[Insider] Executive Privilege Ch 9 (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Hope everyone is doing well. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and flowed a lot easier than chapters past. Hopefully, that translates into being a fun read as well.

I have some weekend obligations to get through and then I'm jumping back into Newlyweds. I'll probably post a project update and/or another poll next week so be on the lookout for that as well.

Thanks to everyone who has reached out with pictures (check out the community thread if you haven't seen them), comments about character development, and everything else. If it's not obvious, I love chatting with you all and take your feedback very seriously, even if I don't always use it.

As always, this is an alpha version, so there will be mistakes and possible rewrites based on feedback. Can't wait to hear what you all think!

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"Ohhhh. Mmmph," Wendy tried to muffle her moans as Michael lapped eagerly at her swollen clit. She sat back in the leather chair, spreading her legs wide as her fingers dug into the thinning, salt-and-pepper hair.

This had become somewhat of a routine since Michael's promotion to VP just a few short days ago. She'd burned the IOU the moment she got home on Monday. That had all been an excuse, a lie she told herself while she chased the respect she rightfully deserved. They would meet in his old office, the one that Wendy hoped would soon be hers, while everyone was at lunch. The first time it happened, she told herself they were going to go over the Fireball numbers, he was going to mentor her into being a director. After that first day, she dropped all pretenses.

Today was no different. She would find herself in the chair, fantasizing about how she could use the new position to get some of her best ideas into the world—all while Michael was between her legs bringing her pleasure that no one who looked like that should be allowed to give her.

The ache low in her belly she got when she thought about these lunchtime encounters was about the intoxicating rush of power. The way Michael would kneel in front of her, seeing his hunger for what only she could give him. It certainly wasn't about the way his touch could set her body aflame, the way he seemed to know exactly how to...

"I'm close... oh God, don't stop. I'm almost there." She began grinding her hips into his face, rotating them in a circular motion that coated him with her juices. She closed her eyes, stifling another moan. Behind her closed eyes she could see the nameplate on the door shifting. Wendy Taylor - Director.

She could see herself leading meetings in the conference room, no longer disappearing against the wall, forgotten. Jenny would no longer look at her like she was some type of equal. The younger woman would look on in amazement, maybe tinged with the healthy fear that came from recognizing real authority.

"Please sign off on the Henderson campaign, Director Taylor." She could hear the deference in voices that had once dismissed her. Could feel the weight of decisions that would affect millions of dollars, hundreds of jobs.

"Ohh. Yes, yes. MMMPPHHH." Her breathing quickened as the fantasy deepened. Brian calling her into his office to congratulate her on yet another record-breaking deal. "That Coca-Cola contract, I don't know how you did it, but great work as always." Jack Peterson flying her first-class to presentations, introducing her as his strategic partner, not Michael's lapdog.

"Ahhhhh fuuuuck," her hips lifted off the chair, her heels hooking behind Michael's back as he brought her to orgasm. Her nails dug into his shoulders, pulling his face flush against her thighs as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her.

Michael rose from between her legs slowly, a smirk on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I think it's time for you to repay the favor. Don't you?"

Through half-lidded eyes, Wendy watched as he undid his belt, his sausage-like fingers fumbling on the button of his pants.

"Sorry, big guy," she teased, running her manicured nails up his thigh. "That's not really my thing, remember?" She gave him a wink before standing up on shaky legs.

"But if you behave yourself the rest of the day," she added before he could quip about past experiences, "then maybe I'll give you an extra special gift tonight after your party."

She smoothed out her dress, the red matched her lips perfectly. The fabric was silk. It was the kind of investment piece she'd justified as "professional development." The dress extended just past her knee, making it longer than most of the women in the office, but still shorter than she was used to. Three short months ago, she would have paired it with a cardigan, worried about drawing the wrong kind of attention. Now she appreciated the low cut of the dress—how she could use it as a way to grab attention before wowing people with her brilliance.

Her hand stopped on the knob of the door, expecting Michael to say something that would remind her of her place, but instead, when she turned around, he was chewing on his bottom lip, already fastening his belt.

She really did have all the power.

***

"Wow, that's the fourth time this week," Jon marveled, letting out a satisfied sigh as he tossed the used condom into the wastebasket next to the bed. "I'm not sure what's gotten into you, but I'm loving it." He kissed Wendy on the cheek before reaching for his boxers at the foot of the bed.

The familiar four count played in Wendy's head as she spun her ring unconsciously. If she was going to open this door with Michael, the least she could do was throw herself into Jon completely. She owed him that much. The scale had to balance somehow.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said, and she meant it. "But now my hair's a mess, and we're going to be late." She glanced at the clock on the wall, half-considering skipping the event entirely. But she knew that wasn’t really an option. Now that she was out of the shadows, she needed to stay visible. Michael had told her that, to make the promotion to Director feel less abrupt, she needed to stay at the front of Brian's mind. That meant speaking up at every meeting, cc’ing him on every client email. Brian would certainly be at the party tonight, which meant Wendy would be too.

"I'm going to hop in the shower real quick and wash off," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I laid your khakis and red button-down out on the dresser."

"You didn't have to do that." It had been ages since she'd laid out clothes for him.

"I know, but I enjoy seeing you happy." She gave his hand a quick kiss before rising from the bed and letting him watch her naked form disappear behind the bathroom door.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, her hair dripping onto her shoulders, a white cotton towel wrapped snugly around her body. Jon was in the closet, khakis already on, reaching for his dress shirt.

"We're going to be so late," Wendy sighed, a touch of panic rising in her voice as she crossed to her closet.

"I'm sure no one will notice. These things start late the majority of the time, anyway." He stepped out of the closet, fingers working the bottom buttons of his shirt.

No one will notice, not exactly the words any woman wanted to hear. She pulled the Luxe cover out from the back of the closet, a fire already building inside her. She'd stopped yesterday on her way home from work and picked out a dress. Not being noticed wasn’t going to be a problem tonight.

"I’ve been meaning to ask you," Jon said, standing in front of the mirror. "I’ve been thinking about applying for the open director position."

Wendy’s fingers froze on the knot of the towel. "Director position?"

"Michael's old role." Jon was buttoning the last button on his shirt. "Marcus had been grooming me for something like this before... well, before everything happened. I'm the most senior account manager now, and despite Michael's dislike of me, I think I'm the most qualified for the job." He smiled at himself in the mirror. "Plus, the pay bump will be nice. We’ll finally be able to do that bathroom remodel you’ve always wanted."

Ice ran through Wendy’s veins, and for a second she forgot how to breathe. That was her promotion. Her opportunity. She hadn’t even considered that Jon may want it too.

"That's..." She finally found her voice. "That's great, honey."

"I know it’s a long shot." Jon flattened his hair with his palms. "But I’ve been looking at the numbers, and I’m part of almost forty percent of the company’s projects. I think I could make a case." He turned to her, that boyish enthusiasm that had first drawn her to him now twisting like a knife. "You’ve been working so closely with Michael lately. I was hoping you’d put in a good word for me. I know how much he values your opinion."

Her hands glided across the soft fabric of the towel. She thought she might hyperventilate.

One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

How could she have been so short-sighted? How had she not realized Jon would want the role too? And now he expected her to bring it up to Michael.

She closed her eyes, imagining Michael between her legs, casually asking him to consider Jon for the promotion while he brought her to climax. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it.

"I... of course I'll mention it." She could tell Michael that Jon was interested. She couldn't risk another lie, not when the house of cards felt so precarious already. There was no harm in simply passing along Jon's interest, was there? The only question was when to bring it up, and the electric thrill that shot through her at the thought of that meeting was something she chose to ignore entirely.

