I try to close my thighs, but he holds them open, pulling my skirt higher until it's almost exposing my panties. "H-how?"
His breath saws in and out against my ear. "Just play with it a little. You can do that for Daddy, can't you?" His middle finger presses to my entrance through the barrier of my emerald-green underwear. "And I'll play with this sweet little treasure."
He gently shifts me to his left thigh, so he can unzip his pants, his erection pushing out, thick and ready, though still trapped inside his black briefs. "I don't know how, Big Daddy."
Quickly, he uses the wrist of his sleeve to swipe at the sweat forming on his upper lip. "Stroke it like you would pet a kitten." Without waiting, he snags my hand and guides it to his arousal, grunting a curse when my touch finds him, testing him curiously. "Don't you want to see what happens when you pet it long enough, baby?"
I gasp excitedly, my palm beginning to rake up and down his steel shaft. "What happens?" The pads of Tristan's fingers find my clitoris and I whimper, squirming on his thigh as if confused by the sensation coursing through me. "What's h-happening to me?"
His mouth is open on my neck, his fingers delving down the front of my panties, parting my wet folds and rubbing, rubbing on that sensitive spot. "When we feel good between our legs, we come, little girl. We release. It's the best feeling you can have—and do you know what it tastes like when Daddy comes from his cock?"
"What?" I ask, wide-eyed, squirming through his touch.
"It tastes like candy."
I suck in a breath, my legs literally trembling with excitement, my core clenching tighter and tighter with every knowing stroke of his fingers. "Candy?" I slide my hand into his briefs, fisting his bare erection. Pumping my fist up and down the length. "Can I taste some?"
"Only if you're a good girl," he says roughly. "Only if you suck as hard as you can and swallow the candy down. All of it."
"I will, Big Daddy. I promise," I say solemnly, sliding off his desk to the space between his splayed thighs. This isn't the first time I've taken Tristan into my mouth, but I pretend it is. I examine his swollen inches with youthful apprehension, kissing the trunk cautiously, before closing my mouth over the bulbous head and swirling my tongue around it, experimentally.
"Oh, fuck yes, baby," he growls, twining his fingers in my hair. "Suck the candy out."
Flashing him a look that says I'm excited for candy, I pull a significant portion of him into my mouth, fisting the enormous base to hold him steady, stroking upward with a twisting wrist. His huge balls fall through the V of his pants and I take a moment to suck the left one into my mouth, tonguing it lovingly, like he instructed me to do the first time, my hand still riding up and down his sex, now lubricated by my saliva. I lick over to his right ball and give it the same reverent treatment, glorying in the way his thick thighs jolt, his hips shifting anxiously.
"It's going to taste so good." He tugs down my chin, his lower body rolling forward, teeth clenched. "Just try and fit a little more—"
A low buzz goes off in the room. "Mr. Hemsworth. John Amarie is here to see you."
I freeze in place with Tristan halfway down my throat. He goes very still, too, before dragging his erection from my mouth with a shaking hand, shoving it back into his pants. "Goddammit. What the hell is your father doing here?"
"I-I don't know…"
I start to crawl out from behind the desk, but Tristan shakes his head. "There's nowhere in here to hide and he'll see you if you leave, Lia. You have to stay put. There's no choice."
Hide.
There's no choice.
There is a choice, though. He could come clean to my father about us. We could explain to my father that we have feelings for each other. Instead, I'm being kept hidden like a dirty secret. And I can't help what the clandestine nature of our trysts does to my body. Our dynamic, our secrecy, makes me undeniably hot. But it's a little too real, too symbolic, being kept stuffed beneath a desk. A little too patronizing.
To his credit, Tristan looks conflicted, even guilty, like he wants to say something. But there's no time. He barely manages to get his pants zipped when the office door opens.
"Tristan," my father says, his tone jocular. "It's been too long. How have you been?"
A creak tells me my father has taken a seat in front of the desk. Literally a foot away from the back of my head. "John," Tristan says, his tone flat. "How is business these days?"
"Incredible. Just incredible." He clears his throat hard, a sign that he's lying—I know it well. "I took a meeting down the street and I thought, hey, why not stop by and set up a round of golf with my old buddy? Want to hit the green tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning." Now it's Tristan's turn to clear his throat, but unlike my father, he's not lying. I can see it in his eyes when he glances down at me briefly. The regret and apology lurking there. "I, uh…I can't. I'm going out of town tonight. Through the weekend."
My heart stutters in my chest, suffering.
