The polished chrome elevator doors slid open onto the thirty-fifth floor. Ethan Drummond stepped out, his polished dress shoes clicking sharply on the marble floor. His charcoal grey suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the crisp white shirt stark against his throat. The thin silver frames of his glasses caught the muted lobby light. His dark brown hair was meticulously styled, every strand in place. He clutched a leather portfolio case tightly, knuckles white. The air felt thick, sterile. A lone receptionist glanced up, her smile polite but distant. A clock blinked up at him from her desk: 6:55 AM. "Eric Thorne's office?" Ethan asked, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet expanse. She nodded silently toward a heavy oak door at the end of a dimly lit corridor.
Ethan knocked twice, the sound echoing hollowly. "Come in, door's unlocked," a familiar voice commanded from within. Ethan pushed the door open. The office was a cavern of shadow. Heavy blinds were tightly drawn, blocking the Monday morning sun. The only illumination came from a single brass desk lamp, casting a tight pool of light onto the polished mahogany surface and the man seated behind it. Eric Thorne leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, his ash-blonde hair swept back immaculately from his high forehead. His piercing grey eyes, coldly intelligent, fixed on Ethan with unnerving intensity. He wore a sharply tailored navy suit, the fabric expensive and severe, emphasizing his lean frame and angular jawline. His hands rested folded on the desk, perfectly still. A faint, predatory smile touched his lips.
"Good morning, Mr. Thorne," Ethan said, stepping fully into the room, his voice carefully neutral. He stopped a few feet from the desk, standing tall despite the knot tightening in his gut. "Thank you again for this opportunity." Thorne’s smile widened, a slow, deliberate curve. He chuckled softly. "Mr. Thorne?" he repeated, his voice smooth as silk. "Please, Ethan. Call me Eric. We’re colleagues now. This is a workplace, not a schoolroom." He gestured languidly towards the plush visitor chair opposite him. "Sit." His gaze lingered, possessive and assessing, tracing the line of Ethan’s suit jacket down to his powerful thighs. "Let’s discuss your… orientation."
Ethan settled into the chair, placing the portfolio case on his lap like a shield. He leaned forward slightly, projecting an eagerness he didn't entirely feel. "Honestly, Eric," he began, his tone bright, almost enthusiastic, "I’m beyond excited to start. Ready to dive in, learn from the absolute best in the industry." He paused, letting the compliment hang, then tilted his head, hazel eyes meeting Thorne’s piercing grey gaze through his silver frames. "But… why the 7 AM call time? I was surprised to see the building practically deserted."
Thorne leaned forward into the pool of lamplight, resting his forearms on the polished mahogany. His fingers steepled. "Discretion, Ethan," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that filled the shadowed room. "And necessity." He gestured vaguely towards the darkened windows. "The Strategic Development team arrives at 8 AM sharp. Before the hive buzzes to life, I require… quiet." His cold eyes flickered over Ethan’s broad shoulders, the crisp line of his collar. "Time to ensure you understand the unique demands of your position. The specific protocols."
Ethan shifted slightly in the plush chair, the leather creaking softly. "Protocols?" he asked, brows knitting behind his silver frames. A flicker of unease tightened his jaw. "The onboarding documents were quite comprehensive, Eric." He kept his tone respectful, professional, but his knuckles tightened around the portfolio case resting on his lap.
Thorne chuckled again, a dry, humourless sound. "Oh, Ethan," he sighed, stepping out from behind the desk into the dim light. "There’s always more to learn. Especially here. On both sides." He paused, letting the cryptic words hang. A predatory gleam lit his grey eyes. "In fact," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I’ve learned a little something… quite fascinating… from you." He pushed his chair back smoothly and rose to his feet.
The lamplight caught him fully from the waist down. Ethan’s breath hitched. Thorne wore nothing beneath the sharply tailored navy suit jacket and crisp white shirt except a stark white, old-school athletic jockstrap. The thin elastic straps cut sharply across his lean hips, framing the prominent pouch straining over his groin. The pouch bulged obscenely, thick and heavy, the outline of a substantial, flaccid cock clearly defined against the taut white cotton. Below, Thorne’s legs were surprisingly powerful - lean muscle corded his thighs, pale skin stretched taut over sculpted quadriceps that tapered down to surprisingly thick calves. He stood with unnerving stillness, legs slightly apart, radiating a chilling confidence. The stark white jock accentuated the wiry strength of his lower body and the undeniable, possessive weight straining against the fabric pouch. His piercing gaze remained locked on Ethan’s stunned face.
