The Gray Suit, a Whisper and a Wink
# Gray Suit Day The low hum of the office on a Wednesday was broken only by the rhythmic click of Riley’s heels on the polished floor. She’d chosen them carefully today—black, sleek, with a heel high enough to make her calves tighten with
Chapter 1
The low hum of the office on a Wednesday was broken only by the rhythmic click of Riley’s heels on the polished floor. She’d chosen them carefully today—black, sleek, with a heel high enough to make her calves tighten with each step. Beneath the conservative line of her pencil skirt, a faint, seductive whisper accompanied her movements, the sound of nylon stockings gliding together. It was gray suit day.
From her desk near the corner office, she had a direct sightline. Blake stood by the window, silhouetted against the glass, phone to his ear. The charcoal gray wool of his suit was impeccably tailored, pulling taut across his shoulders before falling in a clean line. And there, just where the light caught the fine weave, was the faint but undeniable outline she and Leah had giggled about in the breakroom. The rumor, started years ago by a tipsy ex-wife at a Christmas party, had taken on a life of its own. *Hung like a horse*. Riley felt a warm, illicit flush creep up her neck.
She wasn’t the only one watching. Leah, perched on the edge of a nearby desk, gave her a slow, knowing wink. Riley ducked her head, pretending to study a spreadsheet, but her pulse was a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
Blake ended his call and turned. His gaze swept the bullpen, landing on her. It was the third time this week. His eyes, a shockingly clear blue she’d only ever seen in travel ads for tropical waters, didn’t dart away. They held. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before he nodded, a professional courtesy. But the look lingered just a second too long, dipping to take in the elegant arch of her foot in the heel before skating back up.
He started walking towards the finance cluster, his path taking him directly past her desk. Riley’s breath hitched. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs slowly, deliberately, hearing the soft *shush* of nylon. As he passed, the clean, woody scent of his cologne cut through the sterile office air. Her eyes, against her will, flickered down. The gray wool did nothing to hide the confident, heavy swell at the front of his trousers. It was blatant. Unavoidable. A secret the entire office knew but no one dared name.
“Riley.” His voice was smooth, closer than she expected. He’d stopped. “The Henderson projections on your desk—can you bring them to me in ten? My office.”
“Of course, Blake,” she managed, her own voice sounding strangely breathy. She kept her eyes locked on his, refusing to let them wander south again, but the image was seared into her mind.
He gave another nod, that playful glint back in his oceanic eyes, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone. As he walked away, Riley let out a shuddering breath. Leah materialized beside her, leaning in conspiratorially.
“See?” Leah whispered, her freckled face alight with mischief. “He definitely has a thing for the stockings. Told you.”
Riley didn’t answer. She was too busy watching the confident swing of Blake’s shoulders as he disappeared into his office, the door clicking shut behind him. The office buzz faded to a distant murmur. All she could hear was the frantic rush of her own blood and the promising, silent echo of his request.
*My office.*
Ten minutes. She smoothed a hand over her skirt, feeling the tantalizing slip of nylon beneath her palm. It was just a meeting about projections. But as she gathered the files, her movements deliberate and slow, she knew it was a test. And for the first time, she was absolutely certain she wanted to pass.
Chapter 2
The Henderson projections were a mess. Riley stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring as her mind replayed the scene in Blake’s office on a loop. The way his blue eyes had widened, just for a fraction of a second, before flicking from the files in her hand to the slender arch of her foot. The soft *shush* of her nylon-clad heel dangling precariously from her toe.
She’d seen him see her. And he’d known she’d seen him.
“My feet are sore today. These are new heels,” she’d said, her voice a practiced, airy thing. Then, the gamble, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Do you like them?”
He’d stammered. An actual, adorable stammer. “Yes.” The word was quiet, followed by a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes—a shy, caught-out smile that sent a jolt straight to her core.
*Out of practice*, she thought again, a thrilling warmth spreading through her belly. But his eyes… they held a heat that his tongue couldn’t yet form.
