Professional Sin

by Cleo Peitsche

  “And if they accept but we don’t get Ace?” Hawthorne asks. “We’ll be overpaying by millions.”

  “I’m more comfortable with that by the minute,” Romeo says. “The tech is solid. We don’t need him.”

  Hawthorne barks out a disbelieving laugh.

  “It’s… an elegant solution,” I say. “It makes Ace look unimportant and unnecessary. It’s also a vote of confidence in your own technology department.”

  Hawthorne shakes his head. “No. It makes us look like suckers who overpaid.”

  Slade taps his finger on the table. “Not if we spin it first.”

  Arms crossed, Hawthorne leans against a wall. “Let the record show that I adamantly oppose this. If you’re lucky, they’ll turn down your offer. That’s the best outcome.”

  Smiling, Romeo claps his friend on the shoulder. “Your objections are duly noted.”

  Twenty minutes later, almost everyone in the conference room has been dispatched. I, however, haven’t been dismissed yet. I finger-comb my long hair and twist it up into a bun, which I clip in place.

  Romeo comes over. “Where were you?” he asks.

  Because of his impressive size, he’s scary when he’s not smiling. The way he’s looking at me now makes me wonder if I’ve got thirty seconds left to live.

  “At the doctor,” I say confidently.

  “No problems with your insurance card?” Hawthorne asks casually.

  “Nope.” I’m starting to get a bad feeling.

  “Not too long of a wait?”

  “There was a delay. That’s why I’m late.” I try to smile, but it’s clear that Hawthorne suspects something.

  He snorts. “This is the woman whose advice you’re following?” he says to Romeo. “Every word out of her mouth is a lie.”

  I feel my face heating with embarrassment. Anger, too, even though yes, I did lie.

  Romeo’s dark eyebrows gather together. “When we couldn’t reach you again, I was concerned, so I contacted the doctor’s office. The answering service said that due to a gas leak, they’re closed today and tomorrow.”

  For a moment I’m dumbfounded. Obviously I’ve been caught, and in addition to the embarrassment, I feel… guilty.

  Romeo and Slade, and yes, even Hawthorne, have been good to me. Better than I deserve. I wish I didn’t have to lie to them.

  But it’s an automatic habit, a reflex. Nothing personal.

  “Please wait at your desk,” Romeo says. “We need to discuss this amongst ourselves.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Did you need clarification?” Hawthorne asks me pointedly.

  My mouth snaps shut. I’m halfway across the room when Hawthorne says, “You forgot your bag.”

  I turn, too quickly. Hawthorne is already pulling out the chair to access the bag. My heart pounds a hole through my chest while he studies it.

  “Not really your style, is it? Totes are practical, but you’re hardly a practical woman,” he says as he hefts it. “But then, you’re feeling prudent today.” Smirking, he finally hands it over.

  Not trusting my voice at the moment, I just turn and leave. The second the door closes behind me, I freeze. I want to go back in and plead my case.

  In the end it’s easier to walk away.

  At my desk, I make space for the bag in the back of the bottom drawer, which I lock up tight.

  Once that’s done, I turn on the computer and pull up my work. There’s still quite a bit of reading to do before the meeting tomorrow, and I need to know the material—which is all about negotiation strategies—backward and forward.

  Concentrating when my gut feels full of rocks? Not easy.

  Thirty minutes later, I give up. All the fluttering in my stomach is making me queasy, and something like tears lurks hot behind my eyes. It’s not just my future that I’m worried about. I betrayed my bosses. They probably don’t consider me a friend, but they’re the closest I’ve had since I was sixteen.

  These men pulled me out of my crappy sales position and gave me a job with real potential. Plus the salary… far more than I deserve, even with my embellished résumé.

  I’ve never felt so low in my life.

  There’s no reason to believe my bosses are still in the conference room, but I go there anyway.

  Just as I’m about to knock, I realize I can hear low voices on the other side of the door.

  Telling myself that I just want to make certain I’m not interrupting something important, I tilt forward, my neck craned, my ear pressing against the polished wood.

