Busy Signals

Sarah Vandella strolls in for her usual rubdown with Lucas Frost. She barely nods while she's still yammering into her phone about some deal she's closing. He guides her back and she finally kills the call, muttering it's been one of those days. He tells her to strip and steps out. She yells for him once she's naked, but her phone rings the second he opens the door. She figures it's work until she sees her husband's name. Big eye-roll. She answers and waves Lucas over like, go ahead, let's get this going. She's already ripping into the guy on the line—what the hell does he need now? Can't he leave her alone for sixty damn minutes? She hangs up, bitching that ever since she got promoted the guy acts like a lost puppy, calling nonstop, needing constant check-ins. One time she'd like to fuck someone who doesn't need parenting. Phone rings again right on cue. While she's laying into her husband, Lucas gets bold and slides his hands straight between her thighs. Sarah gasps, whips her head around, sees him smirk, and feels his fingers keep working. Between the angry back-and-forth with hubby and the slick pressure on her clit, she starts whimpering. She tries to cover the sounds—says she knocked her elbow or whatever bullshit comes to mind—until the lies stop holding. The moans turn to loud, filthy screams as Lucas pushes her over the edge. She barks a quick excuse into the phone, kills the call, drops the damn thing, and finally lets herself drown in it.