"I thought… I paid my dues," Ethan stammered, his voice thick with disbelief and rising panic. He gripped the portfolio case like a shield, knuckles bone-white. "The interview… it was settled. What is the meaning of this?" Thorne’s lips curled into a slow smile. "Privilege, Ethan," he murmured, his voice a low, silken purr that filled the shadowed room. "You are privileged beyond belief to hold this position." He took a deliberate step closer. "Within a decade, nestled securely under my wing? You'll command a salary placing you firmly among Manhattan's highest-paid finance executives." Another step. The air crackled. "But such privilege," Thorne hissed, his grey eyes gleaming, "demands unwavering commitment. Certain… expectations."
With that, Thorne’s hand moved. Smoothly, deliberately, he hooked his thumb under the tight jockstrap pouch. He slid his hand sideways, fingers disappearing beneath the taut white cotton. There was a rustle, a shift. Then, with practiced ease, he freed his cock through the side of the pouch. It sprang forth instantly: thick, rigid, and flushed a deep, angry crimson, veined like marble. It stood perfectly straight, a formidable seven inches jutting aggressively from the stark white frame of the jockstrap. The head was broad, swollen, and slick with thick pre-cum that glistened obscenely in the lamplight. It pointed directly at Ethan’s face like a loaded weapon, utterly unyielding. Below it, Thorne’s balls hung heavy and tight in their mesh jail, straining against the pouch’s confines.
Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. Ethan stared, frozen, his hazel eyes wide behind his silver frames, locked onto the monstrous erection aimed at him. The sterile office air suddenly reeked of musk and power. Thorne didn’t move. He simply stood, legs planted wide, the jockstrap framing his possession, his gaze burning into Ethan’s soul. "Well?" Thorne whispered, the word slicing through the stillness. His voice was dangerously soft. "Your orientation begins now, Strategic Development Analyst." He tilted his hips slightly, emphasizing the rigid threat. "Show me your dedication."
Mechanically, Ethan pushed himself up from the plush chair. His legs felt numb. He gripped his leather portfolio case like a lifeline. He took a single, stiff step towards the immense mahogany desk, the click of his dress shoe echoing too loudly. He leaned forward, placing the case flat on the polished surface near Thorne’s abandoned chair. As he bent, the fine wool of his trousers pulled taut across his groin. Ethan froze again, his breath catching. A distinct bulge tented the front of his charcoal suit pants - thick, undeniable, already pushing against the expensive fabric. He hadn’t even consciously registered the treacherous heat pooling low in his belly.
Thorne’s low chuckle was a surprise. "Woah," he murmured, his grey eyes gleaming with amusement. He took a slow step closer, his gaze raking down Ethan’s torso to the undeniable tent straining against his trousers. "You really have been looking forward to this morning, haven't you, Ethan?" His voice dripped with satisfaction. "That eager enthusiasm... it wasn't entirely feigned. Good. Very good." He stopped barely a foot away, the heat radiating from his own rigid cock palpable. "You're going to be an exceptional employee."
Ethan flushed crimson, the heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Thorne’s cock. His own trapped erection throbbed painfully against his zipper. "W-what..." Ethan stammered, his voice thick and rough. "What do you want me to do?" The question was barely audible, laced with dread and a terrifying, unwanted anticipation.
Thorne’s smile widened, cold and sharp. He gestured dismissively towards the floor at his feet. "Get down," he commanded, the silken purr gone, replaced by absolute authority. He stared down at Ethan. "On your knees. Right here." He paused, letting the command sink in, the implication hang heavy in the air thick with musk. "And then," Thorne added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I think you know exactly what to do."