Jon's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Really? You're a lifesaver." He abandoned his hair and walked over to the closet, kissing her forehead. "I knew you'd support me in this."

His words were like a gut-punch. Would her taking the position mean she wasn't supporting him? Would he be just as supportive as she was?

"Can I ask you something?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Do you think I'd make a good director?"

Jon paused, halfway back to the mirror. His brow furrowed, her head tilted slightly, not the look of encouragement she'd hoped for.

"Someday, absolutely," he said, a smile tugging on his lips, like he was proud of how "supportive" he was in that moment. "You've got incredible instincts, and you've done amazing work on Fireball. But..."

Now it was Wendy's turn to tilt her head, her eyebrows arching.

"You just got promoted. Director-level responsibilities..." He shook his head dismissively, like he was doing her a favor. "It's not just about one successful campaign, no matter how great it is. You're talking about budget oversight, personnel management, strategic planning across multiple accounts. You're not prepared for what that job entails."

Her mouth fell open. You're not prepared. As if everything she'd accomplished meant nothing. As if months of late nights, rock-solid campaigns, and a very happy client were just lucky accidents. So much for supporting each other.

"I see."

"Hey." Jon's eyes found hers in the mirror. "I'm not saying you won't be ready someday. In a few years, with more experience..." He smiled warmly, a warmth that felt ice-cold to Wendy, "But right now, you'd be in over your head."

In over your head. The phrase seared through her mind like a brand as she turned back toward the dress. This from the man who'd never stepped foot in a boardroom where every eye was calculating whether you were worth listening to or just worth fucking. Who'd never had to weaponize his own attractiveness while simultaneously fighting to be seen as more than a pretty face. Who'd never had to master the art of using every advantage at his disposal, turning what others saw as weakness into the very source of his power.

Jon lived in his pristine world of numbers and projections, where everything could be quantified and predicted. He couldn't comprehend the kind of strategy she'd had to use just to get where she is, the tightrope she'd been walking, the careful choreography of demanding respect from men who undressed her with their eyes before she even opened her mouth.

Strategic thinking? He had no idea what strategy looked like when the playing field was rigged against you from the moment you walked through the door.

"You're probably right," she said, blinking back tears as she tried to control the emotion in her voice. "I should focus on excelling in my current role, make people see my value." She never thought Jon would be the "people" she was referring to.

"Exactly." Jon's relief was audible. He'd dodged a bullet. "Besides, if I get the position, we'd be working even more closely together. I'd be your boss." His laugh held no malice, just innocent pleasure at the prospect. "I could finally give you all the recognition you deserve."

Recognition you deserve. The patronizing undertone made her hand shake against the hangers. She deserved recognition now, not as a favor from her husband's hypothetical promotion.

She nodded, forcing the movement to appear natural. Time to move past this. They were already running late, and she couldn't afford to unravel now. Her towel dropped to the floor, out of Jon's eyesight, and the soft crackle of tissue paper as she freed her dress from its wrapping was nearly drowned by the white-hot fury roaring in her ears.

The dress was like none she’d ever owned. The gold sequins shimmered in the light. It wasn’t as revealing as the one she’d worn in New Orleans, but it was more than enough to make every head turn the moment she walked through the door.

She slipped it over her head, feeling the cool silk cascade down her body like water. The fit was perfect, like it was tailor-made just for her. The neckline formed a deep V that showcased her chest without venturing into scandalous territory. The hemline landed just above her knee, a length she was slowly getting used to.

But it was the back that made the dress truly unforgettable. A series of delicate gold chains crisscrossed her bare skin, trailing all the way to her hips. A bra was simply out of the question.

She fastened the clasp at her neck, watching her reflection transform. Looked like Gold-Dress Wendy was making an appearance tonight. The thought alone sent goosebumps racing across her skin.

When she appeared from the closet, Jon's reaction was exactly what she'd hoped for. His lips parted slightly, his eyes traveling over her body, taking in every inch of her perfection. "How do I look?" she teased, bending forward to grab her four-inch heels. His gaze fixed on her chest, his khakis growing tighter around his thighs.

"Wow. You look..." He swallowed hard, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Glad you approve," she said, licking her lips seductively as she stood back up slowly. Perhaps it was him that was in over his head. "Just need to put on some light makeup and do my hair and we can go."

She turned her gaze to the mirror, smiling at the woman in front of her. She had a party to attend.

***

Conversation and light jazz music poured out of the Marriott’s grand ballroom as Wendy and Jon approached the large glass doors. A knot formed in Wendy’s stomach, one she couldn’t quite describe. She took a deep breath to steady herself before swinging the doors open.

As Jon had predicted, the formal part of the evening hadn’t started yet. People were still milling around, snacking on appetizers, and trying to be noticed. A smile formed on Wendy’s lips. She’d have no trouble with that part.

The click of Wendy's heels as she descended the few marble steps into the main room might as well have been trumpets announcing her arrival. The gold sequins of her dress seemed to catch every light source, sending tiny sparkles around the room like a disco ball. The effect was exactly what she'd hoped for. Entire conversations paused mid-sentence, heads turned, and she could feel the weight of dozens of gazes watching her every move.

Fragments of conversations drifted past her, making her stand a little taller with each step. Words like "stunning," "captivating," and "gorgeous" filled her with pride as she smiled at a few of the junior associates gawking at her.

Jon’s fingers curled around the small of her back, the skin-on-skin contact sending fire shooting through her body. “Everyone is staring,” he whispered, a slight tremble in his hand.

“Good.”

“I... I thought you hated being the center of attention? Especially when it came to your looks?”

The fire in her veins cooled, embarrassment crashing over her. They’d barely made it ten feet into the room, and already Jon was killing her mood. But he was right, wasn’t he? When had she become this person? The one starved for attention.

She opened her mouth to respond, maybe even to tell him he was right and that they should leave. But before any words came out, Michael materialized beside them with two champagne flutes in hand.

The suit he wore looked expensive, custom-made just for him. For a brief second, he almost didn’t look half bad. His suit jacket hid his bulk well, and his hair was styled in a way that made him look put together. Like a vice president.

But as he neared, Wendy noticed the subtle signs of the real Michael. Breadcrumbs littered his lap, there was a mustard stain on his shirt, and something dark—chocolate, perhaps?—was smeared across his chin.

"Wendy." His eyes swept over her dress with undisguised appreciation, lingering on the plunging neckline before meeting her gaze. "You look absolutely magnificent tonight. Damn shame Jack Peterson isn't here to see this. We both know how much he... appreciates gold." He saw the way her posture straightened, how her chin lifted with renewed confidence. "Maybe we should send him a picture, remind him of what he's missing."

Heat crept up her neck, as she saw the perplexed look on Jon's face. Michael was already fishing his phone from his front pocket before she realized he was serious.

"Jon, be a good sport and take our picture." He thrust his phone into Jon's chest before he could respond, then moved to position himself beside Wendy. His hand settled on her lower back, and where Jon's touch had felt like fire, Michael's was molten lava flooding her system. Every nerve ending sparked to life under his palm.

As Jon fumbled with the phone, trying to frame the shot, Wendy, without thinking, reached up to brush away the chocolate still smeared on Michael's chin.

Michael's free hand caught her wrist mid-motion. His eyes locked with hers, making it suddenly feel entirely too hot in the room. "What would I do without you?" he whispered, sending electricity through her chest.

Jon cleared his throat, cutting through the shared moment, a tightness forming in his chest. "Should I... are you ready?" He held the camera up.