  “I’m telling you, she’s untrustworthy,” Hawthorne is saying. “Remember, I caught her stealing from Sunrise Imports. Yes, she’s hot. Yes, she’s smart and insightful. She’s got potential. But what good is that if we can’t trust her?”

  His criticisms, while irrefutable, have me blinking away tears.

  I want to throw open the door and tell him I’m not really like this. I want to fall to my knees and beg their forgiveness.

  But that’s not who I am, either.

  “You also said you think there’s more to her story,” Slade says.

  “Obviously there’s more.” Romeo’s words are clipped. He’s not just angry, I realize; I hurt him. I made him look like a fool.

  My racing heart slams to a stop, and I have to open my mouth to get enough air into my lungs. Romeo was always my biggest ally. Giving me this job was his idea.

  “I don’t know, Romeo,” Slade says. “I agreed with you at the beginning, and I like her, or the glimpses of her that shine through all the bullshit. But it’s been almost a month and she’s still playing games. Frankly, I don’t know that sending her in tomorrow is wise.”

  “It’s too late to find someone else,” Romeo says, and I feel a tiny flutter of optimism.

  “He’s right,” Hawthorne says. “Let’s go forward as planned. As soon as it’s over, she’s gone. Romeo?” There’s regret in his voice, and it touches me.

  “You’re probably right,” Romeo says. He sounds resigned. “But… I don’t know. Let me think about it over the next few days.”

  Now my eyes are brimming with tears, which can’t be doing my makeup any favors. I hurry to the closest bathroom. It’s a strange location to be fighting a mental breakdown. The bathroom is soothing, an oasis. It smells faintly of baby powder, the lighting is pleasantly soft, and the floors and sinks are spotless.

  My fingers curl into fists, so hard that my knuckles ache. I avoid the mirror, instead staring at the sink while I take calm, measured breaths and try to think clearly.

  Hawthorne wants to get rid of me, but I don’t want to go. I feel safe here. The nature of their business, and my place in it, is more private than any of my previous jobs. There’s no list of employees and photos plastered across the website. I’m not spending hours every day on sales calls, leaving behind a trail of potential witnesses.

  No, no matter how much my pride is hurt, leaving isn’t an option.

  The solution is obvious. Hawthorne, Slade and Romeo may be angry, but they’re businessmen first and foremost.

  My grandfather taught me that successful businessmen are predictable; they’ll deal with people they despise if it’s best for the bottom line.

  I’ll just have to make myself indispensable.

  When I walk out of the bathroom, Hawthorne is leaning stiffly against the wall, like he’s holding up the building.

  I feel the blood drain from my face.

  They must have changed their minds and now want to send me away immediately.

  “I’m really sorry—”

  “Follow me.”

  Chapter 3

  Hawthorne walks past the conference rooms, past the offices that he and Slade use when they’re working out of Romeo’s building.

  I’m confused because as far as I know, there’s nothing at the end of this hallway. I can’t imagine why he would bring me here unless he wants to have a private conversation. But if he wants that, why not use an empty office?r />
  But then he makes a sharp right, and I see a small doorway. He pushes through it and there’s a short hallway, an elevator there, already waiting. It’s small, barely big enough for two people, and paneled in red velvet.

  It’s so out of place in an office building.

  Hawthorne is facing me, his expression impatient, and I step into the elevator with him. It’s too close, and to distract myself, I stare at the control panel.

  There are only four buttons. The third from the top is lit. Hawthorne swipes a card and pushes the top button.

  In the closed space, I can smell his rich, complex scent. It takes me suddenly back to Sunrise Imports, to the evening he spanked me with the employee handbook.

  Dampness is gathering between my legs.

  The doors open and he motions for me to step out. When I do, I find myself in a dark hallway. There should be a window to my right, but there’s not.

  I’ve never seen black walls paired with black carpet, and the hall is narrow. The effect is frightening and makes me feel trapped.

  “What’s—”

  “Romeo wants to speak to you somewhere more private,” Hawthorne says. “Go straight.”

