Chapter 17 #2
"I guess Hector isn’t much of a talker, I think he said maybe a grand total of five words to me all day. He did, however, have very strong opinions on my choice of radio station.” Ernesto stays quiet, just standing there breathing in and out keeping himself calm as I continue talking about my day.
“And Camilla told me all about the great macaroni art heist of 2024. Apparently, Arturo is a known klepto when it comes to kindergarten masterpieces. I don’t know why those teachers don’t do something about that kid."
As I ramble on, he moves to the desk and sinks into his leather chair, the springs groaning under his weight. Just listening, as he tilts his head back, and closes his eyes.
Still talking, I pour the steaming tea into a cup, the floral scent of chamomile rising in the air. When I turn to hand it to him, his eyes are open and fixed on my ass.
A giggle escapes me because, "Honestly, men. Your minds are always in the gutter."
His gaze lifts to meet mine, a flicker of something dark and familiar in them.
As I place the cup and saucer on the desk, his hand shoots out, but not for the tea, for my waist. Large hands travel down my hips, lower, lower, lower until his fingers brush the hem of my dress, then slide beneath the fabric, his palm hot against my skin.
Before I can protest being felt up, he turns me so that I’m fully facing him now.
He spreads his legs, creating a space for me between them and pulls me in by my thighs.
Both his hands are under my dress now, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
My whole body is shaking from how much his touch is turning me on.
Madre santa, if just his touch keeps me wired like this, I don’t think I’ll be able to survive when we actually have sex.
He pushes me forward, to the point my knees meet the hard edge of the chair and dig painfully into them. Ernesto pushes me so hard I fall forward, almost landing on his lap but I catch myself and brace my hands on his shoulders to keep my weight off of him.
"Ernesto, stop, I'm too heavy," I whisper, using my weight as a flimsy shield.
He doesn’t say anything about it, instead, his arms scoop under my ass and with an ease that is both shocking and deeply arousing, lifts me, dropping me in his lap.
I land with a soft thump, my body flush against his.
The hardness of his erection presses against me through our clothing–damn I don’t think I’ll get used to this any time soon.
His hands resume their exploration of my lower body under my clothes, sliding from my cheeks, to my thighs up to my hips, his fingers digging possessively into my curves.
"If what you really want is to distract me, Palomita" he murmurs, voice a low, a rough rumble against my ear, "then shut the hell up and put your mouth to better use."
The words are crude, demanding, but they send a thrill skittering down my spine.
An electrical sensation that sends an involuntary movement down my body making me shift my hips, and I grind against him.
A sharp hiss escapes his lips, just as my own gasp catches in my throat.
I look at him, searching for a sign, any sign telling me that what just happened was ok.
His eyes are dark, and his jaw is clenched tight, just as tight as his hands are on my hips.
I move again, slow and deliberate, making my hips move in a small circle testing to see how he will like it.
Ermesto’s face contorts with pained pleasure, his right hand traveling up to my back and holding me to him.
His own hips begin to move in a slow rhythm matching mine.
Oh god, if we keep moving like this I’ll be cumming all over his lap in seconds.
Fuck it, I quicken my movements, chasing my building pressure.
His left hand grips my ass firmly, painfully, halting my frantic pace. "Despacito, que prisa tienes, we’re not going anywhere," he growls. With his hands he guides my hips, setting a languid, torturous pace that has me looking up and when I close my eyes all I see is stars and streaks of light.
To be honest, dry humping my asshole husband in his office like some horny teenagers is almost comical.
Who am I kidding? There’s nothing dry about this situation right now because, since meeting this man, my damn pussy has been a broken faucet; all this fucker has to do is utter one word, and this bitch down here is gone-broken, wet with a capital W.
Ernesto looks down between our bodies and fixes his gaze where they come together, watching the movement of our hips grinding.
I lean forward, and take the risk of resting my forehead against the crook of his neck.
The skin there is hot and damp with sweat.
Weirdly, I have an urge to shoot out my tongue and lick the curve of his adams apple, so I do.
Even more weird, he allows it. His breaths mingle with mine, as our ragged pants are the only sound in the room.
Ernesto moves faster, harder, pushing me against him with a desperate, and brutal force almost to the point my pelvis is hurting each time it presses against him.
My hands are tangled in his hair, my body clinging to his and I don’t care because my body feels so hot and tight as my world dissolves into a white, hot haze of pure ecstasy down my body as my climax rips through me.
I dig my nails into his back and bite down on his shoulder in order to stop myself from making any loud noises, my body shuddering its release.
When the waves subside, I realize it takes me a few seconds to realize what I’ve done. In front of me is a red bite mark I left on Ernesto’s shoulder. I panic and pull back, away from him. His face is flushed, his lips slightly parted and he’s… grinning.
He pushes me off his lap and the feeling of rejection is jarring.
I stumble back, catching my balance on the edge of the desk.
I don’t understand what’s going on. We were both enjoying it so why the sudden change.
Ernesto hasn’t even finished either. But, guess he must be done with me tonight, so I turn to leave the room but his words stop me in my tracks.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Before I can answer him, I’m grabbed by the arm and harshly pulled down to my knees, back in front of him, behind the desk.
Oh. I get it now, he isn't finished and I know exactly what he wants.
The memory of the other night comes to my mind and this time, there is no hesitation.
My fingers find the zipper of his pants, sliding it down in a smooth, quick motion.