"Of course," Michael said with a grin, releasing her wrist while his other hand pulled her closer to him. "I'd tell you to get her good side, but we both know she doesn't have a bad one."

Jon snapped a couple of pictures from different angles, still trying to process what he'd just witnessed. He didn't want to cause a scene, especially not when he'd just asked Wendy to put in a good word for him with Michael. But something about the whole interaction made him uneasy. Sure, Michael was just being his normal creepy self, but Wendy...

Jon studied the images on screen. In the first picture, Wendy was looking at Michael, not the camera. The way she wiped chocolate from his chin, the chemistry that seemed to run through them when Michael grabbed her wrist. The rational part of his mind dismissed it as professional camaraderie, but the image unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite articulate.

"Can I have my phone back?" Michael's deep voice broke through his thoughts.

Jon handed it over, forcing a smile. He needed to set up another appointment with Dr. Carson.

"Oh, we're taking pictures? I want one!" A voice rang out from behind them just as Jon had given Michael back his phone and Wendy shifted back toward her husband.

They turned to find Jenny approaching, and Wendy had to admit the younger woman looked good. She looked trendy, dressed more like an Instagram model than someone in a professional setting.

Her outfit was technically appropriate, though barely. A high-waisted skirt hugged her hips and stopped at the knee, but a high slit ran up one thigh, flashing her flawless skin with every step. Her top was cropped and barely thicker than lingerie. It clung to her chest and left a sliver of toned stomach exposed. A look Wendy could no longer pull off. Nude heels added a few inches, but still left her shorter than Wendy.

As Jenny approached, Wendy noticed how Jon's attention shifted. It wasn't anything obvious, but she knew him well enough to recognize the signs. She watched as his eyes tracked the sway of Jenny's hips, the way he forgot to breathe for just a split second. Even after all the attention she'd given him this week—all the effort that had gone into transforming into Gold Dress Wendy—her husband's gaze still drifted to another woman.

"Jenny," Michael beamed, looking over her body without an ounce of shame. "Don't you look youthful tonight."

Youthful Wendy rolled her eyes. That was just another word for slutty.

"Thank you!" Jenny's smile was genuine. It was like she couldn't see the way Michael was undressing her with his eyes at all. "I was just chatting with the other associates about how helpful you've been with getting me up to speed." Her gaze flickered to Wendy. "And Wendy too. You've both helped me so much. I can't wait to get to work more closely with the two of you."

There it was, the subtle positioning. Jenny making sure everyone knew how excited she was to be here. How she couldn’t wait to work more closely with Michael. The comment was innocent enough, but Wendy caught the underlying message: I want what you have.

“Thanks. You’re certainly... eager.” She saw the surprised look Jon gave her, the way Jenny’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. “Which is exactly the type of spirit we’re looking for on our projects,” she added, realizing she’d come across too harsh.

Michael checked his watch with exaggerated importance. “As much as I love being sandwiched between two beautiful women...”

Jenny giggled and touched his arm. Wendy almost gagged. It sounded so fake.

“I need to prepare for my speech.” His fingers brushed the small of Wendy’s back. “Catch up with me after. We need to discuss expectations.”

The lava had made its way to Wendy’s core, and she could only nod. Michael didn’t even glance in Jenny’s direction as he walked off. She wasn’t even a blip on his radar, not with how focused he was on Wendy.

Meanwhile, Jon was already leaning toward Jenny, whispering something that made her laugh.

As Michael disappeared into the crowd, Wendy turned back to see Jenny and Jon both staring at her. "I admire you, Wendy," Jenny started with her perfect smile. "The way you're able to keep up with Michael so effortlessly. The way you still find time for work-life balance. Jon was just telling me the story about how you two met. I would have never pictured you the type to frequent the casino."

Something about the way she said it, the way she smiled and acted like she was best friends with Jon made Wendy's skin crawl. She could feel herself about to lose control, about to say something that would shatter all the progress she'd made for her career over the last few months.

"Well," she started, raising her eyebrow. "There's a lot about me you don't know. It's actually really freakin' exhausting." She balled her hands into a fist, but was unable to reach her ring.

Jenny's eyes went wide. "Oh, I didn't mean..."

"Wendy..." Jon had an equally surprised look on his face. "She was paying you a compliment."

Of course he was taking her side. He thinks he can handle something like being the director, but he can't even tell when someone like Jenny was playing him. And what kind of husband doesn't take his wife's side? She was spiraling fast. She felt that familiar knot of frustration tightening in her chest.

"Right, sorry," she said, forcing a tight smile. "I'm going to get a drink."

She turned away from both of them. It was best to not make a scene. Behind her, she could hear Jon's quiet explanation to Jenny, probably apologizing for his wife's "sensitivity," too naive to understand how underhanded Jenny was being.

Time for something stronger than champagne.

***

"Shot of Fireball, with a Coke back," Wendy said to the bartender as she leaned over the bar. She rolled her eyes as his gaze fixed on her exposed chest.

She relished the burn as she took the shot, ordering another one with the wave of a finger. She waited until she felt the fire deep in her belly before she grabbed the Coke. She needed the burn.

"Wendy."

She turned to find Brian approaching, a warm smile on his face. He'd always been pleasant to her, always had nice things to say. But still, when the CEO engages you in conversation, you can't help but get a little nervous.

"Brian." She straightened, muscle memory from countless presentations kicking in. "Beautiful event you've put together."

"Thanks. Everything was so last minute, I wasn't sure if we'd pull it off." He gestured to the bartender and ordered a whiskey. His expression turned somber, remembering the events that led them here. Then he turned his attention fully to Wendy, smiling, "Just got off a call with Jack Peterson. Seems our Nashville launch exceeded his every expectation."

Wendy's eyes sparkled. She'd spent countless hours this week ensuring every event in Nashville would go off without a hitch—last-minute phone calls with venues, marketing changes at the eleventh hour. Whenever she'd sensed the winds changing, she pivoted.

"And your decision to shift to Memphis yesterday instead of following the original plan and launching in New Orleans..."

Wendy held her breath. That decision was her most risky yet, one that not even Michael agreed with. He thought it was too risky, too reactive. But of course she had ways to make Michael see her reasoning.

"What made you change your mind?" Brian sipped his whiskey slowly, his expression unreadable.

"That opening band from the stadium show. Chase... something," she said, reaching for her ring. "The last song they played got a massive reaction. Every social media platform exploded with clips of it. They went viral before the show even ended." She watched his face carefully. "A moment like that, I knew they'd be hot for at least a couple of weeks. I checked their tour schedule."

"Brilliant," Brian whispered, truly impressed. "Jack said you called it a game-time decision when you pitched it. Said he'd never seen someone so passionate before." He gave her an approving nod before downing the rest of his drink. "He wants you on every future project his company does with us."

Wendy's breath caught. "Future projects?" Her skin tingled with excitement.

"That's right." Brian couldn't hide the smile on his face any longer. "You, Wendy Taylor, just secured this company's future for a very long time. Well done."

"I just... I saw the opportunity," she managed, her pulse quickening with the magnitude of what Brian was telling her. Jack Peterson wanted her specifically. Future projects. The validation she'd craved for years finally materializing in ways that exceeded even her boldest fantasies.

"Well, keep up the great work." A new glass of bourbon sat in front of him, and he raised his glass to her. "Preliminary reports suggest the Memphis strategy will provide twenty-three percent more revenue than what New Orleans would have brought. Hell of a game-time decision."

He moved away into the crowd, leaving Wendy's head swirling. Twenty-three percent. Jack Peterson already requesting future work. She ordered another shot, her earlier anxiety completely melting away.

"Hey."