Ethan’s breath hitched. His gaze flickered from Thorne’s eyes to the rigid cock below, then back. The knot in his gut tightened into a cold, hard stone. He looked down at the polished wooden floor between Thorne’s spread legs, gleaming faintly in the dim lamplight. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself. The fine wool of his suit trousers strained across his powerful thighs as he knelt. He felt absurdly vulnerable, kneeling before Thorne’s jockstrap-clad form, the cool floor biting through the fabric against his knees. His own trapped erection pulsed traitorously against his zipper.
He leaned forward slightly, his shoulders stiff beneath the charcoal jacket. The thick, musky scent of Thorne’s arousal filled his nostrils, sharp and overpowering. Up close, the rigid shaft looked impossibly thick, flushed deep crimson, the prominent veins standing out like cords beneath the taut skin. A thick bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit. Ethan hesitated, his jaw clenched tight behind the silver frames. He glanced up, meeting Thorne’s piercing grey eyes. They held nothing but expectation and a chilling possessiveness. No mercy. No escape.
Ethan took a shallow, ragged breath. Closing his eyes briefly felt like surrender. He opened them, focused solely on the erection inches from his face. He leaned in further, the heat radiating off it palpable. Slowly, tentatively, he parted his lips. The thick, swollen head nudged against his mouth. He flinched instinctively at the contact. Then, steeling himself, Ethan pushed forward, taking the broad head fully into his mouth. The taste exploded - salt, musk, an intense, overwhelming maleness. He gagged reflexively, his throat tightening, but forced himself to stay still, breathing harshly through his nose, the heavy shaft resting heavily on his tongue. Above him, Thorne released a low, satisfied groan.
It was… strange. Intense. Ethan braced for revulsion, for the horror he’d felt during the interview. But it didn’t come. The sheer physicality dominated. The heat. The weight. The slickness of pre-cum coating his tongue. His gag reflex eased slightly as he adjusted. It wasn’t horrible. It was… manageable. Bearable. Fine. His jaw ached already, stretched wide around the thick girth, saliva pooling uncontrollably. He tried a tentative suck, the movement clumsy, his tongue pressing flat against the underside. Thorne hissed sharply above him, fingers twitching at his sides. Ethan felt a treacherous flicker of something - not pleasure, but a grim satisfaction at eliciting a reaction.
Then Thorne’s hand snapped forward. Fingers tangled viciously in Ethan’s thick, dark brown hair, gripping tight, pulling painfully at the roots. Ethan gasped, his eyes flying wide behind his glasses. Thorne’s grey eyes were narrowed slits. "Open wider," Thorne commanded, his voice a guttural rasp. Before Ethan could react, Thorne shoved down hard. Ethan choked violently as the thick shaft plunged deep, forcing its way past his tongue, filling his throat. Tears sprang instantly to his eyes. He gagged, convulsing, his hands flying up instinctively to claw at Thorne’s powerful thighs clad only in the thin jockstrap straps. Thorne held him there, buried to the hilt, Ethan’s nose pressed into the wiry hair at the base of Thorne’s cock, the musky scent overwhelming. Ethan couldn’t breathe. Panic surged, raw and primal.
Thorne held him pinned for a brutal, suffocating eternity. Finally, he pulled Ethan back just enough to allow a desperate, ragged gasp. Tears streamed down Ethan’s flushed cheeks, saliva slicking his chin. Thorne looked down at him, a smirk twisting his lips. "Breathe," he ordered softly. Then, without pause, he slammed Ethan’s head forward again, driving his cock relentlessly back down Ethan’s throat, setting a punishing, rhythmic pace. The wet, choking sounds filled the shadowed office, punctuated by Thorne’s low, possessive grunts. Ethan’s trapped erection throbbed violently against his zipper, a traitorous pulse echoing every brutal thrust.
When Thorne finally pulled him off completely, Ethan slumped forward onto his hands, coughing violently, spit dripping onto the polished floor. Thorne’s cock stood slick and glistening, impossibly hard. "Now," Thorne commanded, his voice rough with exertion, "do it yourself. Show me you want this." Ethan shuddered, wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. He leaned forward again, his jaw aching. This time, he took the thick head tentatively into his mouth, his tongue swirling cautiously around the sensitive ridge. He sucked, hollowing his cheeks, moving slowly, deliberately down the veined shaft. Thorne groaned, a deeper, more resonant sound this time, his fingers tightening briefly in Ethan’s hair before relaxing slightly. "Better," he rasped. "Much better." Ethan found a rhythm, bobbing his head, the slick slide becoming almost hypnotic. The taste was still overwhelming, but the control - however illusory - eased the panic.
