Gray Suit Day at Sterling Financial
# Gray Suit Day Blake straightened his steel-gray tie one final time in the polished elevator doors, the reflection showing a man in his early forties, clean shaven, a lock of dirty blond hair falling across a forehead creased more with fo
Chapter 1
Blake straightened his steel-gray tie one final time in the polished elevator doors, the reflection showing a man in his early forties, clean shaven, a lock of dirty blond hair falling across a forehead creased more with focus than worry. The suit was a favorite—charcoal Italian wool, tailored to his broad shoulders and lean frame, the fabric falling in a clean, sharp line.
He was blissfully unaware that in the cubicle farm of Sterling Financial, this particular suit had its own name.
It was a Gray Suit Day.
The whisper started at the coffee station, carried on the scent of cheap arabica and expensive perfume. Nina, a fiery-haired dynamo with a constellation of freckles across her nose, nudged her friend, her eyes gleaming.
“Look alive, Kel. It’s a viewing day.”
Riley, tall and willowy in a sleek black dress that ended just above her knees, followed Nina’s gaze. Blake was walking toward the executive wing, his stride confident, a leather folio under his arm. The rumor, that delicious, years-old secret spilled by a tipsy ex-wife at a Christmas party, painted a very specific picture. And the way the fine wool of his trousers draped and pulled with each step… it was impossible not to look. A slow, warm flush crept up Riley’s neck.
She’d noticed his eyes on her before. Not leering, but a lingering glance when she crossed the office in her heels, the whisper-soft rasp of her nylon stockings a secret sound only she seemed to hear. His eyes, a startling, clear blue, would catch hers for a half-second too long before returning to a spreadsheet.
Today, she decided, she’d give him something to look at.
Her opportunity came after the midday budget meeting. The conference room emptied, leaving the scent of dry-erase markers and ambition. Blake was gathering his papers at the head of the long table.
“Mr. Evans? A quick question about the Q3 projections?” Riley’s voice was steady, professional, but she made sure to approach from the side, letting him take in the full view: the blond hair swept over one shoulder, the elegant line of her legs accentuated by the sheer, shimmering nylon she’d specifically chosen that morning.
He looked up, and those blue eyes locked onto hers. “Riley. Of course. And it’s Blake, please.”
She leaned a hip against the table, a deliberately casual pose that brought her closer. “The vendor gala next week,” she began, tapping a manicured nail on the printout. “Nina and I were just discussing how… static the networking portion can be. We had an idea. Something to break the ice, get the partners loosened up.”
Blake leaned back in his chair, a playful spark entering his gaze. “I’m listening. My team did say you were the adventurous one.”
The *my team* did it. The subtle ownership in the phrase sent a shiver through her. “A costume theme,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “But a specific one. A swap. The men come dressed in pieces from the women’s closets, and vice versa. It would be playful. A conversation starter.”
She watched him, saw the way his eyes drifted from her face, down the column of her throat, to where the neckline of her dress hinted at the swell of her breasts. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“A swap,” he repeated, the word hanging in the air. “And what would you suggest I wear, Riley?”
The question was a door, swung wide open. She met his gaze, her own playful dominance rising to the surface. “Oh, I have a few things in mind. A little black dress, perhaps. Though I’m told you look excellent in gray.” She let her eyes travel down his torso, over the impeccable suit, with a brazenness that made her own heart hammer. “I’d be happy to help you… try things on. To see what fits. It’s usually a ghost town here on Thursday after 6pm. That’s tomorrow”
The silence that followed was electric, thick with everything unsaid—the rumors, the glances, the sheer, tantalizing *want* of it. Blake’s smile was slow, a little shy at the edges but undeniably heated. Blake agreed’ “tomorrow after 6 sounds good, I’d bet you heard I my divorce was finalized a few months ago. I’ve been all work no play. This sounds like a good idea to loosen me up a bit. I have to admit I’m a bit rusty at social situations lately”
Chapter 2
The office was a silent, humming cavern after six, the only light spilling from the crack under Blake’s closed door. Riley’s knuckles rapped softly, twice. When the door opened, the breath caught in her throat.