Jon's voice, soft and concerned, made her turn. He stood a few feet away, his boyish features creased with worry.

"Hey yourself." She tipped her head back, letting the Fireball burn away the anxiety.

"Are you okay?" He stepped closer. "What happened back there with Jenny? These last few weeks you haven't seemed like yourself. You seemed... stressed."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she pushed them back with a deep breath. He was right, she was stressed, but not for the same reasons he thought. The weight of living this double life was consuming her, suffocating her with every decision she made. She hated the lies. Hated seeing that crease form between Jon's eyebrows when he tried to solve what was wrong with her. But Brian's praise burned hotter than the Fireball. Jack Peterson wanted her specifically. Her decisions had secured millions in revenue. How could she tell Jon that the very thing eating her alive was also the first time she'd ever felt truly powerful? That Michael hadn't taught her to want more—he'd just shown her how good it felt to finally take it?

"It's just..." She searched for words, unable to lie. "Everything's been so intense lately. The pressure, the expectations. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning."

Jon's expression softened with understanding. "I know the feeling. These past few months have been crazy for both of us." He moved closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne. "You've been carrying so much weight with the Fireball account."

She nodded, grateful he was giving her an out.

"That's why I think me taking the director role will make so much sense," Jon continued, unable to see the way her pupils dilated. "I could help you balance things better. Take some of the pressure off." His eyes brightened with the possibility, while hers burned with rage. "You wouldn't have to stress about so much of the administrative stuff. I could handle the budget oversight, the personnel management, all those headaches that take you away from the creative work you're so good at."

Wendy's stomach dropped. Even his attempt at support felt patronizing, as if her struggles were simply a matter of being overwhelmed rather than what they actually were.

"That's sweet of you," she managed, meaning the sentiment if not agreeing with the solution.

"I really think it could work." His enthusiasm was building now, the way it does when he solves logical problems. "We'd be the perfect team. We could revolutionize how the company approaches major accounts."

Revolutionize. Like the way she had just done with Fireball? All by herself.

"It would be amazing," she said, because what else could she say?

Jon reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. She squeezed them affectionately. He was trying, she could see that. He recognized something was wrong with her, and offered a solution. Even if she didn't agree with the solution—even if she thought it was patronizing—at least he was trying.

"Are we good?" he asked.

"We're good." She squeezed back, anchoring herself in the warmth of his palm against hers.

Around them, conversations began shifting toward the small stage area where a microphone stood waiting. The formal part of the evening was beginning, and with it, whatever Michael had planned for his moment in the spotlight.

"Come on," Jon said, tugging gently at her hand. "Sounds like they're getting ready for the speeches."

She let him lead her back toward the small row of tables, their fingers linked, moving through the crowd together. Jon was her anchor in every storm, steady and reliable, always there to pull her back to safety. But lately the swells were rising, the pull beneath her feet growing stronger. Each lunch with Michael, each lie by omission, each moment she chose the intoxicating burn of power over honesty dragged her farther from shore. Somewhere between Michael’s office and Brian’s praise, between the taste of Fireball and the promise of bigger projects, Wendy began to wonder how much strain that anchor could take before the chain snapped and everything she’d built with Jon went under.

***

Brian took the stage first, thanking everyone for attending and reiterating how sorry he was that it was under these circumstances. He spoke about family, loyalty, and respect, all tenets of what Buckeye Branding stood for, before formally announcing Michael as the company's new Vice President and welcoming him onto the stage.

The lights dimmed as Michael took his spot on the small stage, making Brian turn sideways in order to move past him. The applause was thunderous, and Wendy found herself leaning forward in her chair, drawn by what Michael may have to say.

"Thank you, Brian," he started, looking out over the crowd like a king. "Just a few short months ago, life at Buckeye Branding was very different. We had smaller accounts, and while we did more than enough business to keep the lights on, we weren't exactly swimming with the big fish."

He looked around the room, locking eyes with Wendy. "We had a leader who was more concerned about his... personal relationships than that of the partnerships we were building." Behind him, Brian fidgeted nervously. He had told Michael he didn't want to dwell on Marcus and Ava. He needed to make this quick.

"All of that changes today." Polite applause rippled through the audience. "We are now partnered with one of the largest whiskey brands in the nation. A company that just today has all but guaranteed additional long-term partnerships." Wendy's pulse quickened; he was talking about her success.

"This success didn't happen by accident. It happened because we have team members who refuse to settle for good enough—who see opportunity where others see risk." His smile widened as his gaze found Wendy's. "We've learned that success requires leaders who understand priorities and recognize talent regardless of... previous assumptions."

Wendy felt herself blush under his deliberate stare.

"Professionals like Wendy Taylor, whose strategic instincts and unwavering commitment to excellence turned what could have been our biggest failure into our greatest triumph."

Jon's hand found her thigh, squeezing gently as heat flooded Wendy's chest. She felt the weight of dozens of gazes, the murmured appreciation of colleagues who finally saw her as more than Jon's wife or the former model.

"I had the privilege of witnessing this firsthand during our trip to New Orleans," Michael continued, his gaze holding hers. "Watching Wendy in action, seeing that fire in her eyes when she really wanted something..." He let the pause stretch just long enough to make her pulse quicken. "The way she went after it—relentless, uncaring—until she had exactly what she asked for."

Molten heat shot through Wendy's core as the double meaning hit her. Her face flared crimson as images flashed through her mind. The way she kneeled before him in his hotel room, the way her body responded when she saw his size, the sheer amount of... She forced her breathing steady, scanning the shadowed room to make sure no one else caught the true weight of his words.

"Relax," Jon said, squeezing her knee. "You deserve every bit of this recognition. Michael's right, you've worked so hard for this moment."

Wendy managed a nod, not trusting her voice as Michael watched her from the stage.

"That level of dedication, that willingness to do whatever it takes. That's what I expect from each and every one of you as we work to be the biggest marketing company in the great state of Ohio." Cheers erupted from around the room as Michael gave a small nod and turned to head off stage.

As the crowd began to disperse, Michael made his way down from the stage, accepting congratulations and handshakes. When he reached their table, Jon stood immediately.

"Great speech, Michael. Well-deserved promotion."

"Thank you, Jon. I appreciate the support." Michael's handshake was firm, professional. "It's been great of you to lend me your wife during all of this. I wouldn't be here without her."

Wendy shot up beside her husband, still struggling to compose herself after Michael's loaded words. Her legs felt unsteady, her pulse refusing to slow.

"I um... yeah of course," Jon said, confused by Michael's wording. "She's pretty great."

"She's actually phenomenal. And also standing right here, thank you very much," Wendy said, finding her voice in an attempt to put a stop to whatever it was Michael was trying to do.

Jon let out a nervous laugh before turning it into a yawn and checking his watch.

"I can get a car home if you want to call it an early night," Wendy said, running her hand through Jon's hair. "I know you have that run early tomorrow morning."

"You sure?" Jon hesitated, looking back at Michael. Something felt off, but he attributed it to the night he'd had. "I could stay a bit longer."

"No point in both of us being exhausted." She squeezed his hand, then leaned in close to ensure Michael couldn't hear her whisper. "It will give me a chance to put in that good word for you."

Jon's fears melted away; he was just being paranoid. "Congrats again on the promotion," he said, reaching out and shaking Michael's hand. Then he kissed Wendy's cheek. "Don't leave me waiting too long," he said before turning to walk away.

"Me either," Michael said with a chuckle, causing Wendy to spin around just as he dropped a keycard into her purse. "After all, I think I've been well behaved."