  My feet move without waiting for my say-so. The black carpet is surprisingly plush under the soles of my shoes.

  I walk until I see a large closed door. Hawthorne leans around me. Having his masculine body suddenly so close throws me off guard, and I suck in a gasp that I hope sounds startled rather than desperate; he doesn’t need to know that sexual craving is practically making me vibrate.

  He pushes open a door, revealing a largish room decorated in tones of black and somber red. With several groupings of sturdy sofas, it’s clearly a lounge. In many ways, the colors and decoration remind me of Hawthorne’s secret office, where the three men shared me. It’s a nice association. Contemporary art, sleek, modern furniture. It looks staged for the cover of an architectural magazine.

  Romeo is in the room, as is Slade.

  Sitting in a U-shaped sofa are three other men, a little doughy, a little fleshy, but they have that confidence of men born into wealth.

  I get a thorough once-over as I enter, then the strangers go back to their conversation.

  Businessmen. One-track minds, I think.

  Romeo is sitting on an enormous chair. He could be a medieval king on a throne; all he needs is a bear pelt around his shoulders and a heavy scepter in his hand.

  He indicates the floor between his feet. “Kneel,” he says.

  His eyes are less like molten chocolate and more like burning coals. I glance at the three strangers. One of them is watching with keen interest, but he shows no signs of surprise.

  Romeo doesn’t repeat his order.

  He doesn’t need to; I’m already moving forward, my steps a little unsteady. I drop in front of him.

  “I’m so sorry, Romeo—”

  “Shut up with the lies,” Hawthorne snaps. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing it.”

  Romeo holds up his hand. “You don’t need to be here,” he says to Hawthorne.

  Shrugging, Hawthorne moves away. I think he’s going to leave, but at the last minute he veers away from the door and joins the three men sitting nearby.

  Romeo’s enormous hand cups my chin. “What you did today cost you my trust,” he says.

  I try to nod.

  “I’m going to give you one chance to redeem yourself,” he says, squeezing my chin. As he speaks, his other hand moves toward his belt.

  All conversations in the room have stopped, and I can sense the three strangers, Slade, and Hawthorne all watching.

  Romeo removes my hair clip, and my platinum blonde hair cascades over my breasts and past my elbows. I smell my herbal shampoo, a color-safe aromatic indulgence I buy from the salon.

  He knots his fingers in my hair and pulls me up to my knees. He’s not rough, but he’s hardly gentle.

  “Take my cock out,” he says as he moves his hand from his belt. His voice is deep and commanding. I feel a trickle of wetness seep into my panties. The soft carpet is sensuous against my knees, and I’m glad it’s so comfortable because something tells me I’m going to be down here for a while.

  I reach for him, but he pushes my hands away. “Use that troublesome mouth of yours,” he says.

  As I lean forward toward his belt, I can’t help but wonder if my safe word—red—still applies. It doesn’t really matter because unless they’re about to kill me, I’m not going to ask for relief.

  Even if they kill me, I think. Better that than to be on the streets again, on my own, constantly running. I need the safety that only these men can provide.

  My lips fumble with the belt’s strap. Against my neck, I feel his enormous erection through his expensive dress pants, and as my teeth catch hold of the edge of the supple belt, his cock shifts, straining against the sleek fabric.

  But I can’t let that distract me, not even when I feel the length of him pulsing against my throat.

  The end of the strap slides from the keeper. I catch it between my teeth and pull. I can’t tell if the metal tongue is free of the hole yet because I can’t see, so I continue pulling for longer than should be necessary.

  The effort leaves me winded, and in the silence of the room, only the panting sounds of my humiliation are audible.

  Finally I release the end of the belt, and I want to collapse onto my hands and knees, to catch my breath, but Romeo’s impatient growl puts an end to the fantasy.

  It isn’t easy to unbutton his pants with my mouth, and getting the zipper down makes my jaw hurt. I suppose it’s a good warmup for what awaits me. Sucking Romeo’s cock was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, and he wasn’t even angry at me that time.

