Chapter 157: Knotting The CEO -4

He reached down, his fingers hooking under my belt buckle. The metallic click of the latch unfastening echoed through the quiet office like a starter pistol.

"Wait... David, no, not in the office..." My voice hitched as he undone the button and pulled the zipper down in one fluid, unhurried motion.

"No one is here," David said softly.

He slid his hand inside my briefs, his warm, rough palm wrapping fully around my cock.

A sharp gasp escaped my throat, my back arching off the leather seat as a wave of intense heat rushed straight to my core.

The contrast between his confident, heavy grip and my absolute vulnerability was overwhelming.

He began to stroke me - slow, long, deliberate strokes that immediately wiped every rational thought from my brain.

"David... ah..." I gripped the armrests of my chair, my knuckles turning white as my head fell back against the headrest.

He didn’t rush. He maintained a steady, rhythmic pressure, his thumb rubbing over the tip of my dick to draw out a quiet, pathetic whimper from my chest.

Every stroke asserted his dominance, proving just how easily he could undo all my authority with a single hand.

My hips twitched upward involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, my body completely surrendering to the sensation.

"Look at me, Julian," David commanded quietly, stroking me faster, tighter, building the heat until my breathing turned into shallow, desperate pants.

I forced my eyes open, looking up at my employee - the man who was supposed to take orders from me - as he expertly worked me toward the edge.

The pleasure was coiling tight in my stomach, pulling me toward a sudden, crashing climax.

He sped up his stroke, the friction making me groan aloud, my hips rising off the seat as I neared the point of no return.

Climax. Right here at my desk. On his hand, ropes and ropes of cum. And he kept stroking, slowly this time, until he milked every single drop of the cum.

After the climax, came a sudden realization that struck like a bolt of lightning, snapping through the haze of pleasure.

If I let this go any further, there would be no going back. The line wouldn’t just be crossed; it would be completely destroyed.

"Stop..." I gasped out, my hand shooting down to grab his wrist.

David didn’t stop immediately, giving one more firm, deliberate stroke that nearly pushed me over the edge, making me cry out softly before I used every ounce of strength I had left to pull his hand away from my lap.

"David, stop!" I rasped, my voice desperate and raw.

I pushed against his chest, sliding my chair back several feet to put distance between us. My chest heaved as I scrambled to get the wipes on my top drawer, then quickly wiped my cock clean of my own cum then pulled up my trousers, my hands shaking so violently I could barely work the zipper back into place.

David stood over me, his breath slightly hitched, looking down at his slick hand and then up at my flushed, disheveled face.

He took some wipes and wiped them clean whilst still looking entirely in control, while I was sitting in my executive chair, breathless, undone, and trembling on the brink.

"Julian," he said softly, stepping toward me again.

"No! Get out," I choked out, pressing my back flat against the headrest, holding my hand up to stop him.

My face was burning with a mixture of intense lingering arousal and utter humiliation.

"Just... get out of my office, David. Please."

David paused, studying my trembling frame for a long moment before slowly drying his hand with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Have a good weekend, Boss," he murmured, his voice infuriatingly calm, before turning and walking out into the dark hallway, leaving me alone in the quiet office to regain my breath.

---

Monday morning brought rain, grey and relentless against the glass windows of the fourth floor.

I sat at my desk, staring at the unread emails on my monitor, but the text blurred together.

Every nerve in my body was raw. My skin still felt hot where David’s hand had held me, his touch a phantom pressure that refused to fade over the weekend.

I had spent two days trying to convince myself that Friday night had been a momentary lapse, a stress-induced failure of judgment.

But the moment the elevator doors slid open at 8:30 AM and David stepped onto the floor, every neat lie I’d constructed dissolved.

He wore a dark tailored suit, his tie knot immaculate, looking every bit the polished, ideal employee.

He didn’t avoid my office. Instead, he walked straight up to the glass door, tapped twice on the frame, and pushed it open.

"Good morning, Julian," he said. His voice was smooth, completely devoid of the rasp that had driven me out of my mind three nights ago.

My throat tightened.

"David." I picked up a pen, trying to anchor my hands so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

"Did you bring the finalized Q4 budget deck?"

"Right here," he replied.

He didn’t hand the thick leather folder across the desk. Instead, he walked around to my side, stepping into the narrow space between my chair and the credenza.

The air in the room instantly thinned, charged with an unbearable static.

"If you flip to page twelve, the allocations are updated," David said softly, leaning down over my shoulder.

His chest brushed against the back of my arm. The scent of his cologne - rich, woody, and sharp - flooded my senses, completely overriding my internal defenses.

I could feel the heat radiating off his body through his jacket, heavy and suffocating.

"David, please," I whispered, keeping my eyes locked on the paper, though the numbers were meaningless

. "Not here. People are starting to arrive."

"No one can see from this angle, Boss," he murmured, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin just below my ear.

He didn’t touch me with his hands. He didn’t have to. The sheer physical presence of him, crowding me into my own chair while keeping his voice in that low, commanding register, had my heart hammering against my ribs.

He reached past me to point at a column on the page, his forearm deliberate in the way it pressed firmly against my shoulder.

I stiffened, my breath hitching as a wave of heat rushed straight down to my stomach.

My body remembered every second of Friday night - the slick palm, the tight grip on my dick, the way he’d brought me to the very edge of unraveling right in this exact seat.

"Look at the numbers, Julian," he instructed softly, his tone carrying that quiet edge of authority that made my knees go weak.

"Tell me if the figures look right to you."

"They... they look fine," I rasped, my fingers tightening on my pen until my knuckles turned stark white.

"Good," David whispered. He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his lips nearly brushing the shell of my ear.

"Because we have a lot of work to get through today."

He straightened up slowly, leaving a sudden, freezing void where his heat had been. He picked up his pen from the folder, stepped back around the desk, and gave me a crisp, professional nod.

"I’ll have the secondary reports ready by two PM," he said aloud, his voice raising back to its normal office volume.

"Thank you, David," I managed to say, my voice sounding far away, entirely strained.

He turned and walked out of the office, closing the glass door behind him with a soft click. Through the partition, I watched him sit down at his desk, unbutton his jacket, and calmly log into his computer as if he hadn’t just reduced his supervisor to a breathless, trembling mess in broad daylight.

----

By 1:30 PM, the rain had turned into a steady, dreary downpour.

The conference room on the east wing was isolated from the main floor, it was quiet except for the muffled patter against the high windows.

I was reviewing the presentation deck on the central screen, adjusting my tie for the third time just to give my hands something to do.

The door clicked shut behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The shift in the room’s energy was immediate.

"I brought the secondary reports you asked for," David said softly.

He didn’t stay by the door. His footsteps were measured, deliberate, cutting across the carpet until he was standing directly behind my chair. He set the thin stack of paper on the edge of the conference table, but his eyes never left the side of my face.

"Put them next to the binder, David. Thanks," I said, forcing my eyes to stay fixed on the glowing monitor.

Instead of moving away, he rested both hands on the back of my leather swivel chair. He leaned down, his chin hovering just above my shoulder.

"You’re tense, Julian," he murmured, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.

"Your shoulders have been up to your ears all morning."

"I have three department heads coming in at two," I replied, my voice tighter than I meant it to be.

"I need to focus."

"Then let me help you focus," he said quietly, with his right hand sliding down.