Wendy's face went white as she watched Michael's retreating figure interject himself into another conversation. She'd nearly forgotten about the promise she'd made earlier today at lunch. He'd been pleasuring her all week while she sat in the empty director's chair fantasizing about what the future would hold. Now he expected reciprocation.

She moved toward the bar, trying to escape the thought. The bartender had another shot of Fireball waiting before she even arrived. She set her purse down, the keycard visible against the dark leather, taunting her.

The excuse formed automatically. She could go upstairs to discuss Jon's promotion, a perfectly legitimate business meeting. But it crumbled immediately. She wasn't going up there for Jon's career. She was going because those lunch sessions had revealed something darker in herself. Because his hunger made her feel powerful; it had awakened something insatiable in her.

The liquid courage only added to her anxiety as she weighed her decision. She glanced around the ballroom; it seemed larger now that people were leaving. There were still enough stragglers that her lingering wouldn't raise suspicion. Michael was gone, probably already waiting in his room. She pulled out her phone, her lifeline, pulling up the Uber app as she considered all the reasons she should leave.

But safety wasn't what made her blood sing. Safety didn't give her the rush she'd felt when Michael dropped to his knees in front of her, when she'd controlled every moment of his pleasure.

Her feet carried her toward the elevator bank before her mind fully committed. When the brass doors slid open, her reflection stared back from the polished interior. Gone was the newly promoted account manager who'd arrived earlier that evening on Jon's arm. This was someone else. Someone who wanted more and knew exactly how to get it. Gold sequins caught the light as they swirled around the elevator like a nightclub, her dress dipping lower on her chest than she'd ever dared.

Gold Dress Wendy smiled at her reflection as the elevator began its ascent.

Time to show Michael exactly who held the real power.

***

Room 847 was the topmost floor of the Marriott. Wendy stood in front of the door, the keycard trembling in her hand. The hallway was empty in both directions, but Wendy still looked over her shoulders before holding the card up to the magnetic lock. The soft click as it disengaged took her breath away.

Wendy pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to see Ava and Marcus standing there, judging her. Instead, it was Michael whom she saw. He was standing in front of the window, unfazed by someone walking into his room. She took a cautious step forward, allowing the door to quickly shut behind her.

"You sure took your time," he said, not bothering to turn around. He'd taken off his suit jacket and tie. The cuffs of his dress shirt were rolled up. The city sprawled beneath him, making him seem even larger. From this angle, he certainly looked every bit an executive.

"I wasn't sure I was even coming." Wendy took another step inside. She expected to feel nervous, anxious. Instead, there was a confidence in the way she held herself.

"I never had any doubt." He turned, the moonlight cutting across his face, stripping away the executive veneer. In this light, he looked more ogre than man. His shirt sagged untucked over the swell of his stomach, the fabric pulling where the buttons strained. The roundness of his face seemed exaggerated in the pale light, jowls soft and loose beneath his jaw.

Wendy averted her eyes, taking in the surroundings of the room instead. There was a single king-sized bed against the wall and a chair in the corner covered in clothes and empty bags of potato chips. "If you're going to be an asshole, I can still leave."

Michael laughed, stepping out of the moonlight and closing the distance between them. "God, I hope you never lose that fire." His eyes studied her, making no apologies for the way he spoke to her.

"Actually..." She ran her palms against the front of her dress. "I'm here for Jon." She closed her eyes, cursing herself for even muttering the words.

Michael halted mid-step, head tilting as if she’d just said something amusing. In two strides he was behind her, the heat of his presence brushing her exposed back. His eyes traced the length of her spine to the curve of her ass. “Really? Well, that tracks. He’s always had that… cuck energy.”

"What? No, not like that. Jesus, Michael." She rounded the table in the center of the room, keeping her distance from him as she approached the window. "He... he wanted me to put in a good word for him. About the director position."

Michael’s expression shifted; it seemed Wendy was full of surprises tonight. For a moment, he said nothing, he just watched her look out the window at the world beneath them. Slowly, he crossed the room toward her, stopping just behind her without actually touching her. Far below, the people looked small enough to crush with a fingertip.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost soothing. "I didn't picture you as the type to settle."

'Settle' she hated that word. Her entire career she'd heard some variation of that, all said in a way to try to hold her back. Be grateful for what you have. Don't reach too high. Know your place. Was that really what she was doing, or was Ava right all along? Was Michael manipulating her?

His hands came to rest on her shoulders. While expected, there was a tenderness that she hadn't accounted for, a warmth that shot through her body. “If you’d rather I give the promotion to him than to you, then just say the word.” He leaned in, his voice soft. "You're the boss".

Why was it so easy for Michael to give her control, to let her make her own decisions. But with Jon, it was like pulling teeth, like nothing she did could possibly be good enough to warrant the next step.

But his hands were so warm, and the way he looked at her through the glass... like she was capable of anything.

His palms slid slowly down her arms, fingertips grazing her skin. Sparks seemed to leap between them at every point of contact. “There’s a reason people like us are up here, looking down on the rest of the world. Most people spend their entire lives down there… wishing for just one shot at this kind of power.”

People like us. Michael actually believed they were cut from the same cloth. He saw her willingness to play his game and thought she was just another predator in a pretty package. But the Memphis pivot proved he was wrong. She was doing what she needed to do to even the playing field, to get what she had earned. He was the one taking advantage, using underhanded tactics. The view from here may be the same, but how they got here couldn't be more different.

She pressed her palm against the cool glass, imagining herself in an office like this. Corner suite, executive wing, the kind of woman kids aspired to be like.

His touch shifted, hands curving over her hips, his fingertips inches from the swell of her ass. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, could smell the faint burn of liquor on it. “You've had a taste of that life. Do you really want to give all of that away?”

"I..." Wendy held her breath, not because she didn’t know what she wanted, but because she was afraid to say it out loud. As much as God Dress Wendy wanted to take over, the old Wendy still clung to her last strand of dignity.

"I want to be a good wife to Jon," she whispered, her voice catching on the confession. "But..."

"But what?" In the reflection of the window, Wendy caught the smirk on his face and the predator-like gaze in his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she hated more, what she was about to say or that he already knew she would say it.

"I want what I’ve earned." The words came out stronger than she’d intended.

Michael’s hands shifted, fingers splaying across her ass, even as his voice took on that familiar mentoring tone that had guided her. "You know what Jon doesn’t understand? The real cost of being director. The weight of it." His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "He thinks he’s protecting you with all that talk about you not being ready, but he’s actually stunting your growth."

She found herself nodding, unconsciously agreeing to everything Michael was saying. He was right. Jon was already talking about taking away some of her responsibility, all under the guise of helping her.

"You'd be doing him a favor by taking this position," Michael continued, his hands digging deeper into the soft flesh of her ass. "Think about it. Could Jon handle people like Jack Peterson? The pressure, the constant decision-making... the politics?" His voice dropped lower. "He would have never made that Memphis call. Too afraid of the risk, too focused on the numbers to see the real opportunity."

A warmth engulfed Wendy, burning hotter with each word Michael uttered.

"He'd be in over his head," Michael whispered, and the familiar phrase sent fireworks through her system. "Stressed to no end. Is that really what you want for the man you love?"

The logic was intoxicating, wrapping around her guilt and transforming it into something that felt almost noble. The warmth burned hotter, brighter. Michael was right. Jon wouldn't just hold her back. He would fail, miserably.

Her breathing quickened, hips betraying her as they rolled instinctively in Michael's hands. "I made Jack see our vision. I made the Memphis call that resulted in a twenty-three percent profit increase." Each word came faster now, years of suppressed frustration pouring out. Her body pressed against Michael's hands, seeking more of his gratifying touch. "He thinks I need more experience? I have all of the experience."

