Lissa
Adelaide and Noah have just left for the night, and it’s almost 6 pm. I know I should leave, but the truth
is, I don’t want to go before I’m sure Oliver doesn’t want me to come to his office. Ever since that look this
morning, I’ve found it difficult to concentrate. I’m at my desk, tidying away the paperwork that didn’t go
into the folders we sent off this afternoon. It’s been an incredibly busy day for all of us, and everyone
pitched in and got so much done.
Adelaide was calmer after she returned from her meeting, smiling at me whenever I caught her eye.
She’s definitely warming up to me.
Noah was in the conference room all day, and he’s done a fantastic job. The folders and archive boxes
that seemed to have no order at all now have labels on each one. They’re packed and stacked in uniform
lines, and although the conference room is overflowing, it’s manageable.
I’m staring at the stack nearest the door, marveling at how neat Noah’s handwriting is, when the little
light at the edge of my desk goes on.
The rush of heat that pulses through me takes my breath away. What has this man done to me? After
years without anyone touching me, I suppose it’s not entirely surprising that my sex drive has woken up and
taken notice. But still, this underlying, constant, thrum of need is perplexing.
It’s just after six when I st ep into his office. Oliver is behind his desk, his jacket off, forearms on display
as he types rapidly across the keys. I’m reminded again of how different he is compared to Noah. Noah
barely fills a chair when he sits in it; Oliver’s presence seems to occupy the whole room.
His shirt is straining over the muscles of his chest, and my eyes are drawn to the triangle of flesh where
the top button has been undone. He looks harried and irritated, and yet my body is already aching for him.
I lick my lips, walking over to his desk. “Did you need something?” I ask when he doesn’t look at me.
His fingers don’t pause on the keys, his jaw clenching. “Lock the door.” Yes, sir. I don’t say it out loud this
time. I go to the door, turn the lock silently, and then walk back toward his desk. Nerves rise in my stomach
as I wait for him to tell me what he wants.
I can see the tension around his eyes, and I know from Adelaide that he’s been in back-to-back calls all
day. It’s obvious this case wasn’t something he requested; it was thrust upon him.
He doesn’t look at me at all, and I wonder whether I should take a seat and wait until he’s ready, rather
than hovering in front of his desk like an idiot.
His long fingers move over the keys for several seconds until he finally presses the return key and leans
back in his chair.
Oliver’s eyes come to rest on me, his gaze dark and unreadable. “It’s past six,” he says suddenly,
glancing at the clock. I nod. “It is, but I don’t mind staying if you need...” My confidence fades at the
energy in his look. He looks like a coiled spring ready to snap.
He makes an exasperated noise and stands, coming around the desk to glare at me.
“Why didn’t you go home?” “Do you want me to go home?” I whisper, unsure whether I’ve pissed him
off. He’s so still and quiet.
“I want to fuck your mouth,” he says coldly, his thumb and forefinger grabbing hold of my chin as I try
to ke ep my breathing controlled. “But I’ve had a fucking shitty day, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
I stay silent, not sure what it is he wants to hear. At this point, I’ll do whatever he tells me to. The need
to please him, to make the anger in his eyes dissipate, is an intoxicating pull on me.
Oliver stares at me, his mouth twisting as if he’s trying to decide what he wants to do. His thumb and
forefinger don’t release me, and those black, angry eyes never leave my face. It’s alarmingly arousing.
“Get on your knees.”
I sink to the floor, a small in voluntary sound breaking free from my throat as I do so. I look up at him,
and he grunts as my eyes meet his.
“Put your hands on the back of my thighs.” I do it as he st eps his feet wider apart. Then his fingers run
through my hair, gripping it so tight, I moan. “I’m going to put my cock in your mouth and fuck your throat.
If you want me to stop, you take your hands off my legs. If you want me to slow down, take one hand off. Is
that clear?”
There’s no tenderness today, that’s what’s different. The other times we’ve been together, it’s as if he’s
been holding back, treating me gentler than he truly wants to. This version of him feels more real, more
authentic, and I’m not sure which I prefer.
“Yes, it’s clear,” I murmur, and his fingers tighten in my hair as his other hand undoes his pants and
pulls his cock out. It’s bigger up close, intimidatingly so, and I feel a rush of fear that I won’t be able to do
what he wants.
“Look at me, Lissa,” he says, and I glance up at him. “No part of this should be painful. This shouldn’t
make you scared or panicked. If you need me to stop, I’ll stop without question.”
“Okay.” “But...” he says, looking away, letting out a long sigh. “I’m worked up today. This won’t be
gentle.”
I don’t speak, not sure how he wants me to respond, and then those dark eyes look down at me as if he
owns me, and he pulls my head back roughly.
“Open your mouth.” My lips part instantly, and in the next second, his cock is at the back of my throat.
He’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go, and I gag as he pulls back.
“Fuck.” He does it again, and it’s hard to take, but the proprietary hold on my head is making a strange
feeling spread through my whole body. It’s as if I don’t have control of myself any longer; all the control
belongs to him.
Slowly, he continues thrusting in all the way and retreating, as if he’s getting me used to it. I have my
hands placed firmly against the back of his thighs, gauging how I feel, whether I want this to end. But I
don’t. It’s new, a little alarming, but not painful.
His cock is thick, spreading my lips wide as he pushes it inside, and then, after the fourth thrust, he
ke eps it there, right at the back of my throat as I struggle to breathe.
Pulling back, he curses again as I let out a shocked gasp. “I can’t hold back. I’m going to fuck you now.
If you let go of my legs, I’ll stop, I swear.”
Then he hammers his cock home, right to the back of my throat, and really starts to thrust.
My fingers clench, hanging on for dear life as he ke eps my head steady, his body hammering against my
mouth as I close my eyes, listening to him grunting above me.
For the first few seconds, I don’t know how I feel, as if all thought has been obliterated from my mind.
But then, there’s a rumble of pleasure in my body, as I hear him groaning above me. Two hands cup my
head as his hips drive forward, every thrust pushing against the back of my throat hard enough to bruise.
I don’t let go of his legs. It doesn’t even occur to me now. There’s something strange about being used
like this, like a hole for his cock, but also knowing that if I want him to stop, he would.
He’s panting by the end, and my body is throbbing with pleasure as his hand grips my hair, my head
held in place as he rams his dick into my mouth.
It’s disturbing how much I enjoy it, the coldness of it. I’ve never felt like this during sex before, and I’m
not sure whether it’s a good or bad thing.
With a shuddering groan, he goes still, but at the last second pulls out, his hands gripping his cock as he
rips open my shirt and comes all over my breasts.
The buttons fly everywhere, but I’m breathing so heavily, panting in the air he denied me, that I barely
register what’s happening.
“Fuuuck.” It’s a groan more than a word, and then Oliver kneels in front of me, pushing me gently onto
the floor as he grips the hem of my skirt. He stops, looking up at me.
“I’d like to return the favor.” “Yes!” It’s the only word I can utter as he shoves my skirt out of the way,
drags my panties down my legs, and starts licking my clit so hard I writhe off the floor, biting the back of
my hand to ke ep from screaming.
My orgasm takes ten seconds, if that, my throat hoarse and painful after the blow job as I come, his
tongue between my legs, lapping up my release
with a moan of pleasure that will live rent-free in my head forever.
I’ve never come so hard in my life. Every orgasm with Oliver Heath just seems to get better and better.
I lay on the floor, panting, his come all over my skin, his tongue thrusting into my body as I shudder
uncontrollably.
Then, without a word, he pulls me up to a sitting position, pushing himself back against the desk, and
pulls me into his lap.
Neither of us speaks as he cradles me in his arms, the intimacy of it a shocking contrast to everything
that just happened. He strokes my hair, placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head as I collapse against him.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a while, our breathing beginning to even out.
“Mm,” I say, nodding. “Yes. “ “Did I hurt you?” “No,” I say, not entirely sure if that’s true. My throat is
killing me, but I don’t care. I’ve had more orgasms in three days than I’ve had in the past two years, and I
feel totally blissed out.
“I was rougher than I intended,” he says. I pull back, meeting his gaze as he examines me, his eyes
moving over my face. “I didn’t mind.”
Then a slow smile spreads over his face as his hand moves back between my legs, and I suck in a breath.
“I could tell.” His fingers flirt with my clit as I shudder in his arms, and his eyes roam over the evidence
of his release all over me.
“I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll buy you another one,” he says. “I have something you can wear home.”
I laugh, looking down at myself. “I should definitely use your bathroom this time.”
A soft smile plays over his lips, and he kisses me gently on the temple. My heart clenches unhelpfully as
I try to ignore the bubble of pure joy I feel at being held against his huge body.
“Go ahead. Take as much time as you need.”