“So?” Leah appeared, dropping into the guest chair with a conspiratorial grin. “Details. I saw you come out. You were flushed.”
Riley leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I did the thing. The heel dangle.”
Leah’s eyes went wide. “No. You didn’t.”
“I did. And he looked. Like, a full second too long.”
“What did he say?”
“He gave me this massive data consolidation to finish by end of day,” Riley said, tapping the file. “Said the old system’s numbers are a disaster. Then, when I was leaving, I called him on it. Asked if he liked the heels.”
“Kels!” Leah hissed, delighted. “And?”
“He said yes. He actually blushed. It was… fucking adorable.” She let the crude word hang in the air, feeling its truth between her legs. Her pussy was still humming, a persistent, wet ache that had started the moment his gaze had traveled up her leg.
“Adorable and hung,” Leah corrected, wiggling her eyebrows. “A senior exec who blushes. That’s your in. He’s rusty. You need to be clear.”
Riley nodded, her mind already racing ahead. The assignment was tedious, but it was a reason to go back to his office before five. She could ask a question, clarify a scope. She uncrossed her legs beneath the desk, feeling the slick heat gathering against the thin lace of her panties. The smooth nylon of her stockings felt like a secret against her skin, a uniform for a game only they were starting to play.
She looked at the clock. Three hours until the end of the day. Three hours to make this boring report perfect, and to plan her next move. The tingling between her thighs was a constant, urgent reminder. He was out of practice. She just had to be patient. And a little bit braver.
Chapter 3
Riley’s fingers trembled slightly as she stacked the finalized projections into a neat portfolio. The numbers were perfect. The plan was anything but.
“Okay, so you walk in, heels in hand,” Leah whispered, leaning against the filing cabinet. Her freckled face was a mask of gleeful conspiracy. “You say your feet are killing you. He *has* to look.”
“It’s slightly unprofessional,” Riley repeated, more to herself than to Leah, as she slipped her feet out of the black stilettos. The office carpet felt coarse and strange against the sheer nylon of her stockings. “But I already told him about the heels. So I’ll bring them in, apologize for being too casual…”
“And then you put them on right there,” Leah finished, her eyes sparkling. “While he watches. You give him the report—the great numbers—and the show. Heels and great numbers, Kels. He won’t know what hit him.”
Riley took a steadying breath, the cool air of the office raising goosebumps on her nylon-clad calves. She picked up the portfolio in one hand, her heels dangling from the fingertips of the other. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it,” Leah grinned, giving her a playful swat on the ass. “Go get your shy, hung executive.”
The walk to Blake’s corner office was an exercise in exposed nerve. Every step in her stocking feet was silent, intimate. She felt the eyes of the bullpen on her back, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead, her spine straight. She paused at his door, the nameplate reading ‘Blake Walsh, Senior Vice President’ gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She knocked.
“Come in.”
His voice was a warm baritone through the wood. She pushed the door open.
Blake was standing by his bookshelf, a file in his hand. He turned, and his clear blue eyes did exactly what Leah predicted. They dipped. They took in her bare, nylon-clad feet, the delicate arch, the pale pink of her toenails peeking through the sheer fabric. His gaze traveled up her legs, over the taut line of her pencil skirt, before snapping back to her face. A faint blush crept up his neck.
“Riley. The projections?” he asked, his voice a tad tighter than usual.
“Right here.” She stepped fully into the office, letting the door click shut behind her. She held up her heels with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m so sorry. These are brand new and my feet are officially declaring mutiny. I hope it’s okay I came in like this. It felt too casual, but the pain was real.”
He stared at the shoes dangling from her fingers. “No, it’s… it’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.”
She moved to the chair in front of his desk, acutely aware of the silent, graceful shift of her stockinged soles on the polished floor. Instead of sitting, she placed the portfolio on his desk with a deliberate thud. “The consolidated numbers are on top. I reconciled everything from the old system. The variance is under two percent.”
