The Devil Wears Black

Isiah slammed his palms on her desk hard enough to rattle the coffee cup. "I quit. Done. Stick your deadlines up your ass." He expected her to yell, maybe threaten HR. Instead Nina's smile split wide and dirty, tongue flicking over her lower lip like she'd just unwrapped dessert. "Oh, sweetie," she breathed, voice dropping an octave, "nobody talks to me like that and stays on payroll—except the ones who can actually back it up." She swung her long legs around, skirt already bunched at her hips, and spread right there, stockings clipped to nothing but skin, pussy glistening under the fluorescent lights. "Prove it." She grabbed the front of his belt, yanked him closer, and Isiah’s anger flickered into something hotter. Nina had him in her mouth before the zipper hit the floor—hungry, noisy, mascara already smearing. She pulled off with a wet pop, looked him dead in the eye, and licked from his balls to the crown. "That’s the one," she growled, turning, planting her hands on the desk. "Put it where it counts." He sank into her in one long stroke; her whole body jolted forward, a guttural moan spilling out. The copier clattered every thrust. She demanded louder, called him deeper, ass rippling with each slap. He gripped her waist, drove hard, and she laughed around another filthy moan, soaking his balls and the carpet beneath them, begging for every drop he had.