Pulling down his boxers, I reach into them and grab his hard cock, and slip it out.
I don’t wait for him to instruct me like last night.
Just as I learned, I lean forward, pressing my lips to the soft, velvety tip and giving it a tentative kiss.
A low hiss escapes his lips, and his head drops back against the chair.
That sound, the sign of his pleasure and relief, is intoxicating.
I give him another lick, and I get a little bolder this time because I take his entire head into my mouth.
My confidence grows with each groan coming out of this man.
I take as much of him as I can into my mouth, setting a rhythm that’s slow and deliberate.
His hand comes down to my head, and his fingers tangle in my hair, but the grip isn’t harsh.
He isn’t forcing me, he is guiding me, grinding his hips into my mouth in a rhythm that matches mine.
A strange sense of power floods me. I’m the one giving him this pleasure, making this powerful man come undone, and I’m really starting to enjoy it.
A sharp knock on the office door shatters the moment.
I jump, my teeth accidentally scraping against him. He lets out a sharp grunt, his hand tightening in my hair, but he doesn’t allow me to pull away.
"Get under the desk," he commands in a harsh whisper. I scoot under the desk as he pushes my head down, just as the door opens.
"Maldita sea Felipe, que quieres." Ernesto barely has time to scoot the chair forward to block me from any sight. Fortunately for me, the desk is massive, and I have enough room to move.
The space is dark and cramped. I hear Felipe’s steady, respectful voice as he begins his report—something about a shipment delay, a problem with a distributor in the south.
"Perdon patron, but the preliminary numbers from the campaign are exceeding projections, and the engagement is higher than we anticipated. The project manager needs urgent approval to increase the budget. You’re the only one who has the signature. The engagement is higher than we anticipated."
The entire time they speak, Ernesto’s hand remains in my hair.
Felipe must be standing far from the desk because Ernesto guides my head back to his cock and gently tugs me towards it.
I can feel a slight pressure from the tug of my hair as he moves my head up and down—a silent, relentless instruction.
My jaw is starting to ache, and my cheeks are sore, but I don’t stop–well, more like he doesn’t give me the chance to stop.
I can’t deny that the sheer danger of the situation is a potent aphrodisiac.
"I sent the signed paperwork, so handle it," Ernesto’s voice is strained, but steady. "I want a full report on my desk by morning. You can leave."
"Si, Patron."
The office door clicks shut, and once again, there’s silence in the office. Ernesto’s chair rolls back to where I can see him sitting in front of me. I’m still under the desk and on my knees.
"Crawl to me." His voice is a raw command.
Did this mother fucker just tell me to crawl?
The fuck do I look like, a dog? Oh, hell no.
I look at Ernesto, hoping to see him with his ‘gotcha’ face, but no such luck.
The man is dead serious. Let’s be real right now, I don’t think I have much of a choice anyway.
Per our contract, I cannot deny him. So, I take a deep breath, get on my hands and knees, and crawl to the motherfucker.
I move low and slow, hopefully I look as sexy as I can, sticking my ass up and out.
Once I reach him, I sit back on my heels between his legs.
He looks down at me, his eyes dark with a hunger that steals my breath.
"Good girl," he rasps. Ernesto grabs my hair and twists it in a firm grip. "Now, get back to it."
It doesn’t take long before his pace turns frantic, his hips thrust him so deeply into my throat that it's causing me to gag. They say there’s no rest for the wicked because this wicked asshole doesn’t even let me stop for a second to breathe.
Each time I gag, he just goes deeper. I’m one 100% sure this man is going to wake up with scars from how hard I’m scratching his arm trying to get him to let up a bit.
I know he’s about to finish because he’s pulling at me like there’s no tomorrow, but when I think he’s going to force his cum down my throat, he pulls me off of him.
My chest is heaving from how hard I'm trying to catch my breath, but my eyes are on Ernesto and how he’s stroking himself as he stares at my chest. Staying on my knees, I watch him as he shoots his hot, thick stream across my chest.
I’m breathless, my body humming with a strange mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration.
Ernesto reaches into his desk drawer, pulls out a box of tissues, and hands them to me.
I gather myself and stand up on shaky legs, leaning against his desk, and clean myself, the soft paper feeling rough against my sensitive skin.
As I wipe the last of him away, he starts talking as if I hadn’t just sucked him off while Felipe was in the room.
"The Dia de los Muertos event is in a few weeks. It's our first official appearance as a married couple. I expect you to be ready and to act in accordance with your role. Veronica will help you with what you need to wear."
I just nod since my voice is gone.
"The company is sponsoring the main celebration at Pershing Square this year. This is a major PR move on our behalf." He pauses, looking at me. "It needs to be perfect, which means you need to be perfect."
My mind reels from this whole scene, but a thought breaks through the haze—an opportunity.
"Is it okay if I invite my dad?"
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I think he’s going to say no, given it is a PR stunt, not some family reunion, or that he will remind me this is his world, not mine.
"I don't care who you invite," he says, his tone dismissive as he leans back in his chair, picking up the now lukewarm cup of tea. "Just make sure not to make a fool of yourself, remember your last name and what it represents."
With that, I turn and walk out of his office, my head held high. As the door clicks shut behind me, I hear the soft clink of him setting the teacup back on its saucer.
He drank the tea, and in this insane, twisted world I'm living in, it feels like a victory.