“Impressive,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the file. He was watching her.
“Thank you.” Now for the gamble. She leaned one hand on his desk for balance, the cool glass steadying her. Slowly, she lifted one foot, bringing the sole of her nylon-clad foot to rest against her opposite calf. The pose was pure, practiced seduction. She picked up one black heel and slid her foot into it, the nylon whispering as it tightened. She buckled the thin ankle strap, her fingers deft. She repeated the motion with the other foot, every movement slow, deliberate, allowing him an uninterrupted view of the elegant line of her leg, the flex of her calf.
When both heels were secured, she straightened up, now a full head taller in his presence. The shift in power was palpable. She was no longer just an analyst with sore feet. She was a woman who had just performed a private, intimate ritual for him.
“There,” she said softly, meeting his ocean-blue eyes. They were wide, dark with a heat that made her pussy clench. “Professional again. Heels and great numbers, right?”
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, erasing the last traces of shyness. “The numbers can wait,” Blake said, his voice dropping to a confidential rumble. He came around the side of the desk, closing the distance between them. The prominent outline in his gray trousers was now at her eye level. “Tell me about the heels.”
Chapter 4
His gaze had been a physical touch, tracing the line of her leg from heel to thigh, and the air between them crackled with the admission hanging there. Riley’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of pure, giddy excitement.
Blake cleared his throat, a soft, self-conscious sound that only made him more endearing. “Riley, sorry I was staring at your feet a little too long there. You caught me off guard.” He leaned back slightly against his desk, the powerful line of his body relaxing into a more vulnerable posture. “And I hope you don’t report me to HR, but you’re an attractive woman. I hope you take it as a compliment.” He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, a boyish gesture that belied his senior title. “Because I want to ask you something.”
*Yes. Ask me anything*, she thought, her pussy clenching hotly beneath her skirt. She kept her face composed, a professional mask over the storm inside. “Of course, Blake. What is it?”
He took a breath, his blue eyes locking onto hers with renewed focus. “I know it’s short notice, but I’m going to fly to Albany tomorrow. Overnight trip for this Henderson account. Are you able to join me? Your numbers here are on point, and I’d like to have the person who prepared them in the room.” He paused, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. “We would fly tomorrow morning. Have an afternoon meeting, probably dinner with clients, and stay at the Grand Albany Hotel—great spa. Quick meeting the following day, and fly back together.”
The proposition hung in the air, layered with professional purpose and undeniable, thrilling subtext. A hotel. A spa. Together.
Riley felt a flush spread from her chest up to her cheeks. She uncrossed her legs slowly, hearing the nylon whisper, and recrossed them the other way, giving him another glimpse of her sleek, stockinged calf. “Tomorrow?” she said, letting a hint of playful challenge into her voice. “That is short notice. I’d need to check my calendar… and pack an overnight bag.”
His smile widened, the shyness melting into something warmer, more confident. “Please do. I’d really value your presence there.” He gestured to the portfolio on his desk. “And not just for these. You have a sharp mind, Riley. I’ve noticed.”
“I’ve noticed you noticing,” she said softly, the words out before she could filter them. The office buzz was a distant hum. Here, in his space, it was just the two of them and the thick, promising silence.
Blake’s eyes darkened, the blue deepening like a twilight sea. He didn’t look away. “Then I guess we’re both a little out of practice at this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that vibrated straight through her core. “The flight’s at ten. I’ll text you the itinerary.”
She nodded, rising from the chair on her towering heels, feeling powerful and desired. “I’ll make it work.”
As she turned to leave, her hand on the cool brass of the doorknob, she glanced back. Blake was still watching her, his gaze hot and appreciative, tracing the curve of her ass in the fitted pencil skirt. The prominent outline in his gray trousers seemed even more defined now, a silent, heavy promise of what this trip could become.
“See you in the morning, Blake,” she said, and slipped out.