Blake stood there, bathed in the warm glow of his desk lamp. The black silk dress she’d left for him was stretched taut across his shoulders and chest, the delicate straps digging into his muscle. The hem, meant to fall at a woman’s mid-thigh, rode high on his powerful thighs. He looked utterly vulnerable and devastatingly masculine all at once.
“Oh, Blake,” she breathed, stepping inside and locking the door behind her with a definitive click. Her blue eyes traveled over him, a slow, appreciative smile curving her full lips. “Look at you. You fill that out… spectacularly.”
He gave a shaky laugh, running a hand through his blond hair. “I feel ridiculous. And incredibly exposed.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky murmur as she closed the distance. She reached out, her fingertips tracing the seam where the silk strained over his pectoral. “The contrast is unbelievably hot. All that strength wrapped in something so soft.” Her gaze drifted lower, down the flat plane of his stomach to where the thin fabric tented prominently, unmistakably. The office rumors hadn’t lied. A thrill shot through her, sharp and needy.
She looked up, catching his shy, heated stare. “But it’s not quite complete, is it?” she purred, holding up the small, crinkling package she’d been holding behind her back. A new pair of sheer, black nylon stockings.
Blake’s eyes widened. “Stockings?”
“To complete the look,” Riley said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She tapped his chest playfully. “Sit. On the edge of the desk.”
Swallowing hard, Blake obeyed, perching on the polished mahogany. The cool surface contrasted with the heat she could feel radiating from him. Kneeling before him, she tore open the packaging. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
“Lift your foot for me,” she instructed, her dominant persona in full control. He did, and she began to roll the fine nylon up his calf, her fingers smoothing the whisper-thin material over the coarse blond hair of his leg. The intimacy of the act was electrifying. She could see the hard line of his cock pressing urgently against the silk, just inches from her face.
“You like this, don’t you?” she whispered, not looking up, her fingers circling his ankle as she started on the second stocking.
“Yes,” he groaned, the word raw. “God, Riley. Your hands… I haven’t been touched in so long.”
She finished rolling the second stocking up his thigh, her palm deliberately gliding high, brushing the sensitive skin near his groin. She stayed kneeling, looking up at him from between his legs. “I can tell,” she said, her voice thick with desire. She leaned forward, her breath warming him through the silk. “That gray suit hides so much. But this… this shows me everything.”
Chapter 3
“You like this, don’t you?” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the straining silk.
“Yes,” he groaned, the word raw. “God, Riley. Your hands… I haven’t been touched in so long.”
A fierce, possessive thrill shot through her. She’d waited long enough. With a sudden, decisive movement, Riley surged up from her knees. Her hands planted firmly on his chest and she pushed. Blake, caught off balance, stumbled backward until the edge of his own mahogany desk met his thighs, and he sank onto it with a soft grunt.
Before he could utter a word, her fingers hooked into the delicate lace of the black silk panties he wore beneath the dress. With a sharp, deliberate tug, she pulled the fragile fabric aside.
There he was. Thick, veined, and achingly hard, his cock springing free against the smooth nylon covering his stomach. The sight was even better than the office whispers had promised. A low, hungry sound escaped her lips.
“Ever since that Christmas party,” Riley murmured, her blue eyes locked on his, “I’ve dreamed of this.” Then she dropped gracefully back to her knees on the plush office carpet.
She didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, she took him into her mouth in one slow, deep glide, her lips stretching to accommodate him. A muffled moan vibrated against his skin as her tongue pressed flat along his length. Her hands, meanwhile, slid back up his stocking-covered thighs, her fingertips tracing the seam of the nylon, feeling the powerful muscles quiver beneath the sheer film. The contrasting textures—the slick heat of her mouth, the rasp of the stockings, the silk bunched at his hips—were overwhelming.