"Now," Thorne murmured, his voice thick, "unzip." Ethan froze mid-suck. Thorne’s grey eyes bored into him. "Your pants. Unzip them. Pull it out." He paused, letting the command sink in. "Show me how hard you are for your boss." Ethan’s hands shook violently as he fumbled with his belt buckle, then the zipper of his charcoal trousers. He tugged the zipper down slowly. The thick bulge strained against his briefs. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, pulling both trousers and briefs down just enough. His cock sprang free instantly: thick, flushed crimson, fully erect and straining upward at a steep angle. It pulsed visibly, veins prominent, already slick with a heavy bead of pre-cum that glistened at the slit. Ethan knelt there, thighs bulging powerfully against the fine wool fabric bunched around his knees, suit jacket askew, his thick cock jutting obscenely from his open fly, leaking steadily onto the polished floor. Above, he resumed sucking Thorne’s shaft, his movements growing more urgent, driven by a confusing mix of shame and escalating arousal.
Thorne watched, transfixed. His gaze raked over Ethan’s kneeling form - the powerful thighs straining the suit fabric, the thick cock leaking onto the floor, the desperate bobbing motion as Ethan sucked him. "Touch it," Thorne hissed, his voice tight. "Jerk yourself off. Right now. While you suck." Ethan hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then his right hand wrapped around his own thick shaft. He groaned around Thorne’s cock as his fingers made contact, the sensation electric. He began stroking himself in rough, uneven tugs, his hips jerking involuntarily. The slick slide of his own hand, combined with the thick intrusion filling his mouth and the musk flooding his senses, sent shockwaves through him. Above him, Thorne threw his head back with a guttural groan, his own hips thrusting shallowly into Ethan’s mouth, his fingers tightening convulsively in Ethan’s hair. Ethan’s strokes grew frantic, his cock weeping copiously, his muffled moans vibrating against Thorne’s rigid flesh.
"Close," Thorne gasped, his voice ragged, hips stuttering. "So close..." He looked down, grey eyes burning into Ethan’s tear-streaked face. "Swallow it all," he commanded, his voice thick with imminent release. "Every fucking drop. Don’t spill a single drop on that nice suit." Ethan braced himself, tightening his throat, his hand still pumping furiously. As Thorne’s thrusts became erratic, Ethan’s instincts surged. He released his dick and plunged his hands behind Thorne, grabbing two handfuls of Thorne’s ass through the thin jockstrap straps. He pulled hard, yanking Thorne’s hips forward, forcing the thick cock even deeper into his throat. His fingers dug into the surprisingly firm, dense muscle of Thorne's ass. Woah, flashed through Ethan’s mind, Eric’s ass is… solid. Like Oliver’s. The thought was bizarre, fleeting, but the sensation was undeniable - powerful glutes clenched tight beneath his grip.
Thorne roared, a sound of pure, possessive triumph. His body locked rigid. Ethan felt the thick shaft pulse violently against his tongue, deep in his throat. A hot, salty flood erupted, jetting in thick spurts. Ethan swallowed convulsively, desperately, choking slightly but forcing it down, gulping the bitter heat. He kept pulling Thorne’s hips flush against his face, feeling the powerful muscles quivering under his hands as Thorne emptied himself down Ethan’s throat, groan after groan shuddering through him. Ethan’s own mind was a blur, driven wild by the suffocating fullness, the bitter taste, and the shocking feel of Thorne’s firm ass in his grip.
Finally, Thorne sagged slightly, pulling Ethan’s head back. His cock slid free, slick and spent. Ethan gasped for air, spit and residual cum slicking his chin. He slumped forward onto his hands again, coughing weakly, his own cock still pulsing violently. Thorne looked down, breathing heavily, a smug satisfaction etched onto his sharp features. He smoothed his suit jacket, then reached down. His fingers, cold and precise, traced the wetness on Ethan’s chin. He brought his fingertips to his own lips, tasting them deliberately, his grey eyes never leaving Ethan’s trembling form. "Impressive dedication, Analyst," Thorne murmured, his voice almost warm.