The second the door clicked shut, she leaned against the hallway wall, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Her panties were soaked, a slick, hot ache throbbing between her legs. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling, and typed a message to Leah.
*He asked. Albany. Overnight. Hotel.*
The three dots bounced immediately. Then Leah’s reply flashed up.
*PACK THE STOCKINGS. ALL OF THEM. AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FIND OUT IF THE RUMOR IS TRUE.*
Chapter 5
Riley’s apartment was a whirlwind of silk and wool. The overnight bag lay open on her bed as she held up two options, snapping a photo to send to Leah.
**Riley:** Option A: The gray tweed skirt suit (knee-length, very boardroom) with a cream shell. Option B: The black sheath dress (fitted, mid-thigh) with the tailored blazer. Heels for both, obviously. Stockings… maybe the sheer black for the dress? The reinforced toe for the suit?
She tossed the phone on the bed and continued packing, the persistent throb between her legs making her movements restless. The buzz of a reply came almost instantly.
**Leah:** The dress. 1000%. The blazer is professional armor, the dress is a secret weapon. Sheer black stockings. No panties. Trust me.
Riley laughed, a breathy, excited sound in her quiet apartment. She was folding the dress into her bag when Leah’s next message came through. It was a photo, but the preview was just a blur of blue and tanned skin.
**Leah:** Speaking of secret weapons. Found the holy grail. Deep dive on the company intranet alumni page. Don’t say I never gave you anything.
Curious, Riley tapped the image. It loaded slowly, then all at once.
Her breath caught.
It was a college swim team photo, two rows of young men in royal blue speedos, chlorine-bleached hair, and easy grins. And there he was, in the front row. Blake. A younger Blake, maybe 20, his dirty-blond hair longer, slicked back, but those same shockingly blue eyes staring right at the camera with a confident, playful glint. His body was a swimmer’s build—broad shoulders, tapered waist, powerful thighs.
But her gaze snagged, then plummeted, right to the center of the photo.
The royal blue speedo was strained to its absolute limit by a frankly ridiculous bulge. It wasn't just prominent; it was a gravitational event. The thin fabric was weighed down, stretched into a distinct, heavy outline that left nothing to the imagination. The girls from the women’s team in the background weren't looking at the camera; their eyes were glued, wide and appreciative, to the same spot Riley was staring at. One was even biting her lip.
“Holy fuck,” Riley whispered to the empty room, her core clenching with a sudden, slick heat.
She zoomed in, her thumb trembling on the screen. The shape was unmistakable, thick and long, resting heavily against his thigh. The fabric was pulled so taut she could see every contour. “Jesus,” she breathed, her free hand drifting down to press against the aching throb through her sweatpants. “It looks like he’s clean shaven down there.”
The observation, so intimate and crude, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her. She couldn’t look away. Her sweatpants, already loose, slipped down one ankle as she sank onto the edge of her bed, the phone glowing in her hand.
Her other hand slid beneath the waistband of her panties, finding her pussy already wet and swollen. She kept her eyes locked on the photo, on that impossible bulge, as her fingers began to circle her clit. A soft moan escaped her.
“Fuck, Blake,” she murmured, her voice husky with need. She imagined him now, in his office, that same cock hidden behind fine gray wool. She thought of him blushing, stammering, “out of practice.” Her fingers moved faster, sliding through her slickness. She imagined him not out of practice at all, but eager, his big hands rough and gentle all at once, that famous cock finally hers to see, to touch, to take.
Her hips rocked against her hand, the friction building a delicious, coiling tension deep in her belly. The photo was her fuel—the blatant evidence of the rumor, the shameless display, the knowledge that this was the man who was taking her to a hotel tomorrow. She was panting now, her back arching, chasing the peak the image promised.
Just as the tension began to crest, her phone buzzed again, vibrating against her thigh. A new text from Leah flashed over the photo of a young, insanely hung Blake.
**Leah:** So? Still thinking about the tweed suit?
Riley let out a ragged, frustrated laugh, her movements slowing. She was throbbing, soaked, and painfully close. She saved the photo, a secret treasure for later. The climax would have to wait. Tomorrow, she had a flight to catch.