She pulled back, her lips glistening. “Your ex wasn’t lying,” she breathed, her voice thick with want. “I’ve been obsessed with the thought of tasting you. Of seeing if you’d look at me the way you do when I wear my nylons.” She took him deep again, her moans a continuous, worshipful hum as she worked him with her mouth, her fingers kneading the taut nylon of his inner thighs, inching ever closer to where she held him captive.
Chapter 4
Her mouth was a hot, wet paradise, and Blake felt his control fraying at the edges. He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white. The sensation was too much—the obscene contrast of her skilled lips on his cock and the rasp of the stockings on his skin, the sheer nylon now damp with his own pre-cum. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat.
“Riley… I’m so close,” he gasped, his hips giving an involuntary twitch.
She pulled off him with a soft, wet pop, looking up. Her blue eyes were dark with lust, a confident smile playing on her swollen lips. “Not yet,” she purred, her voice firm. She rose fluidly to her feet, taking his hand. “Come here. I want you to see what you do to me.”
She led him, dazed and achingly hard, to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the glittering city. The office lights were off, leaving them illuminated only by the urban glow, a private tableau for anyone who might glance up.
“Put your hands on the glass,” she commanded softly.
He obeyed, the cool surface a shock against his palms. Then her hand was on the back of his neck, gentle but insistent. She pushed his face forward until his cheek and forehead pressed against the chilled pane. His breath fogged the glass in ragged bursts.
“Look,” she whispered hotly in his ear. With her other hand, she gathered the black silk of the dress, hiking it up his thighs and back, exposing the taut nylon stretched over his ass. She slid her hand between his thighs from behind, her fingers cupping him, feeling the heavy, frantic pulse of his cock through the sheer material. “Look at your reflection. Look at what you’re wearing for me. How badly you want this.”
Blake’s eyes flicked to their reflection in the dark glass. The sight was devastating: his own powerful frame bent, shrouded in the delicate, sinful fabric of her dress and stockings, her slender form pressed against his back, in complete control. Shame heated his face, but it was utterly consumed by a tidal wave of arousal. He’d never felt so exposed, so wanted.
“I want it,” he groaned, his voice strained, his hips pushing back against her hand. “God, Riley, I want you so much it hurts.”
“I know,” she said, her fingers tracing the length of him through the nylon, feeling him jerk and thicken. “And you’ll have me. Every bit. But first, you show me.” She increased the pressure, her palm rubbing him with a slow, grinding rhythm. “Come on, Blake. Show me in this window just how much you need to come. Let me see it.”
Chapter 5
Riley’s hand tightened around his cock, the rapid, slick strokes making Blake’s vision blur against the glass. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and white. Her breath was hot against his ear, her voice a low, filthy command.
“You see that? See how hard you are for me in my little black dress? That’s all mine. That desperate, throbbing cock is mine to play with.”
“Riley… please,” he gasped, his hips pushing helplessly into her fist.
“Please what?” she taunted, her speed increasing, her palm a hot, relentless friction over his sensitive head. “You want to come? You want to spill all over this pretty window and show the whole city what a good boy you are for me?”
The image, combined with her ruthless pace, sent a violent shudder through him. A low groan was torn from his chest. He was so close, a coiled spring at the very edge.
“Look at yourself, Blake,” she ordered, her voice dripping with dominance. “Look at your face. You’re fucking yourself on my hand, and you love it. You want to ruin these stockings, don’t you? You want to paint them white.”
He whimpered, his reflection a portrait of debauched need—cheek flattened against the cold pane, eyes squeezed shut, body taut and trembling under the sheer black nylon.
“But you don’t get to come,” she whispered, her strokes becoming punishingly fast. “Not until I say. Not until I’m ready to feel you pump that load deep inside me. Can you hold it? Can you be good and hold that ache for me?”
The threat of denial, the explicit promise of what was to come, warred with the imminent surge. His balls Blake up tight, a burning pressure building at the base of his spine. Every muscle in his thighs and abdomen clenched, fighting the tidal wave.
