19. Cassie #2
He pulls his fingers out and spins me back to face him, dropping to his knees right there on the office floor.
His mouth is on my pussy in seconds, tongue licking broad and hungry up my slit before sucking my clit between his lips.
I gasp and grab his hair, thighs spreading wider.
He eats me like he’s starving, tongue fucking into me, then licking back up to flick and circle my clit until my legs shake.
One hand reaches up to shove my blouse open, fingers tugging my bra down so he can pinch and roll my nipple.
“God, your tits are fucking perfect,” he says against my pussy, voice rough.
He stands just long enough to yank my blouse the rest of the way off and unhook my bra, tossing both aside.
His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard while his fingers stay busy between my legs, two pumping deep and his thumb grinding on my clit.
I reach for his belt, yanking it open, popping the button, dragging his zipper down.
His cock springs free, hot and heavy, and I drop straight to my knees, taking him into my mouth, sucking him deep while he curses and threads his fingers through my hair.
He fucks my mouth in short thrusts, watching me with dark eyes, one hand still playing with my nipple, pinching and tugging until I moan around him.
“Suck it just like that,” he mutters, switching to my other nipple, biting lightly. “Fuck! Your mouth feels amazing.”
A knock sounds at the door. We both freeze for a second, his fingers still buried inside me, my lips wrapped around his cock. “Elliot? You in there? Meeting’s in ten.” It’s his assistant.
“Busy,” he calls back, voice steady even as he curls his fingers inside me and makes my knees buckle. “Reschedule it.”
Footsteps fade away down the hall. The risk makes everything hotter. I keep sucking him, bobbing my head, taking him deeper while he groans and guides my movements with gentle pressure on my hair. He tastes salty, and I swirl my tongue around the head before swallowing him again.
“Enough,” he growls after a minute, hauling me up.
He bends me over the conference table this time, the glass wall right beside us.
I hear the rip of the condom wrapper, then the blunt head of his cock pressing against my pussy.
He pushes in slow, stretching me open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
He starts thrusting deep and steady, one hand gripping my hip, the other reaching around to rub my clit. I push back to meet every stroke, the table edge digging into my thighs. His free hand slides up my back, around to grab my tit, squeezing and rolling the nipple while he pounds into me harder.
“Harder,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”
He gives it to me, hips snapping, skin slapping. The voyeur thrill spikes when I catch movement outside, someone on a higher floor across the street maybe, glancing this way. Elliot notices too and laughs low, fucking me faster. “You like that? Knowing they might see my cock stretching your pussy?”
“Yes,” I gasp, clenching around him. He pulls out and flips me onto my back on the table, spreading my legs wide.
He slams back in, leaning over to suck my nipple into his mouth again while he thrusts.
His hand stays between us, rubbing my clit in tight circles.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper, moaning every time he hits that spot inside me.
We hear voices in the hallway again, closer this time.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he fucks me harder, one hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds while his cock drives into me.
The near-miss makes me come hard, pussy pulsing around him, back arching off the table.
He follows right after, groaning into my neck, hips jerking as he fills the condom.
Afterward we lean against the table, both of us catching our breath, my skirt a lost cause and his composure nowhere to be found.
“Well,” I finally manage. “That was unexpected.”
“Was it?” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “I’ve been planning that all morning.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” I turn in his arms. “But we should probably put ourselves back together before your actual meeting.”
“Probably.” He kisses me soft and sweet. “But first, there’s something I need to-”
“I love you.” I don’t let him finish.
The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us like something fragile and precious.
We haven’t said it yet, not out loud, not in so many words.
We’ve shown it in a thousand ways over the past weeks, but neither of us has been brave enough to actually speak it into existence.
Until now.
Elliot goes still against me. “Say that again.”
I turn in his arms, looking up into his face. His expression is open, vulnerable, completely unlike the controlled mask he usually wears with the rest of the world. This is the real Elliot, the one he hides from everyone else, the one he’s only ever shown to me.