Chapter 6
The first-class cabin was quiet, a cocoon of white noise. Riley stood in the aisle, fumbling with her sleek black overnight bag, pretending the latch was stuck. She felt him step up behind her, his warmth a solid presence.
“Here, let me,” Blake said, his voice soft near her ear. His hand brushed hers as he took the bag.
“Thanks,” she murmured, turning to watch.
He lifted the bag with an easy strength, stretching up to slot it into the overhead bin. The motion pulled his tailored shirt taut across his back and shoulders. But Riley’s gaze, drawn by a magnetic force, dipped lower. The fine wool of his trousers strained against the curve of his ass and, as he reached higher, tightened across the front. There it was—the prominent, heavy outline she’d zoomed in on just hours before, now presented in real time. Her throat went dry. *It’s even bigger than it looked*, she thought, a fresh pulse of heat spreading through her.
He settled into the seat beside her, a faint blush on his cheeks. “All set.”
Once they were airborne, Riley reached down with a quiet sigh. She hooked a finger behind each slender heel and slid them off, one then the other, placing them neatly under the seat in front of her. She flexed her feet, the sheer black nylon of her stockings whispering.
She didn’t have to look to feel his attention. It was a tangible weight on her skin. When she finally glanced over, his blue eyes snapped up from her feet to her face, caught.
A long, charged silence stretched between them, filled only by the drone of the engines. Blake cleared his throat, running a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Riley, I should probably… confess something. It feels unprofessional to say.”
“Say it anyway,” she encouraged, her voice calm despite her racing heart.
“I find you… incredibly attractive.” The words came out in a rush, sheepish. “And those heels. The stockings. They’re a distraction. A serious one.” He gave a helpless, boyish shrug. “I’ve been trying not to stare. I’m not doing a very good job.”
Riley let a slow, knowing smile touch her lips. She turned in her seat to face him more fully, her stockinged foot accidentally brushing his calf. She didn’t pull away. “I’ve noticed the glances, Blake. I’ve noticed all of them.”
His eyes widened slightly, a spark of hope and panic in their blue depths. “You have?”
“Mmhmm.” She leaned an inch closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “And for the record? I like the attention. I like it a lot.”
The admission hung in the cabin air, thick and sweet. Blake’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. The shyness was still there, but it was now fused with a banked heat that made her clit throb. She could see the outline of his cock again, even as he sat, more pronounced now. The photo hadn’t lied.
He swallowed hard. “The client meeting,” he said, his voice a little rough. “It’s at four. We should probably… prepare.”
“We should,” Riley agreed, her smile turning playful. She slowly, deliberately, crossed her legs, letting the nylon sigh again. “But we’ve got a few hours until then.”
The atmosphere between them was electric, a live wire of confessed desire and promises unspoken. She settled back, the ghost of his admission and the vivid memory of his body in that speedo painting a thousand thrilling possibilities for the hotel room that awaited them. The meeting was just a formality. The real negotiation had already begun.
Chapter 7
The low hum of the airplane cabin wrapped around them. Riley felt the heat of Blake’s admission still warming her skin. His blue eyes were locked on hers, shy but blazing. She leaned closer, her voice a husky murmur meant only for him.
“Let me ask you something, Blake,” she began, her gaze dropping briefly to his mouth. “The other day in your office… when I walked in without my shoes. Were you trying to ask me if I wore these stockings on purpose? If I was trying to drive you crazy?”
Blake’s breath hitched. He looked utterly caught, a delicious blend of guilty and turned-on. “Yeah,” he breathed out, running a hand through his hair. “I was. I noticed you noticing me… noticing you. And yes, Riley. You were driving me crazy. You still are.”
A triumphant thrill shot through her. She let her hand drift from her armrest and come to rest lightly on his knee. The fine wool of his trousers was warm. “You admit it.”