"That's right." His voice was like gasoline. "You're the one Jack Peterson specifically requested. You're the one who saw the opportunity everyone else missed."

"I deserve that promotion." Her body exploded, the heat consuming her. "Not because of how I look. Not because someone's doing me a favor. Because I earned it."

"Yes." His hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts. "There she is."

She turned in his arms, her back now against the window, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. The city lights created a halo behind her, making her look ethereal, untouchable.

"Good," Michael said with a grin. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way..." his hands came to rest on her shoulders, applying steady pressure. "I believe you made me a promise at lunch today."

"Well," Wendy bit her lip, a hint of seduction in her voice. "I suppose you have been a good boy." She sank to her knees without much resistance, looking up at Michael through her lashes so as not to break eye contact.

She let her hands rest on his thighs as he slipped the straps of her dress down her arms. "You know, I wasn't kidding when I said I never do this."

"Sounds like Jon needs a lesson in being more assertive," Michael said, moving his hands to his belt to unfasten it. His large gut lifted in the process, giving Wendy an unobstructed view of the outline of his manhood. "Maybe you can show him a thing or two when you become his boss."

A soft, unexpected moan escaped Wendy's lips. She wasn't sure if it was from the talk of promotion, the suggestion that Jon should be more aggressive, or the way Michael's cock continued to expand after he unbuttoned his pants.

"So, when are you going to announce it?" she asked, feeling her dress slip past her elbows and fall off her chest. She saw his eyes go dark, he wasn't expecting that question, not now, not with her...

"Take it out," Michael demanded, ignoring her question and turning the tables.

Her heart hammered against her exposed chest, her nipples hard despite the warmth coursing through her body. She sucked on her lower lip, still unsure why her body was reacting the way it was, even while unzipping him.

"Someone's excited," she teased, reaching into his slacks, her soft hands running along his shaft.

"Indeed, somebody is," he taunted, reaching out and pinching her diamond-hard nipple.

"Ahhhh." The rough treatment made the heat radiating from between her legs magnify. Her fingers curled around his shaft, unable to make her fingers meet.

"Jon doesn't treat you like this, does he?" Michael tweaked her nipple again, eliciting another soft moan. "He's too gentle, too timid. He has no idea how to really get you going."

Her grip tightened, making Michael cry out. "Careful, big boy. You seem to have forgotten who is in control here." She loosened her grip, stroking him slowly. "If you don't want me getting up and leaving then I suggest you keep my husband out of it."

Michael's eyes darkened as Wendy's strokes sped up. "Of course." He released her nipple, allowing his fingers to slide through her hair. "Director Taylor. Whatever you say."

"Mmmm, good boy," she teased, brushing her hair out of her face and letting her head slide forward into his lap.

Michael groaned, feeling the warmth of her breath against his manhood. He wanted to push his hips forward, to take her mouth like he'd done before. But he knew patience was the better option. He saw the intoxicated look in Wendy's eyes, understood exactly what was turning her on.

"So, about that timeline..." she looked up at him through her lashes, her tongue hanging out just past her lips, not quite making contact with his shaft.

"Two months," Michael said, a little too fast. She was good at this, and he felt his self-control slipping by the second.

Wendy pulled back slightly. "Not good enough."

His grip tightened in her hair, but he didn't pull her forward. "Fine, next month. We can't move too quick or people will..."

Her tongue ran across the underside of his cock as she held the base, angling it at Michael's gut. "Good answer."

Michael released a strangled gasp, causing Wendy to practically drip with desire. The power she had in this moment was staggering, her body aching for release.

Michael smiled, looking down at the woman kneeling before him. He could see the hunger in her eyes. "By this time next month you'll be Director Taylor. The one making decisions not just on the Fireball account, but every account in the department."

A faint smile formed on her lips as she grazed the ridge of his cockhead. She was lost in a haze of lust. She ran her tongue along his glans, ensuring he was nice and wet. Then, without breaking eye contact, she took the tip into her mouth.

"Ohhh fuck," Michael groaned, the soft, wet feeling of her mouth wrapped around him making his toes curl. Wendy moaned as well, caught between the rush of power and the creeping surrender that felt as inevitable as it was intoxicating.

"Jesus, you're good at that. Maybe even the best ever." Michael's words dissolved into a strangled groan. His hands tangled in her hair, then released, then gripped again, like he was fighting for control of his own body.

A 'pop' vibrated off the walls as Wendy released him from her mouth. "Maybe?" she teased, before taking him back into her wet suction. He watched as half his manhood disappeared, her tongue swirling in zig-zags across the most sensitive parts of him.

"A little more practice and there won't be any doubt." He stroked her hair, encouraging her to bob a little faster, to take him a little deeper. "Are you able to take Jon this deep?"

"Mmmmppphh," she moaned around his cock, tears streaking down her face from choking. "I told you to keep my husband out of this," Wendy warned, with a flash of anger in her eyes as she pulled off his glistening shaft.

"Relax," Michael chuckled. "I'm just trying to figure out if you're good enough to take it all. Or if we're going to need more practice."

Her pussy tingled at the words. She wanted to be angry at Michael, to tell him this wasn't going to happen again and he should shut up and enjoy it. But as her tongue snaked down his shaft she couldn't help but unconsciously grind her thighs together.

"Mmmm yessss. I'm glad to see you still remember what I like." Michael watched with a satisfied smile as Wendy pumped his cock faster, her lips closing around his freshly shaved sac.

She kept her eyes on Michael’s face as her tongue flicked over the other swollen weight. She knew at some point he was going to cum. She had no intention of letting him finish in her mouth or across her face; the humiliation of last time still burned in her memory. This time, she’d feel the moment building, then angle him toward his own stomach. Let him see how it felt.

She kissed her way up his length, feeling the steady throb of his pulse beneath the thick veins, each beat stoking her urge to please him. "Has anyone been able to get the whole thing in their mouth?" She didn't mean for it to come out so inquisitive, but the competitor in her had to know. Her tongue lazily circled his crown while she waited for his response.

"Only one," he said, fisting his hands in her hair and guiding her lips back around him. This time she managed a little more than half before pausing to take a steadying breath. "I bet you could do it though." His fingers massaged her scalp, letting her adjust to his size. "I bet you could get it down your throat."

The reassuring words, paired with her competitive spirit, were like a drug to Wendy. She ached to touch herself, but forced every ounce of focus onto the task at hand. Drawing in one last deep breath through flared nostrils, she sank lower onto the monster before her, taking another inch or two until it pressed against the back of her throat.

The thickness was unyielding, and with nearly three-quarters of him between her lips, her throat rebelled, convulsing around him. His cock arched in her grasp, heavy enough to curve under its own weight. The spasms sent a shiver up his spine, but her watery eyes and the muffled choke had her pulling back. Frustration flared in Wendy's chest, she was close.

She coughed into her hand, catching her breath, feeling her heat sliding down her inner thigh.

Michael cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “It’s okay,” he said, voice warm and sure. “You'll do better next time. These are still world class.”

"Who said there was going to be a next time?" she asked, even as she allowed him to nestle himself between the soft swell of her breasts. She pressed them together, catching her lip between her teeth as the slick head disappeared into the valley of her cleavage as his hips began to rock.

Before she could protest, he eased her down, nestling himself between the soft swell of her breasts. She instinctively pressed them together, the slick head disappearing into the valley of her cleavage as his hips began to rock. The heat of his skin and the slickness from her mouth made each stroke glide, his shaft throbbing against her chest with each pass.