"Get up," Thorne commanded, all harshness gone, replaced by a surprising, almost friendly firmness. He gestured towards the desk. "Take off your trousers and briefs completely. Lay back on my desk." Ethan blinked, stunned by the shift. Hesitantly, he pushed himself up onto shaky legs. He fumbled with his belt, unzipped his trousers fully, and pushed them and his briefs down his thick thighs. They pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off awkwardly. Thorne watched, a faint, approving curve on his lips. "Now," Thorne said, nodding towards the vast mahogany surface. "Lie back."
Ethan obeyed, hoisting himself onto the cool, polished wood. He scooted back until his powerful shoulders rested near the back edge. He lay flat, legs dangling off the side. His thick, flushed cock stood rigidly at attention, pointing straight up towards the ceiling, veins throbbing visibly. Below it, his heavy balls rested against the cool wood, drawn up tight against his body. His thick, muscular thighs, pressed firmly against the desk’s surface, the dense quadriceps flexing subtly. His broad chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his white shirt and open suit jacket. His shirt rode up from the movement, exposing dark hair trailing down from his navel to a neatly trimmed bush, glistening with sweat. His glasses were crooked, his dark hair mussed. He felt utterly exposed, vulnerable, yet the unexpected command held a strange, terrifying promise.
Thorne circled the desk slowly. Without a word, he knelt smoothly on the wood floor between Ethan’s dangling legs. "I always return a favor," Thorne stated, his voice low and intimate. Before Ethan could process the words, Thorne leaned forward. His lips parted, and he engulfed the thick, flushed head of Ethan’s cock in one smooth, expert motion. Ethan gasped, arching violently off the desk. Shock ripped through him - not revulsion, but pure, electric disbelief. Thorne’s mouth was hot, wet, impossibly skillful. His tongue swirled expertly around the sensitive glans, lapping at the slit, teasing the frenulum with devastating precision. One cool hand cupped Ethan’s heavy balls, rolling them gently, fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind. Ethan cried out, a ragged, involuntary sound. His hips jerked uncontrollably. Thorne sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, taking more of the thick shaft deep, his tongue working relentlessly. Pleasure, pure and overwhelming, flooded Ethan’s senses, obliterating thought.
Ethan writhed on the polished wood, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the smooth surface. Every lick, every suck, every gentle squeeze of his balls sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him. He was floating, weightless, consumed by the heat and wetness and Thorne’s unnerving expertise. It was surreal, terrifying, and utterly magnificent. The pressure built rapidly, a coiled spring tightening unbearably low in his belly. He felt his balls draw impossibly tighter against his body. "Oh god... Eric..." Ethan choked out, his voice thick with desperate warning. "I'm... I'm gonna..." Thorne merely hummed in response, the vibration sending Ethan over the edge. With a guttural cry, Ethan arched violently, his cock pulsing fiercely. Thorne swallowed effortlessly, taking every thick, salty spurt deep into his throat, his grey eyes locked onto Ethan’s ecstatic, contorted face until the last shudder subsided.
Thorne pulled off slowly, licking his lips deliberately as he rose. Ethan collapsed back onto the desk, chest heaving, sweat plastering his shirt to his sculpted torso. His legs trembled where they dangled off the edge. Thorne straightened his navy suit jacket, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. "Impressive stamina," he remarked, his gaze sweeping over Ethan’s spent form laid out before him.
Ethan pushed himself up onto his elbows, his glasses askew. "Holy shit," he gasped, voice raw. "I’ve... I’ve never had a blowjob like that." His hazel eyes were wide, dazed, fixed on Thorne’s composed face.
Thorne arched a sharp eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Ever had a man blow you before?" he asked casually, turning to retrieve a drawer from beneath the desk.
Ethan shook his head mutely, watching as Thorne efficiently tucked his own softening cock back into the stark white jockstrap pouch. "No," he managed. "Never."