“I do.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And last night… after you left my office? I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your legs in those stockings. The way your feet looked.”
Riley’s fingers pressed gently into his thigh. “All night?” she purred, tilting her head. “What were you thinking about all night, Blake? Were you thinking about asking me on a proper date?” She paused, letting her thumb trace a small circle on his knee. “Or were you thinking about… more personal things?”
The charge between them was so thick it felt like the air itself was vibrating. Blake’s eyes darkened, the playful shyness melting into something hotter, more possessive. He covered her hand on his knee with his own, his palm large and warm.
“Both,” he confessed, his voice rough. “I thought about taking you to dinner. I thought about what you’d order. And then… yeah. I thought about what would happen after. I thought about your stockings coming off. Slowly. I thought about how you’d feel. What you’d taste like.”
His blunt, explicit words sent a jolt straight to her core. Her pussy clenched, empty and aching. “How explicit did these thoughts get, Blake?”
He shifted in his seat, and she felt the hard, thick ridge of his cock press against the side of her hand through his trousers. It was massive, a firm, insistent heat. “Very,” he growled softly, leaning in so his lips were almost at her ear. “I thought about having you in my office, bent over my desk. I thought about your ass in that skirt. I thought about how tight you’d be, Riley. How I’d have to go slow because I’m… not small. I thought about you coming on my cock while I watched you in my mirror.”
A soft, desperate moan escaped her before she could stop it. Her other hand flew to his bicep, gripping the solid muscle there. “Fuck, Blake.”
“I jerked off,” he whispered, the admission filthy and perfect. “Twice. Thinking about you. About these.” His hand slid from hers, his fingers brushing the sheer nylon covering her knee, then skating higher up her thigh, stopping just before the hem of her skirt. “So tell me, Riley… was it on purpose?”
She turned her head, her lips a breath from his. “Every single step of the way.”
Chapter 8
Riley’s eyes flicked around the dim, humming cabin. The flight attendants were safely ensconced behind their curtain. They were alone in this little pocket of sky. She turned back to Blake, his confession still a live wire between them. A wicked smile touched her lips.
Without a word, she let her hand slide higher up his thigh, her palm pressing firmly against the hard, thick ridge tenting his trousers. She gave it a deliberate, possessive squeeze through the wool.
“Jesus, Riley,” Blake hissed, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.
“Shhh,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the impressive length slowly up, then down, mapping him through the fabric. “I’m just taking some measurements for the Henderson file.” Her touch grew bolder, her fingertips dancing over the broad head of his cock, unmistakable even through two layers of clothing. She used her nails, scratching lightly in a teasing, ticklish circle right over the sensitive tip.
Blake’s breath hitched in a sharp, startled gasp, followed by a soft, completely unexpected giggle. He clapped a hand over his own mouth, his blue eyes wide with a mix of shock and delight.
Riley froze, her own eyes going wide. Then a slow, triumphant grin spread across her face. “Oh my God,” she breathed, her voice full of awe and amusement. “You’re ticklish. The senior vice president, hung like a horse… is ticklish.”
Blake dropped his hand, a blush creeping up his neck. “That’s a classified weakness,” he muttered, but he was smiling, a real, unguarded smile that made him look years younger.
“Consider it filed,” Riley purred, her hand settling back over him, not tickling now, but holding him with a firm, reverent pressure. The sheer size of him was staggering. The office rumors didn’t do him justice. “So, this is the famous gray suit secret.”
“It’s not a secret if the whole office gossips about it,” he said, his voice rough. He covered her hand with his again, pressing it down harder against his aching hardness. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like, Riley? Seeing you walk past my office every day, knowing you’ve heard those stories? Wondering if you were looking?”
“I was always looking,” she admitted, her thumb stroking him. “And I’m not wondering anymore. I’m feeling.” She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “When we get to the hotel, Blake… I want to feel all of it. No suits. No tickling. Just you. And I want you to tell me exactly what you were thinking about last night, while you show me.”
