Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Eliza nudges me. “No turning back now.”
I swipe my card, heart pounding. The bag is heavier than it should be, like a promise I’m carrying home.
Outside, the sky is dark and the wind is cold. I pull my coat tight and clutch the bag, feeling the buzz all the way down to my toes.
I picture Saturday night: the penthouse, the eyes on me, the moment before the curtain rises. And for the first time, I’m not afraid.
I’m ready.
9
CHAPTER NINE — DO YOU LIKE SHARPIES?
JAMES
There’s a sound that doesn’t belong in the executive hallway—a little feminine whimper, almost swallowed by the whisper of HVAC and the distant click-clacking of paralegals’ keyboards. I stop in my tracks. Gibson Grant is an open-door kind of place. We say it in every onboarding: transparency, accountability, glass walls and all that shit. But today, Brent’s office door is pulled shut and I know that motherfucker’s up to no good.
I check my watch. What the hell is that asshole up to? Then again, I know how his mind works, especially when it comes to curvy females. Correction: I know how his mind works when it comes to our new curvy paralegal, though at this point, we’re way beyond discussing legal work because Marnie Williams is sheer sex on wheels. She’s innocent, with big blue eyes and golden blonde hair, but don’t think she won’t bite. The sassy woman has a body built for sin, and a mouth that spits challenge even when she’s outnumbered and cornered.
But that’s why we’re both so obsessed. After we fucked Marnie using the pens the other day, I could hardly focus. All I saw was the young girl squatting on the conference table as Brent and I worked two ballpoints in and out of her pussy and asshole. Yeah, we did that to an innocent young woman as she cried out with pleasure. Was the door even locked? Who the hell knows? All I know is that Marnie came like a hurricane, crying out our names as she cupped her breasts, her pussy dripping and spasming as her asshole clenched. It was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
But something tells me that my law partner is back at it, like the motherfucker he is. I hover outside the door a full beat, not even pretending to hide. Sure enough, another moan, this one less muffled, and a name half-gasped catches my ears. It’s her. Christ, it’s always her these days, and for good reason too. My cock wakes up before the rest of me does, and goddamn, but I’m horny. I need in.
I open the door in a single, smooth motion, careful not to jerk it or draw attention from the secretarial pool. Brent’s office is all bookshelves, heavy beige carpeting, and massive computer monitors. But they’re not working at the moment. Instead, Brent’s got Marnie bent over the edge of his desk, skirt bunched around her waist, blouse gaping wide open as those big tits swing free of the demi-lace cups. He’s behind her, his expression intent—dark, hungry eyes, straight jaw, one hand firm on her thigh while the other cradles the back of her neck. He looks up, just a flicker, as I step in. Doesn’t say a word because that motherfucker wants me to watch. What a sick fuck.
I close the door behind me with a click. There’s a lock that I engage with my thumb. I hear the internal latch sink home, and then it’s just us: no outside world, no cases, no rules.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I rasp, leaning against the wall.
Brent doesn’t. Instead, he takes his hand off the curvy girl’s thigh and reaches into a nearby drawer. He produces a Sharpie—double-wide, the kind meant for labeling boxes, posters, and signs. The label’s worn to the plastic, and the cap is gone. He holds it up, eyes locked on me, and then brings it down to trace the length of the curvy girl’s inner thigh.
Marnie shudders. Her hands are flat on the desk, knuckles white, her nails leaving crescent marks on the veneer. She stares straight down, not looking at either of us, but her lips are parted and her chest is heaving, each breath a little hitchy, like she’s on the edge of panic or euphoria and can’t tell which is winning.
“Go on,” I say. “Let’s see if she can take it.”
Brent doesn’t bother with a warning. He slips the thick Sharpie between her legs, brushes the tip against the wet line of her panties, then pushes, slow but relentless. The sound Marnie makes is raw, unfiltered, and it goes straight to my gut.
“Unnnnh!” she moans, head falling back as her pussy’s penetrated. “Ohhhh!”
Brent works the Sharpie inside her, the pace measured and implacable. Marnie’s eyes flutter, and she arches her back. I watch the tension knot her throat, then travel down to her clavicles, her chest. Her tits sway, nipples so hard they resemble diamonds.