Thorne chuckled, pulling on dark socks and stepping into tailored navy trousers identical to his jacket. "What can I say?" he replied, zipping up. "A man knows what feels good. And what doesn’t." He gestured dismissively at Ethan’s crumpled clothes lying on the floor. "Dress. It’s nearly eight." Thorne stepped into a shiny pair of dress shoes under the desk and laced them quickly.
Ethan slid off the desk, legs shaky. He bent to grab his briefs, but Thorne’s hand shot out, clamping onto his wrist. "Just pants," Thorne commanded. Ethan froze, staring at him. "But... without underwear..." he stammered, flushing crimson again. "My... it’ll show. Everything."
Thorne laughed, a genuine, sharp sound. "Hot," he stated simply, releasing Ethan’s wrist. "Now move." Ethan obeyed, heart pounding. He shoved the wrinkled briefs into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the cotton balled up. Then he pulled his charcoal trousers up over his bare skin, the cool wool rasping against his sensitive cock and thighs. He zipped up, buckled his belt. The fine fabric clung obscenely, outlining the thick shaft pressed against his thigh and the prominent swell of his high, firm ass cheeks as he moved.
Thorne led him out of the shadowed office, back into the sterile lobby now buzzing with arriving employees. Eyes flickered towards them. Thorne ignored them, guiding Ethan through a maze of cubicles towards a pristine workstation near a large window. "Your domain, Analyst," Thorne announced, voice low but carrying. Ethan felt every stare, every imagined whisper. He sank into the ergonomic chair, the cool leather against his bare ass through the thin trousers a stark reminder. Thorne leaned in close, his breath hot on Ethan’s ear. "This was fun," he murmured, "I think you're set to be my protege." He straightened, gave Ethan’s shoulder a possessive squeeze that lingered a fraction too long, then strode away, leaving Ethan exposed and achingly aware of the damp bulge straining against his zipper and the curve of his ass molded by the expensive wool.
—
At noon, the sleek corporate cafeteria hummed with chatter and the clatter of cutlery. Sarah Rogers stabbed a forkful of kale salad, leaning conspiratorially across the small table towards Maya Rodriguez. "Okay, spill. Did you see the cute new guy? Strategic Development?" Maya grinned, swirling her iced tea. "Ethan Drummond? Oh, I saw him. Cute? Try scorching hot." Sarah rolled her eyes playfully. "Nope. Glasses automatically bump him down to adorable territory. Cute."
She leaned in further, lowering her voice. "But seriously, do you think he's single? I need intel." Maya’s grin widened into something knowing. "God, I hope so. But forget cute or hot for a second," she whispered, eyes darting around before locking back on Sarah’s. "Did you see the outline? Walking past his desk this morning? It was... monumental. Like, even with pants and probably underwear? Zero camouflage. That man is packing serious heat."
Sarah choked slightly on her sparkling water. "Maya!" she hissed, cheeks flushing pink despite herself. She glanced furtively towards the cafeteria entrance. "Okay, yes, I noticed. Those pants? They’re practically painted on him. And the way he sits... good lord, the ass." She fanned herself dramatically with her napkin, making Maya snort-laugh. "Fine, scorching hot it is. Glasses and messy hair just make him hotter."
"But seriously," Sarah leaned forward again, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "did you notice Eric Thorne himself walked him to his desk this morning? Like, personally escorted him? Thorne’s a Senior Director! He never talks to anyone below VP level unless it’s to eviscerate them in a budget meeting. The new guy must have some seriously high-up connections." She tapped her temple knowingly.
Maya shuddered visibly, her playful grin vanishing. "Forget connections," she hissed, her dark eyes darting nervously towards the executive wing. "Thorne is so intense. I saw him stare down Henderson from Finance once - Henderson practically melted into the carpet. I wouldn’t want to be noticed by that man."
Sarah waved Maya’s caution away. "Oh, come on. Thorne’s terrifying, sure. But Ethan?" She nodded towards the cafeteria entrance where Ethan had just appeared, clutching a water bottle. He moved with a stiff, self-conscious gait, the charcoal trousers clinging unmistakably to his powerful thighs and the pronounced curve of his ass. "He looks... approachable. