my hands from shaking. "This software... it’s really... fuck … really stubborn."
"You look like you're in pain," she starts to stand up. "Do you need a glass of water? I'll bring–"
"No!" I bark, a little too loud. She flinches, so I soften my voice, though it comes out as a strained rasp. "No, I’m fine. Just... stay there. I mean—don't get up. I'm almost… I nearly have it."
I feel Maddox’s teeth again—not a warning this time, but a sharp, erotic graze that sends me over the precipice. I feel the first hot surge of cum shooting out of me so intensely I can't stop.
"Oh, god," I whisper.
"What is it?" Astrid asks, taking another step toward the desk.
"Got it!" I yell, slamming my hand down on the desk.
The loud crack of my palm against the wood masks the low, guttural moan I can't completely suppress.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my entire body vibrating as I come, the sensation amplified ten-fold by the sheer terror of being caught.
Underneath the desk, Maddox doesn't pull away.
He takes every bit of my release as I slump forward, my forehead resting on the cool mahogany, my breath coming in jagged hitches.
"Rylen…?" Astrid is at the edge of the desk now. "Did you fix it?"
"Yeah," I breathe. My voice sounds like I’ve run a marathon, and clarity returns as the blood rushes back to my head. Maddox can't just crawl out from under the desk while she's in the room, I need to get her out of here.
"It's... fixed. But Astrid, I think the server is about to reset. If you don't go check the POS systems at the bar right now, they might crash when the floor opens."
"What? Why didn't you say so?" she groans, turning on her heel. "If I have to do manual tabs tonight, I’m quitting. Tell Maddox he owes me a bottle of the good stuff!" Astrid calls out over her shoulder. The door clicks shut behind her.
A moment later, Maddox slides out from under the desk. He stands up, as elegant and unruffled as if he’d just been reading a book. He wipes a stray thumb across his lower lip, his darkened eyes burning with a terrifyingly smug satisfaction.
"You're a terrible liar, love," he whispers, leaning over the desk until our faces are inches apart. "But you're a very good boy when it comes to following orders."
My chest burns with a mix of shame at the desire his words twist into me.
I blow out a breathy laugh, still trying to get my breathing under control, my heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs as Maddox stands over me; looking far too composed for a man who just finished doing what he did under that desk.
My skin is still buzzing as I reach out, my hand trembling slightly as I move to straighten the papers I’d scattered in my panic while Astrid was here.
That’s when I see it—tucked partially under a stack of liquor licenses and invoices, is a printout of an internal bank statement. My eyes snag on a recurring outgoing transfer, the numbers high enough to make my stomach turn.
Bright Futures Foundation.
It’s a name I haven't been able to think about without feeling the phantom ache of old bruises.
I pull the paper out, staring at the bold ink as the haze of the last ten minutes evaporates, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline.
I turn slowly, the paper crinkling in my grip as I brace myself.
Maddox is watching me, his smug expression faltering as he sees what I’m holding.
"What the fuck is this?" I ask, scowling in disbelief.
"What do you want to know?" he asks, his voice careful.