Marlowe

Ihave never in the past three weeks felt so much like a sex worker as I do right now, on my knees to service a stranger at my boss’s behest as that same boss looks on. I feel like a toy, an object with no real agency and no relevance except for my holes, and I have no bloody clue why that sends waves of heat flooding my body. I’m the nameless whore, and yet, I’m the centre of two powerful men’s attention.

I tell myself to remember that last part. To hold it close, to harness it.

Ethan is sprawled out in front of me, long legs outstretched and hands cradling his head, like he’s at the receiving end of this kind of treatment every day. I suppose he was, until Talia quit. She told me she was his third Seraph EA. I’m not surprised, really. The way he spoke to me just now is so fucking nasty, so contemptuous, that if a man spoke to me like that in my place of work I’d probably crack a plate or two over his head.

Unfortunately, him speaking to me like that in this context is, for some reason, hot as hell.

I’ll show him what all the fuss is about.

Arrogant twat.

His dick is, in my limited experience, very nice indeed—long and thick and clean and very, very hard, a fact I confirm when I wrap my hand around its root. I bend and look up at him through my eyelashes. His steeliness is still there, but it’s banking, building into something far more ominous. He’s a black thundercloud rolling in after an oppressive day: all pent-up danger.

And he’s planning on unleashing it all on me.

I dive in, acutely conscious of Brendan’s eyes on us. I want to wipe the smug entitlement off Ethan’s face, I want to unravel him just like he unravelled me right now, and I also want to prove myself to Brendan. I want his envy and his praise; I want him to think I’m the best hire he’s ever made.

Basically, I’m performing for both of them, and it galvanises me.