tear the cloth off, see the prize, and get out of here.
“Patience,” Heather chided, perching on the edge of the desk. I tried not to look as she folded those long, slender legs, one over the other. “Pour me a drink. We will conduct this discussion like civilized people.”
I poured two tall glasses of scotch from the side bar and raised my glass in response to her toast. “To a brand new business relationship,” Heather said, drinking deeply. Her dusky voice lingered on the word “relationship” in a way that made me ache.
“Was your father a collector of much art?” I asked, sipping my scotch carefully.
“More so of curiosities,” she told me. “It was the mystery surrounding the painting that intrigued him. He owned many pieces of occult interest. I think he liked the Satan ones the best.”
“And you didn’t inherit his interest?”
“Oh, no,” Heather said, laughing. “My interests are much more…earthy.” She laid one hand on my thigh.
“I thought you wanted to talk business,” I said, trying my damndest to keep my voice level.
“Eventually,” Heather breathed, running her hand up my leg to stroke my crotch. I groaned, trying to set my drink down. I missed, the glass tumbling to the floor, but we ignored it as our lips clashed. I knew that this was a bad idea—that I was getting myself deeper into something that already smelled like trouble—but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand slid up her leg to squeeze her ass through that delicious red dress. She moaned lustily, grinding against my rapidly-hardening cock. I could see her nipples growing hard, poking through the thin fabric of her dress, as we rabidly explored each other’s bodies. I caressed one, pinching the nub just hard enough to make her gasp.
“Sell me the painting,” I growled in her ear, nipping at the lobe.
She laughed, reaching a hand down the front of my pants to squeeze my growing erection. “How much do you want it?” Heather’s hand slid off my cock and down to grip my balls. “Because from where I’m at, I believe I have the negotiating high ground.”
“Are you going to do something with that, or just threaten me?”
Heather dropped to her knees in one fluid motion, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly of my pants. I braced myself against the solid, mahogany desk as her scarlet lips wrapped around the head of my aching cock. Her tongue lashed my shaft, boldly exploring the full length. My fingers cramped around the edge of the desk as I groaned with helpless pleasure.
My cock was half-way down her throat now, and it felt like utter heaven. Heather was skilled—very skilled—and she was exerting every ounce of technique she possessed. Steadying myself, I wrapped one finger in her cascade of hair, holding her head closer to me.
“Now,” I said hoarsely, my voice not entirely stable. “are you ready to sell me the painting?” My hips bucked slightly toward her as my shaft slid in and out of her hot, wet mouth.
Heather practically purred, slowing her tongue motions down to a slow, sensual caress. I trembled as her wet tongue lapped over the head of my cock with indescribable slowness, making each stroke feel like absolute heaven.
After what felt like an eternity, Heather slowly let my aching shaft slip from her mouth. “Not quite yet,” she said, her voice like velvet. “You haven’t begun your own negotiations yet.”
More forcefully than I normally would have, I grabbed Heather by the hips and spun her around. With one hand, I forced her down over the desk, giving me a great view of her pert, round ass. Yanking up her tight red dress, I saw that she was wearing the scantest of black lace thongs. She whimpered as I pulled them down, baring her wet pussy.
“You want to deal, we’ll deal,” I said hoarsely. I took my cock in hand, groaning low in my throat at the very sensation of gripping the erect shaft. Guiding it into Heather’s waiting cunt, I slid into her with one smooth thrust. My
“Patience,” Heather chided, perching on the edge of the desk. I tried not to look as she folded those long, slender legs, one over the other. “Pour me a drink. We will conduct this discussion like civilized people.”
I poured two tall glasses of scotch from the side bar and raised my glass in response to her toast. “To a brand new business relationship,” Heather said, drinking deeply. Her dusky voice lingered on the word “relationship” in a way that made me ache.
“Was your father a collector of much art?” I asked, sipping my scotch carefully.
“More so of curiosities,” she told me. “It was the mystery surrounding the painting that intrigued him. He owned many pieces of occult interest. I think he liked the Satan ones the best.”
“And you didn’t inherit his interest?”
“Oh, no,” Heather said, laughing. “My interests are much more…earthy.” She laid one hand on my thigh.
“I thought you wanted to talk business,” I said, trying my damndest to keep my voice level.
“Eventually,” Heather breathed, running her hand up my leg to stroke my crotch. I groaned, trying to set my drink down. I missed, the glass tumbling to the floor, but we ignored it as our lips clashed. I knew that this was a bad idea—that I was getting myself deeper into something that already smelled like trouble—but I couldn’t stop myself. My hand slid up her leg to squeeze her ass through that delicious red dress. She moaned lustily, grinding against my rapidly-hardening cock. I could see her nipples growing hard, poking through the thin fabric of her dress, as we rabidly explored each other’s bodies. I caressed one, pinching the nub just hard enough to make her gasp.
“Sell me the painting,” I growled in her ear, nipping at the lobe.
She laughed, reaching a hand down the front of my pants to squeeze my growing erection. “How much do you want it?” Heather’s hand slid off my cock and down to grip my balls. “Because from where I’m at, I believe I have the negotiating high ground.”
“Are you going to do something with that, or just threaten me?”
Heather dropped to her knees in one fluid motion, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly of my pants. I braced myself against the solid, mahogany desk as her scarlet lips wrapped around the head of my aching cock. Her tongue lashed my shaft, boldly exploring the full length. My fingers cramped around the edge of the desk as I groaned with helpless pleasure.
My cock was half-way down her throat now, and it felt like utter heaven. Heather was skilled—very skilled—and she was exerting every ounce of technique she possessed. Steadying myself, I wrapped one finger in her cascade of hair, holding her head closer to me.
“Now,” I said hoarsely, my voice not entirely stable. “are you ready to sell me the painting?” My hips bucked slightly toward her as my shaft slid in and out of her hot, wet mouth.
Heather practically purred, slowing her tongue motions down to a slow, sensual caress. I trembled as her wet tongue lapped over the head of my cock with indescribable slowness, making each stroke feel like absolute heaven.
After what felt like an eternity, Heather slowly let my aching shaft slip from her mouth. “Not quite yet,” she said, her voice like velvet. “You haven’t begun your own negotiations yet.”
More forcefully than I normally would have, I grabbed Heather by the hips and spun her around. With one hand, I forced her down over the desk, giving me a great view of her pert, round ass. Yanking up her tight red dress, I saw that she was wearing the scantest of black lace thongs. She whimpered as I pulled them down, baring her wet pussy.
“You want to deal, we’ll deal,” I said hoarsely. I took my cock in hand, groaning low in my throat at the very sensation of gripping the erect shaft. Guiding it into Heather’s waiting cunt, I slid into her with one smooth thrust. My
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