Her hands slid beneath her breasts, pressing them tighter around him. The weight of him dragged along her skin, hot and slick, and she began to sync her movement with his hips. Every time the head pushed through at the top, she’d give it a slow swirl of her tongue before letting it disappear again into the warm, yielding valley.

“Mmm, are you going to cum for me now Michael? I can tell by your breathing you're getting close.” she murmured, looking up at him with a spark in her eye.

Michael groaned, his fingers flexing against her scalp. “And I can tell by yours you're just as turned on as I am. I bet the hot little pussy of yours is drenched right now isn't it?"

Wendy ignored the jab, even as she felt her juices continue to pool. Instead, she focused on getting Michael off. Her breasts bounced around him, the glide becoming wetter with every pass, and she found herself chasing his reactions. Each strained breath, each twitch of his hips, made her push harder, squeeze tighter. She was panting, she was so eager to see him break.

"Give it to me big boy. You know you want to. Don't my tits feel good? Don't you want to cum in my mouth?"

The crown began to linger at the top of each stroke, fat and flushed against her chest, and she leaned forward to take it between her lips. Just the tip, just enough to push him over the edge, she told herself. But his groan deepened, and the salty heat on her tongue made her forget the exit she’d planned.

"Arrrggh, FUCK!" Michael growled as his cock exploded in Wendy's mouth. He held her head as the first blast erupted and struck the back of her throat, making her gag and wrench free with a startled noise.

The second spurt caught her under the chin, warm and slick, sliding down to her chest. Before she could even wipe it away, another hit her cheek, the heat spreading across her skin. Swearing under her breath, she fumbled his shaft into position, forcing it to angle upward so the last pulses painted his stomach instead of her face.

"Jesus," she whispered, sitting back on her heels as she struggled to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, not just from exertion. Embarrassment burned through her, tangled with disgust and a flash of anger. "There's so much." She wanted to sound angry as she wiped a sticky glob from her chin, but it came out sounding like wonderment.

"That was on the lighter side," he said, dismissively, as he fumbled to get his pants off his ankles so he could get to the bathroom for a towel.

Michael disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Wendy alone with the electric energy still coursing through her body. She wanted to be angry at what just happened, at the audacity of him going in her mouth. But there was something about the entire experience, about the way he just took what he wanted that made her want to surrounded completely.

When Michael returned with a damp towel, his expression carried his usual smugness. "Here," he said, tossing it at her.

She accepted it, wiping away the evidence while fire still burned in her core. As she stood, the gold dress surrendered to gravity, falling to the ground around her ankles in a shimmer of sequins. She stood there in nothing but her black lace thong and four-inch heels.

"I was right," Michael said, his gaze dropping to the obvious dampness. "You want this more than you're willing to admit."

Heat flooded her entire body as she realized how true that was. She was still burning, still aching for more. The dampness between her thighs was growing, she needed a release.

Instead of reaching for her dress, she walked toward the bed with a smirk, swiveling her hips like only someone with years of training could do. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, her gaze fixed on the powerful, thick shaft between Michael's legs. Even soft it still looked intimidating, making her mouth water in a way that was getting harder to deny. She wasn’t just looking, she wanted a reaction, wanted to see how quickly she could make it respond again. The thrill of being able to control something that looked so powerful sent a shiver straight through her like nothing she had ever felt before.

"Well then," she said, settling onto the edge of the bed and opening her legs to his stare. "Why don't you come get a closer look at what you think you've done to me." She arched her eyebrow as she brought her leg up straight, reaching for the strap of heel.

Michael's eyes blazed as he moved toward her. "Leave the shoes on. I love a woman in sexy underwear and heels."

He kneeled in front of her, grabbing her hips and pulling them off the edge of the bed slightly. He pressed his nose to the center of the damp fabric inhaling her scent and causing her to squirm. "When are you going to admit that you're starting to look forward to these meetings?"

Wendy grabbed his thinning hair, grinding her slickness against his face. "When are you going to shut up and give me what I came for?" She closed her eyes, relishing in the friction sliding across her lips.

"You're so fucking wet. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted this even more than I do," he teased, reaching up and grasping the side of her thong. He ran his tongue across his lips at the eagerness Wendy displayed, lifting her hips off the bed, and allowing him to drag the fabric down her legs.

Without waiting for Wendy to respond, he leaned in, dragging his tongue against her wet folds. Ashley shuddered, clawing at his head as her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Unngh, fuck," she whined, rolling her hips. She clamped her legs around his head, her heels driving into his back. "God, that feels so good."

"Better than Jon?" Michael knew he was playing with fire, but he was betting on Wendy being too far gone to care. When she opened her mouth to protest, he drove his tongue into her depths like a small cock.

"Ohhh, ffffff..." Her mouth worked hungrily, tongue darting in and out as if she could taste the pleasure building inside her, her body trembling with the need to let go. When Michael's fingers slid across her clit, she saw stars, ready for her impending orgasm... but it never came.

Instead, Michael removed his tongue from her velvet grip and stood between her legs.

"Wh... why'd you stop?" she complained, her hips still rolling against the imaginary cock between her legs.

"You already got yours in the office this afternoon. I think it's only fair that the next one is mutual."

Wendy's eyes went wide as she realized what he was suggesting. She reached between her legs, determined to get herself off, but he denied her, swatting her hand away. In all of their encounters together, Michael had never denied her. Never challenged her when it came to this. "I...I told you before, Michael. I'm not going to fuck you."

"You said a lot of things before. Things that don't hold true anymore." He watched her chest, the way her breathing went from ragged to more controlled. He reached out, his fingers finding her clit again, adding just enough pressure her hips jerked off the bed.

"Ohhh," she whined, her thighs trembling as her toes curled into the sheets. She grabbed his wrist, understanding what he was trying to do, but only making him press harder against her nub. "I... oh. I can't. Just let me cum."

He pulled his hand away again, just as her orgasm was about to crest. He knew he had her, he just had to push a few more buttons. "Either you cum with me, or you wait until you get home to your husband. But, do you really think he can give you what you need?"

"I told you not to —”

He pushed two meaty fingers past her folds, her body immediately clamping down on them.

"Shiii... uuhhhhh, fucck." Her hands flew to his wrist, and then to her sides, digging at the sheets.

"Your body wants this, Wendy." He held his fingers up, letting her see how coated they were, her juices dripping down his arm. "You want this."

Her body ached from the denial, every nerve screaming. “I..." Her breathing was labored. “Even if I wanted to—you already went." A smile forming on her lips, she found the perfect excuse to get her out this situation and still get what she wanted. She lifted her head to look at the man between her legs. "You can’t possibly be read—”

Her words caught as he shifted, the thick length of him sliding along her slick slit. The heat radiating from him was almost shocking, the weight of him, hard and pressing, caused her to cry out.

“H… how?”

Michael leaned down, taking her nipple into his mouth. “What? Are you not used to a man who can rise to the occasion?” He rocked against her again, the head of his cock nudging her entrance before gliding back up to her clit.

"Uhh... Uhh..." Wendy clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the electric pull between them, but her hips betrayed her, tilting just enough to chase the friction.

“That’s it,” he murmured, covering her entire chest with spit. “I know you want to feel it.”

“I don’t—” she started, but her voice cracked as he rolled his hips, sending a deep, throbbing pulse through her core. Her fingers fisted the sheets.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, dragging his length slowly, deliberately, until her breath hitched on every pass.

Each stroke blurred the line between defiance and surrender, her resolve eroding with every molten sweep of his body against hers.

Michael’s movements slowed, the head of his cock dragging in slick, lazy strokes over her clit. Wendy was shaking now, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer.