“I’m… I’m trying,” he choked out, his voice ragged.
“Trying isn’t good enough,” she purred, leaning her body fully against his back, feeling him shake. “You will. You’ll hold it because I own this pleasure. I decide when you fall apart.” She punctuated each word with a sharp, twisting tug. “Now. Show me. Stop it right now.”
With a Herculean effort, Blake gritted his teeth. A strangled cry escaped him as he forced his hips to still, arresting the rhythm she had set. He hung there, suspended on a razor’s edge, panting, his entire body vibrating with the strain of holding back.
The frantic motion ceased. Riley’s hand stilled, wrapped firmly around him, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her fingers. She waited, counting the agonizing seconds as he trembled. The danger passed. The crest receded, leaving him gasping and utterly spent, yet still fiercely erect.
A slow, proud smile spread across her lips. She pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “Good. So very good for me,” she murmured, her voice suddenly tender. “You passed.” She gave him one slow, luxurious stroke. “Now, let’s get you out of this dress. I believe I promised you a proper reward.”
Chapter 6
“Keep going,” Riley commanded, her voice a velvet whip. She stepped back from the trembling heat of his body, leaving his own hand wrapped around his cock. “Don’t you dare stop. And don’t you dare finish. That pleasure is mine to give, and I’m not ready to give it yet.”
Blake’s breath hitched, a ragged sound of torment and obedience. His knuckles whitened as he resumed the slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes fixed on her, wide and desperate.
A slow, predatory smile curved Riley’s lips as she began her own performance. Her fingers went to the zipper at the back of her sleek black dress. The sound was loud in the silent office. She let the dress fall from her shoulders, catching it on one arm before letting it pool on the executive carpet.
Beneath, she was a vision of deliberate seduction. A lace balcony bra in deep burgundy barely contained her breasts, its sheer cups offering teasing glimpses of her nipples. Matching French-cut panties hugged her slim hips, leading the eye down her long, smooth legs. And then, the art: a delicate, intricate tattoo of winding ivy curled around her right hip bone, disappearing under the lace. Another, a small constellation of stars, graced the inside of her left wrist.
She saw Blake’s jaw go slack, his rhythm faltering for a second. “Eyes on me,” she purred, walking a slow circle around him as he stood vulnerable at the window. “I’ve been watching you for months, Blake. Every damn Gray Suit Day.”
She stopped behind him again, her breasts pressing against his back, her lips a breath from his ear. “I’d see you walk to the coffee machine in that perfect wool, and I’d imagine my hands on you. Right there in the hallway. I’d picture myself pushing you into the supply closet, dropping to my knees, and taking that thick cock of yours into my mouth until you forgot your own name.”
Blake moaned, his hand moving faster, spurred by her words. “Please…”
“I imagined bending you over this very desk,” she whispered, her hands sliding around his waist, her nails scraping lightly over his stomach. “Hiking up my skirt, letting you feel my stockings against your hips while I rode you. I wanted to hear you beg to come while everyone else was in a meeting downstairs.”
Her fingers dipped below the waistband of her panties, finding herself hot and slick. She let out a soft, shaky sigh directly into his ear. “I’d get so wet thinking about it. About marking you. My lipstick on your collar. My scent on your skin. Making the legendary Blake Evans come apart just for me.”
She moved around to face him, her gaze holding his, her own fingers working in a slow, mirroring rhythm to his frantic ones. “Now you’re here. In my dress. Touching yourself for me. It’s better than I dreamed.” She leaned in, capturing his mouth in a deep, claiming kiss, swallowing his groan. When she pulled back, her voice was dark with promise. “Hold that edge. Just a little longer. I want to feel how hard you are when I finally let you inside me.”
Chapter 7
A wicked light sparked in Riley’s eyes. “Stay right there. Keep working that beautiful cock. I want to see every twitch.” She turned, the silk of her panties brushing his hip as she walked to her sleek, modern desk.