He turned his head, capturing her mouth in a searing, desperate kiss right there in their first-class seats. It was all tongue and heat and promise. When he pulled back, he was breathing hard. “Deal. But the tickling stays between us.”
“Our little secret,” she agreed, giving him one last, firm stroke before reluctantly pulling her hand away as the seatbelt sign pinged on. The plane began its descent, but the real journey, Riley knew with a shiver of anticipation, was just about to begin.
Chapter 9
This time it was Riley who giggled when Blake retrieved their bags from the overhead. His hard cock was straining so hard against his suit pants she was afraid he’d get arrested.
“Blake, let me walk in front of you,” she whispered, leaning close so her lips brushed his ear. “If the flight attendants see that, they’ll put you on the no-fly list for that weapon!”
He glanced down, a helpless, boyish grin spreading across his face as he adjusted his suit jacket in a futile attempt to hide the blatant tent. “This is your fault, you know.”
“My fault?” she teased, taking her carry-on from him and letting her fingers deliberately trail over his. “I was just conducting a friendly pre-meeting briefing.”
“A briefing that left me needing a structural engineer,” he muttered, falling into step behind her as they shuffled toward the exit.
She could feel his eyes on her, hot and possessive, tracing the line of her stockings beneath her skirt with every step. The airport terminal felt like a runway, every click of her heels a countdown.
“So,” she said over her shoulder, her voice low and playful. “This hotel. What’s the plan after the client dinner?”
He moved closer, his breath warm on her neck. “The plan is I get you alone. I take off that suit you’ve been torturing me with all day. And then I show you exactly what you’ve been feeling through my pants since we left the office.”
A sharp, delicious thrill shot through her. “Just show me?”
“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough, intimate rumble that vibrated in her chest. “First, I’m going to put you on your knees. I want to watch your pretty lips stretch around me. I want to hear you try to talk with your mouth full. And then, Riley, I’m going to bend you over the desk in our suite and fuck you so deep you forget which city we’re in.”
Her breath caught, her own arousal becoming a slick, insistent pulse between her legs. She stopped walking, turning to face him right there in the busy concourse. People streamed around them, oblivious.
“You’ve been thinking about that a lot,” she stated, her eyes locked on his ocean-blue ones.
“Every time you walked past my office door,” he confirmed, his gaze burning. “Every ‘gray suit day.’ Wondering if you could take it. Wondering if you’d even want to.”
She reached out, her hand settling boldly over the formidable bulge once more, giving it a firm, possessive squeeze through the wool. She felt him jump, a hard throb against her palm.
“Stop wondering,” she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt.
Chapter 10
The hotel suite was sleek and silent, the king-sized bed an undeniable focal point. As soon as the door clicked shut, Riley dropped her bags and pulled out her phone, her heart still hammering from the airport concourse.
Leah answered on the first ring. “Well? Don’t you dare make me wait.”
“We’re here. Same floor, about ten rooms apart,” Riley breathed, pacing. “And oh my god, Leah. The things he said to me. Out loud. In public.”
She relayed Blake’s explicit promises, her voice a thrilled whisper. Leah’s squeal of delight was so piercing Riley had to hold the phone away from her ear.
“Yes! I told you! Now listen,” Leah said, her tone turning strategic. “What are you wearing under that power suit for the meeting? Please tell me it’s something good.”
“Black lace. The matching set.”
“Riley, no. That’s not good enough, darling,” Leah tutted. “For your first time with a legendary cock, you need to go risky early. You want to take his mind out of the business world the second he gets a peek. Do you have any G-strings with you? Anything a little more colorful? A little more… skin?”
Riley opened her suitcase, rummaging past the sensible blouses. Her fingers closed on a scrap of fabric. She pulled out a G-string she’d packed on a whim, a vibrant, shocking fuchsia against her palm. It was barely there. “I have a hot pink one.”