  Once his zipper is down, I’m faced with the daunting task of pulling his cock through his boxers and his pants.

  A strategy is in order, but apparently Romeo has no time for that because he forces my head into the soft folds of expensive cloth. His hips pump lightly as he rubs my face in his lap, and suddenly I feel a bit of swollen, taut skin.

  I flick out my tongue, tracing the skin, pushing away the fabric. I’m drooling everywhere, getting wetter between my legs, too.

  Then, suddenly, gloriously, I reach the crown. Eagerly, I curl my tongue around the thick tip and try to pull him into my mouth.

  But his cock is too heavy and probably would be even without the restrictive clothing. The way he smells, his masculine musk, is making me so horny that now I’m not just thinking about keeping my job. I want him to fuck me. I need to be stretched full by his girth.

  There’s a sad little noise coming from my throat as I finally angle the fat tip of his cock between my lips. I burn with need for him, for Slade and Hawthorne, too.

  Just the head of Romeo’s cock is nearly enough to fill my mouth. I’ve started to wrestle the entire shaft out when Romeo leans forward, which makes it hard to keep hold of him.

  His hand plunges down the front of my blouse and into my bra.

  I gasp as his large fingers tighten around my nipple. He tweaks me hard enough to make blood rush to my face.

  “Watch your teeth,” he growls impatiently, and he pinches me until I whimper.

  Something tells me that every woman he’s ordered to suck his dick—and I think ordered is right because no woman would voluntarily try to choke down something his size—has needed to be warned about scraping him with her teeth.

  His swollen shaft is leaking, making him slippery and tangy and salty. I want to beg him to let me give a real blow job, one where I play with his balls and jerk the bottom two-thirds of his pole while I suck that head until he explodes.

  But I can’t say anything, not with my lips stretched wide and my mouth stuffed full.

  Eventually I wrangle the monster out of his pants. I try to relax my throat and get more of his length into my mouth, but he yanks on my hair.

  His cock pops free of my lips. It bobs just in front of my face. Glis
tening. Tempting.

  “What did I tell you about the teeth?” he asks.

  “You must be used to women with removable dentures,” I say, irritated, and I hear Slade laugh behind me.

  I’m startled; I’d forgotten about the other people in the room.

  Then I hear a zipper sliding down. It’s just behind me, close. Slade.

  Romeo stands, his hand still tangled in my hair. His heavy shaft bumps against the side of my face, smearing a damp trail across my cheek.

  Then there’s a third zipper coming down. I tense, terrified that there will be more, that I’ll have to entertain the three strange men, but that doesn’t happen.

  Instead, I feel other hands on my hair. Slade. I have barely a second to realize what’s happening because he moves fast. He positions himself between my lips and shoves deep, all the way down my throat.

  Just like that, I find my lips wrapped around his sizable base.

  I don’t need to think about servicing him properly because he’s in control, fucking my face. I just relax my jaw as best I can and try to hang in there.

  He pushes deep, my nose smushed up against his pants. For ten, twenty, thirty seconds he holds me there, choking me with his stiff cock.

  Then he pulls all the way out. I gasp for air, but he’s already thrusting forward.

  The second he pulls out again, Hawthorne is there, taking his place. I’ve sucked them all before, and Hawthorne’s was the most difficult in some ways.

  He can be brutal, and I’m seeing that our first encounter wasn’t an anomaly. He likes his blow jobs rough.

  And because he’s the one pushing to get me sent away, I work hard to accept his punishment.

  It’s not easy, but I’m holding up as well as can be expected. But then Slade catches my wrists.

  My arms are forced behind my back.

  And something’s wrapping around them. A necktie?

  I want to stop, to look, to beg not to be tied too tightly, but first I’d need to do something about Hawthorne’s huge dick vigorously pumping into my mouth.

  Then I’m restrained, and a hand touches me, turns me. Slade’s missing his tie. I can’t help but feel betrayed, but I’m also very turned on—that can’t be denied.