Blake obeyed, his strokes slow and tortured, the damp nylon of her stockings whispering with each movement. The sight of her from behind—the lace strap of her panties cutting across the swell of her ass, the ivy tattoo trailing into shadow—was its own exquisite torment. He groaned, his grip tightening as he fought the cresting wave.
Riley opened a drawer, the sound crisp in the charged air. She pulled out a slender, black vibrator, its tip already glowing with a soft, persistent hum. She turned back to him, the device held loosely in her hand like a conductor’s baton.
She approached, her movements a slow, predatory stalk. Without a word, she pressed the humming head against the outside of his nylon-clad thigh. The vibration was a sudden, electric buzz that jolted through the fine nerves just beneath the skin. Blake flinched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth.
“Feel that?” she whispered, leaning in so her lips grazed his earlobe. Her other hand slid down his chest, nails tracing his abs. “That’s nothing. Imagine it somewhere else. That’s my dream, you know. A senior exec, a powerful man with a huge cock, brought to this. Begging. Shaking. All for me.”
She dragged the vibrator slowly up his thigh, the vibration seeping through the sheer nylon to tease the sensitive skin of his inner leg, achingly close to where he desperately needed it. “I am so fucking wet right now, Blake. Thinking about how you’re going to break for me. I can smell my own scent, and it’s because of *this*.” She gave his cock a firm, possessive squeeze through his hand, making him whimper. “You’re going to edge until I say otherwise. Then, maybe, I’ll use this little toy on you. Or maybe I’ll just climb onto you and ride you raw against this window until you forget every spreadsheet you’ve ever seen.”
Her words were a filthy, perfect catalyst. Blake’s hips began to piston in short, helpless thrusts into his own fist, his control fraying. The dual sensations—the relentless vibration on his thigh, the brutal clarity of her dominance, the visual of her nearly naked body so close—coiled the tension in his gut to a screaming pitch. His breath came in ragged pants, his eyes pleading, locked on hers, silently swearing he was hers to command.
Chapter 8
Riley watched Blake’s control disintegrate with a thrill of pure power. His hips stuttered, his hand a frantic blur on his cock. “Oh, no you don’t,” she purred, her voice a silken command. She grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away. “Turn around. Face the window.”
Her words were a physical force. Dazed, trembling, Blake obeyed. She guided him roughly, spinning him to press his chest and cheek against the cool glass. With efficient tugs, she yanked his gray suit pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles, leaving him exposed from the waist down, the dark city lights painting streaks across his skin.
“Look at yourself,” she hissed in his ear, her body flush against his back. Her hands roamed over his hips, his ass. “A senior executive. Pants around his ankles, dressed in my stockings, hard as stone for me. That’s the picture, Blake. That’s my fantasy.”
He whimpered, his breath fogging the glass. The humiliation was a white-hot brand, but it only fed the fire in his gut. He was utterly hers.
The sudden, fierce buzz against his most intimate skin made him cry out. Riley had pressed the humming vibrator firmly against his perineum, the relentless vibration shooting straight up into his core, making his cock twitch violently. “You feel that?” she whispered, her lips grazing his shoulder blade. “That’s just a taste. I’m going to own every part of you. You’re going to beg me to fuck your perfect ass with this toy before I even think about letting you come.”
“Riley, please,” he gasped, the words torn from him. He was rocking back against the vibration instinctively, shame and need warring in his blue-eyed reflection.
“Please what?” she demanded, increasing the pressure. She could feel the tension coiling in him, a spring wound too tight.
“I… I need…”
“You need to beg for it. Say it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” Her free hand snaked around his hip, her fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing just shy of pain. “Tell me, or I’ll edge you like this until you’re sobbing.”
The dual sensations—the brutal vibration below and her tight, possessive grip—shattered his last pretense. His voice was a ragged, broken thing. “Please… I’m begging you. Use it on me. I want it. I need you to.”
A triumphant smile spread across Riley’s face. “Good boy.”