“Perfect! That’s the one. Wear it. Let it be your little secret weapon.” Leah’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now, for me. You have to get photo evidence. When you get him alone tonight, you have to confirm the rumor. I need proof.”
Riley bit her lip, the idea sending a jolt of illicit excitement straight to her core. It was exhibitionism by proxy, a shared secret that amplified the thrill. “Leah, I can’t just… take a picture.”
“You can, and you will. For research. For the sisterhood. I can’t be left out of this big secret.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Riley’s face. The anticipation was a living thing inside her, coiling tighter. “Okay. Fine. I’ll… figure something out.”
“That’s my girl. Now go get dressed. And for God’s sake, reapply your lipstick.”
Riley changed with deliberate slowness. She swapped the black lace for the fuchsia G-string, the floss-like string a stark, playful contrast against her pale skin. She smoothed her stockings, the nylon whispering as she adjusted the seams. The suit jacket and pencil skirt went back on, armor and invitation all at once.
A firm knock at her door made her jump. She took a steadying breath, the pink silk a secret fire against her skin, and opened it.
Blake leaned against the frame, freshly changed into a dark suit. His eyes, that impossible blue, scanned her from head to toe, a hungry appreciation in his gaze. “Ready for the meeting?”
“Always,” she said, her voice husky. She stepped into the hall, letting him fall in beside her. As they walked toward the elevators, her mind wasn’t on the client. It was on the flimsy scrap of fabric hidden beneath her skirt, and the promise of the night ahead—a promise that now included a very clandestine mission for her best friend.
Chapter 11
The upscale steakhouse was all low lighting, leather booths, and the low murmur of deals being sealed. Riley sat opposite Blake at a round table with the three Henderson executives, the pink G-string a constant, thrilling secret against her skin. She was the picture of professional grace, nodding along, laughing at the right moments, contributing sharp insights.
And all the while, she conducted a silent, filthy war.
Every time Blake leaned forward to make a point, her foot, freed from its heel under the table, would find his calf. She’d trace a slow line up the fine wool of his trousers. When he reached for his wine glass, she let her stocking-clad toes brush the inside of his wrist. His reactions were micro-expressions: a slight hitch in his breath, a deliberate swallow, the way his knuckles whitened slightly around his fork.
During a lull in conversation about market volatility, she leaned towards him, her voice a private ribbon of sound. “You’re being very good again.”
He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the Henderson CEO. “You have no idea how hard it is,” he murmured back, the double meaning thick in the air.
“I think I’m starting to.”
Finally, after dessert and a second round of port, the goodbyes were made. The elevator ride to their floor was a study in agonizing tension. They were alone. The doors slid shut, sealing them in quiet, mirrored intimacy.
Blake leaned against the wall, finally letting his gaze devour her. “That was the longest three hours of my life.”
“Was it worth the wait?” she asked, turning to face him, her back against the opposite wall.
“Seeing you in command like that? Absolutely.” He pushed off the wall, closing the small space between them. His hands landed on her hips, pulling her firmly against him. The hard, insistent ridge of his erection pressed into her stomach through their clothes, a shocking confirmation of everything she’d been teasing. “Feeling you play your little footsie games under the table? That was torture. Delicious, perfect torture.”
“Good,” she breathed, tilting her face up. “I wanted you distracted. I wanted you hard.” She let her hands slide up his chest. “I want to see if the rumors are true.”
A wicked, playful glint lit his blue eyes. “Oh, you’ll see. But first…” He dipped his head, his lips a breath from hers. “First, I’m going to peel that very professional suit off you. I’m going to find out what you’re hiding underneath. And then I’m going to taste every single inch of you until you forget your own name.”
The elevator dinged, the doors opening on their quiet hallway. He took her hand, his grip possessive and sure, and led her swiftly toward his room. The keycard beeped. The door swung open into darkness. He pulled her inside, kicked the door shut, and backed her against it, his body a hot, demanding line against hers.
“No more waiting,” he growled against her mouth before claiming it in a searing, open-mouthed kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.