“Michael…”

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I... don’t.” The words came out tight, breathless, and her hips betrayed her again, keeping contact with his cock.

He shifted his angle just enough that, on the next stroke, the thick head of him slipped lower. It pushed past her clit, past the soft petals of her flesh and just barely inched into her entrance. The sudden stretch made her gasp, her body clenching around him instinctively.

“God…” she hissed, her hands flying to his chest, though she didn’t push him away. “You—” She swallowed hard. "Fuck, you feel so big."

His smile widened. "That's not even the tip. Just wait until—”

"No," she gasped, pushing harder on his chest. "Do... do you have a condom?" Her stomach flipped, she couldn't believe those words came from her mouth, but she was so close.

He sat back on his heels, watching her face. "I hate them."

“What?” Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment he was worried he pushed her too far.

“I don’t like the way they feel.” He pushed just a fraction deeper, savoring the way she tightened, hoping she'd get it back. “Nothing between us. That’s how I want it.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears now, and some buried instinct forced its way to the surface. “No. That’s not happening.” She pressed her elbows onto the bed, pulling herself a fraction of an inch away from him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, she was a stubborn one. “There’s one by your head. Top drawer.”

Her breath caught. She couldn’t tell if it was relief or dread as she turned just enough to glance at the nightstand.

“But,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this is the only time I’m ever going to use one with you.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, because this is the only time I’m going to let it happen.”

The corner of his mouth curled as she opened the drawer, letting her believe for now that it was her win.

Wendy turned back to him, her hand trembling as she held the magnum between her fingers.

“Put it on,” he said with a confidence that made her want to run from the room just as much as it made her want to obey.

She bit her lip, recognizing the moment for what it was. Leaning forward, her eyes never left Michael’s slick shaft as she pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it slowly along his length, the latex stretching over him inch by inch.

With the last of her resistance slipping away, Michael pushed her onto her back. He loomed over her, cock poised at her entrance, his shadow falling across her bare chest.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his. Heat flared in his gaze, a steady, unblinking dominance that rooted her to the spot. The rest of the world vanished; there was only the weight of him between her thighs, the scent of sex thick in the air, and the pounding in her ears.

Wendy’s breath caught. She didn’t nod, didn’t say yes, but her thighs parted slightly.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he pushed forward, the first stretch of him drawing a gasp from them both.

“Ooohhhh.” Wendy’s eyes slammed shut, the pressure and heat flooding her senses in a dizzying rush. She felt herself stretched to the brink, inch inch sliding deeper inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she’d known before. It was a perfect storm of ache and pleasure, sharp enough to steal her breath yet impossible to turn away from.

Above her, Michael’s expression shifted, the usual smirk nowhere to be found. His jaw slackened, eyes half-lidded as the first tight pull of her body gripped him. For just a second, he forgot to move, caught in the shock of how good it felt.

He hadn’t been sure this moment would ever come, not even while she had been rolling the condom down his length. But now, buried in her heat, he knew he would never be able to get enough.

“Christ…” he breathed, marveling at how tight and wet she was. The warmth of her body wrapped around him, her muscles drawing him deeper in with every shallow thrust.

“Unngh, fuck,” she groaned, grabbing his bicep. “It’s so… fuuuuck.” Her hips lifted off the bed to meet his thrusts, driving him deeper inside her, the need to prove she could take all of him burning in her chest.

Beads of sweat formed on Michael’s forehead, his thrusts matching her rhythm and meeting her halfway, each collision driving deeper into her. “Uhhhh… yes!” Wendy whimpered as her body began to wither beneath him.

Michael steadied her hips, holding her in place underneath him, fucking her faster and harder. She forgot to breathe, clawing at his chest as the pressure continued to build.

“Oohhhh… fuck… ugh, God… yes… yes… UGGGNNNGH!” Wendy screamed, her face flushed as an orgasm ripped through her, every nerve in her body on fire. Michael didn’t let up. He drove into her harder, watching the muscles along her stomach ripple. He was thankful he’d cum earlier; otherwise, he’d be right there with her.

“Wait… wait,” Wendy pleaded, swatting at Michael’s chest as her orgasm began to fade. “Too much. Too sensitive. I need a minute.”

Michael eased his pace, finally pulling free and letting her collapse back against the mattress. Her chest rose and fell in quick bursts, hair sticking to her flushed cheeks.

He stayed still for a moment, dragging in deep breaths, letting his own racing pulse settle. The truth was, he wasn’t giving her this pause out of mercy. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, and if he didn’t slow down, it would be over before he was ready.

Wendy slid herself up toward the headboard, her arms trembling slightly as she pushed back against the pillows. “Mmm… I’m done,” she murmured, turning away from him. “I told you before, I'm a one and done kind of girl. Sorry you couldn't get there again,” she said, though her voice carried no hint of sadness.

Michael watched her with a faint smile, his gaze fixed on the way her thighs still glistened, the faint twitch of her hips as her body calmed. He said nothing, just stepped forward and caught her ankle, dragging her back down the bed.

“Michael—” she started, but her protest turned into a gasp as he pulled her hips back toward him.

"Just cause your pathetic husband can't get you off twice, doesn't mean I can't."

Before she could respond and tell him not to mention Jon, he pressed himself back inside with one hard thrust.

Wendy’s eyes widened, her fingers clutching the sheets. “Hhhnn… oh, God…”

From this angle, Michael was able to drive even deeper into his employee’s tight, trembling body. Each thrust buried him to the hilt, his hips slamming against her ass with a satisfying crack of flesh on flesh.

Wendy couldn't believe how good the new position felt. His thick cock dragged against her g-spot, making her bow her body back, as a new wave of fire engulfed her.

terrified of how quickly the pleasure was climbing, but his grip on her hips was unyielding.

“You feel that?” Michael’s words were choppy, his own release sprinting closer. “Right... there.”

She bit her lip, refusing to answer, but the heat flooding her face and the shiver that wracked her body betrayed her. "Uh, uh, oh, uh."

Michael planted one foot on the bed, angling himself for maximum leverage. The new depth made her cry out, the edge of her vision turning black as his pace quickened.

"Don't... ohhh God. Don't stop. Mmmmm, fuck, Michael. I'm close."

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he growled, feeling his impending release.

"Aaaagghhh, FUCK," Wendy's vision turned to black. An intense warmth spread out from her core and covered every inch of her body as she collapsed onto the bed.

Michael drove into her one last time, burying himself fully. The sound of their mingled moans and skin meeting filled the room, echoing in the haze of her fading climax.

She let the numbing bliss hold her, breathing in short, shaky bursts. Her thighs quivered with every aftershock. It had felt unreal, almost otherworldly. Never in her life had she believed she could come twice in a single encounter, much less with this intensity.

For a moment, she just lay there, chest heaving, the edges of reality soft and unfocused.

The sharp snap of latex broke through the haze. She blinked, disoriented, watching Michael toss the used condom aside.

“Even better than I expected,” he said, his white shirt now clinging to him, translucent with sweat.

Her stomach clenched, but not for the reasons it should have. She wasn’t drowning in regret, or shame, or the disgust she’d always imagined she’d feel if... this ever happened. What unsettled her most was the absence of those things.

Her gaze flicked down between them, to where his cock hung soft and spent. It had taken two rounds, but she had tamed it. The thought sent a flicker of satisfaction through her, a heady rush that she didn’t want to admit.

She knew she needed to get home to Jon. She knew this was too far, that she could never let it happen again. But as she gathered herself, a small, stubborn ache coiled in her chest. Why, when she was so certain it had to end here, did the thought of never feeling this again make her feel… sad?