1
WORTH
“Ah, fuck,” I grunt.
The brunette on her knees in front of me moans in response, mouth full and hands already down the front of her panties.
I like when a woman knows what she wants.
I like giving orders even more.
“Lift your skirt. I want to see your ass.” She doesn’t hesitate to obey.
I’m in my corner office at the top of Miller Towers, getting my dick sucked by my receptionist—and I couldn’t be more bored.
You’ll rarely hear a man complain about getting head, but this is just maintenance. A stress-relief exercise. After thirteen hours—and still counting—at the office, my tension is through the roof, and she knew exactly what to suggest when she walked in, pretending to be remorseful for misscheduling a supplier call.
I’m not even convinced it was an accident.
Shaina is decent at this, I’ll give her that. She’s also the only one bold enough to offer, and I’m too busy to seek out anyone else. The convenience outweighs the effort. I don’t have time for dates or emotional labor—I barely have time to sleep.
Still, I’m staring at the starless sky instead of her mouth. Thinking about the past instead of the present. Wondering how the hell my life became this tightrope of responsibilities and isolation.
I used to feel something once. Pleasure. Maybe even the illusion of intimacy.
The last time I let someone in, she tore my world apart on her way out. My ex-wife didn’t just leave me—she gutted the part of me that still believed in love. Took it with her like one final, cruel souvenir.
So now I keep things simple.
Surface-level. Temporary. Unattached.
Another box to tick before moving on to the next task.
I sink my hand into Shaina’s hair and tilt my hips forward, pushing deeper. She gags a little, tears streaming down her face, but she doesn’t stop.
“Touch yourself until you come,” I tell her, voice flat. She’s close. I can feel it in the way her moans vibrate against my cock. I grit my teeth and chase the end. When I come, it’s hard and fast, pouring down her throat like it means nothing.
Because it doesn’t.
She wipes her mouth, smooths her skirt, and leaves without a word. That’s part of the arrangement—no talk, no delusions.
I tuck myself back in, loosen my tie, and lean back in the chair.
I glance at the time. 8:57 p.m.
Shit.
I shove the résumés for the junior designer position I’d been reviewing into my briefcase and lock up, pausing as I pass by Shaina’s desk. It’s empty, but the scent of her strong, nauseating perfume still lingers. There’s a lipstick-stained coffee mug sitting beside the keyboard and a sticky note on her monitor that says ‘teach me a lesson tomorrow for messing up ;)’ in bubbly cursive.
I stare at it, then rip the note off the screen, crumpling it in my fist. I toss it into the trash.
I should fire her for being so fucking bold and inappropriate. But I won’t, because that would mean confronting the fact that I’ve let this go on far too long. That I’ve blurred the lines and pretended it was harmless. I shake my head and sigh. I’ll deal with Shaina another day.
As I hit the elevator, my phone rings. I pick up without looking.
“Yes?”
“Hi, Dad.”