“I love you,” I repeat, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
“I know it’s fast. I know we’ve only been doing this for a few weeks.
But I love you, Elliot. I love who I am when I’m with you.
I love who you are when you let your walls down.
I love everything about this insane, complicated, wonderful thing we’re building together. ”
His smile starts slow and spreads across his whole face, transforming him into someone almost boyish. “Good. Because I love you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He kisses me, soft and sweet, a complete contrast to what we just did. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, but I kept losing my nerve. Turns out all I had to do was bend you over a conference table and wait for you to go first.”
I laugh, surprised by the lightness bubbling up in my chest. “That’s one approach to emotional vulnerability.”
“I’m an innovative thinker.” He helps me straighten my clothes, his hands gentle now where they were demanding before. “We should probably clean up before my actual meetings start.”
“Probably.” I smooth down my skirt, still feeling the pleasant ache between my thighs. “Is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
“Private bathroom attached to my office. I’ll show you.”
We make ourselves presentable and slip out of the conference room separately, trying to look like two professionals who definitely did not just have sex on a conference table. Miranda glances up as I pass her desk, her expression carefully neutral, but I catch the knowing glint in her eye.
“The Henderson files you requested are on your desk, Ms. Wallace,” she says smoothly.
“There are no Henderson files,” I reply without thinking.
“There are now.” She turns back to her computer with the ghost of a smile. “I created them this morning. For plausible deniability. It’s always best to have a paper trail that explains why two people needed privacy in a conference room for an hour.”
I stare at her, then shake my head and continue to Elliot’s office. That woman sees everything and judges nothing. No wonder he pays her so well.
I spend the next two hours actually working, reviewing the client files and making notes about people I might be able to reach out to on Elliot’s behalf.
It’s good to feel useful, to have a purpose beyond being Elliot’s girlfriend or Charles’s ex-wife.
For the first time in years, I’m building something that belongs to me.
The work is engrossing enough that I lose track of time, making calls to old contacts, feeling out which relationships might survive the transition from Charles’s company to Elliot’s.
Most people are surprisingly receptive. Turns out Charles’s reputation has taken a significant hit since the affair became public knowledge, and many of his clients are looking for an excuse to jump ship to someone they trust.
I’m in the middle of a promising conversation with a woman named Rebecca Torres, who handled procurement for one of Charles’s biggest accounts, when Elliot appears in my doorway again.
This time, he’s carrying his jacket over his arm and his expression is lighter than before, the satisfied look of a man who’s had a very good afternoon.
“Ready to go?” he asks when I hang up.
“Already? I thought you had meetings until five.”
“Canceled them.” He holds out his hand. “I want to show you something.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I narrow my eyes. “The last time you surprised me, I ended up bent over a conference table.”
“This is a different surprise.” His smile is warm, almost playful in a way I’m still getting used to seeing from him. “Trust me?”
I take his hand.
***
Later, after the meeting (which I barely remember because I was too busy thinking about what we’d done on that table), we’re heading to the elevator when Elliot’s phone buzzes.
He glances at it and frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Text from security. Someone’s been lingering outside the building all day. They think it might be-”
“Celine.”
“Yeah.”
I should feel scared. I should feel anxious about what she might be planning, what move she might make next.
Instead, I feel angry. Tired. Done with this woman and her pathetic attempts to ruin our happiness.
“Let’s go,” I say. “If she wants to confront us, let her. I’m not afraid of her.”
Elliot studies my face for a moment. Then he nods and presses the button for the elevator.
The doors open. We step inside. The doors close.
I’m not sure who moves first. One second we’re standing side by side like normal people, the next I’m pressed against the elevator wall with Elliot’s mouth on mine and his hands everywhere.
“We just-” I gasp between kisses. “In the conference room-”
“I know.” His mouth moves to my neck. “I can’t help it. You do something to me.”
“The elevator could stop-”
“It’s the executive elevator. Key card access only.” He bites down gently on my pulse point. “No one’s getting on without my permission.”