When he called me this morning, I thought he was on the verge of professing his affection for me. Instead, I'm hiding under a desk and finding out that he has plans to leave town. Plans he told me nothing about. Am I so insignificant to him?
Maybe this relationship really is all about sex.
Maybe I'm expected to shut my mouth and take what he gives me. Be happy with it.
Screw that.
Coming forward on my knees, I reach between Tristan's thighs and unzip his pants. He didn't have time to pull up his briefs, so his swollen manhood bobs free immediately, still rock hard from my mouth's treatment. He gives me a warning look from above and I pass him a tart one in return, wrapping my lips around his stiffness and deep throating him.
Tristan chokes a sound, his hand pressing my head down into his lap for one, two, three seconds, before he releases me, breathing raggedly.
"Are you all right over there, man?" asks my father.
"I'm fine," Tristan responds unevenly. "Just some heartburn from lunch."
"Ah, right." My father laughs. "I know all about that affliction. So, about golf…would Monday afternoon work better for you?"
Tristan can't formulate a response, because I'm riding my eager mouth up and down his pulsing length, scraping my teeth over his sensitized tip, before letting him invade my throat. He once again holds me there, in place, longer this time, his big belly shuddering, his balls hauling up tight to my chin. "Fuck. Schedule," he heaves, swallowing. "Let me uh…"
His hand fumbles with the mouse and buys him some time as he looks at the screen without really seeing it, his manhood disappearing in and out of my mouth, faster and faster, his free hand tugging me, tugging me, my hands twisting up and down the thick pole, the color of it deepening with every suck.
"Monday works." Tristan abandons the mouse, reaches across the desk and shakes his hand. "I'll see you then. Got some work to finish up here—"
"Say no more. I won't keep you."
Determined to make Tristan come before my father leaves, wanting to be acknowledged in some way, any way, I hold my breath and take him past my gag reflex, waiting, waiting, longer than my usual few seconds. Ten seconds, eleven. I swallow, squeezing him with the walls of my throat. And Tristan spews. He rifles his hips forward and fucks my mouth once, ferociously, his guttural growl filling the office. Warm, salty liquid travels down, my inner thighs moist from my own need, my infatuation with this man forcing me to consume every single drop. Needing all of it. All of him.
"Ooh boy. Better take care of that heartburn. Sounds like a nasty case," my father says, getting up from the chair, his footsteps carrying him across the room. "See you Monday."
As soon as the door closes, Tristan yanks me to my feet. Picks me up and drops me down on the desk, getting right in my face. I think he's going to lecture me, get angry with me, maybe even end our relationship for being so indiscreet—and I brace myself.
Instead, he growls, "You beautiful little brat," and seals his mouth over mine, kissing me like tomorrow morning will never come. "Jesus Christ. I ought to spank you silly."
I moan and tip my head back, allowing him to lick and suck my neck, welcoming his bulk into the V of my thighs. "Why aren't you?"
His hand grips my throat unexpectedly. "God help me, I…" His eyes glitter wildly. "I wanted to look him in the eye while claiming you. I'm your Big Daddy. Not him. You're my little girl. Not his. I don't care if that makes me fucking sick. That's the way it is."
"I don't care either," I whisper, shaken, slipping past infatuation, straight into obsession. Despite my hurt. Despite my wishes for us to be more. I force myself to accept this as enough for now. Knowing Tristan is mine. That I'm his. That at least we know that as fact.
My heart twists in my chest, yearning for more, though.
And I ignore it for now, but I'm afraid I won't be able to much longer.
Maybe not even one more day.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the business trip," he says, kissing my mouth passionately, fingers combing through my hair. "It's why I was so stressed when you got here. I don't want to leave you, baby. I was arranging to bring you along, but Eric asked to come. I've been gone every night, with you at the hotel. Absent. I couldn't say no to him."
"I understand," I whisper, reveling in the mauling of my mouth, his hands all over me, groping my bottom and breasts and hips. "I understand, Daddy."
That's not a lie. I do understand. The last thing I want is for Tristan to neglect my best friend. But nothing about his explanation repairs my flagging heart.
Groaning over my use of the word Daddy, Tristan sits back in his chair and strips my skirt down to the floor, his erection already stiffening again in his lap, his eyes wild on my wet, green panties. "Get on and ride it," he growls. "Remind me again that I'm the luckiest man alive."
And dutifully, I do. I ride him until his eyes roll back in his head, until my own orgasm blinds me, our flesh slapping roughly in the silence of the office, the words I love you lodged in my throat, begging to be let out.