Page 50 of My Unexpected Surprise
I imagine backing her into the conference room doorway again, only this time I do not stop. I kiss her hard, swallowing the little moan she would make.
My hand moves faster, slick from water and the precum leaking from the tip.
In my mind I push the navy dress up her thighs to find her panties already soaked. I tear them aside and sink two fingers into her tight heat.
She would be dripping for me, clenching around my fingers while she whimpers my name because she knows it this time.
I stroke myself with a rough, punishing rhythm, base to tip, twisting at the head the way I like it.
The fantasy changes into a different, more familiar scene. The same one from Venice where I went down on her in that moonlit library and feasted hungrily, drunk on the taste of her.
I see myself drop to my knees in front of her now, spread her legs wider, and bury my face between her thighs. I taste her, tongue fucking her clit while she grips my hair and rides my mouth.
“Fuck,” I growl under the spray.
The pressure builds fast and brutal. I imagine flipping her over the desk, kicking her legs apart, and thrusting into her from behind in one deep stroke.
Her pussy would grip me like a vice, hot and silky. I would pound into her relentlessly, one hand fisted in her hair, the other slapping her ass until it flushes pink.
She would push back against me, desperate, begging, coming hard around my cock while she cries out.
My balls tighten. The orgasm hits like a freight train. I groan loudly, the sound echoing off the shower walls as thick ropes of cum spill over my fist.
I keep stroking through it, drawing out every pulse, imagining filling her up, marking her, claiming what some buried instinct tells me is already mine.
The release is devastatingly powerful, leaving my legs unsteady and my chest heaving.
But it is not enough.
The cold water continues to pound against my back. My cock twitches again, still half-hard, already wanting more.
I lean my forehead against the marble, breathing hard, water streaming down my face. Livia’s addicting scent lingers in my memory. Her eyes, dark with the same hunger I feel. The slip about Venice. The secrets she guards so fiercely.
I shut off the water and step out, body still humming with unresolved tension. The night ahead feels long. The retreat looms. And the woman at the center of all of it has just agreed to pretend she belongs to me.
I’m not sure how long I can pretend it’s only an act.
Chapter Eleven
LIVIA
The conference room on the twenty-ninth floor feels like a pressure cooker by mid-morning.
Sunlight filters weakly through the rain-streaked windows, but the team gathered around the long table pays it no attention.
We have spreadsheets open on multiple laptops, printed timelines pinned to the mobile boards, and stacks of revised profiles that need one final pass before the retreat.
I sit between Marcus from Operations and Priya from Client Strategy, my fingers flying across the keyboard as we cross-check every detail of the Aurelius security package.
“Page seven needs the updated vendor access logs,” I say, highlighting a section on my screen. “We cannot have any gaps in the perimeter scheduling.”
Marcus nods and adjusts the document. “Already pulled the latest from Security. Ferretti signed off on the drone coverage this morning.”
Priya leans over to peer at my notes. “You caught that overlap in the evening transport routes. Good eye, Livia. Most new hires would have missed it.”
I offer a small smile, but the praise feels double-edged today. The entire floor seems charged with something I cannot quite name.
Colleagues glance my way a little too long when they think I am not looking. Conversations dip when I enter the copy room.
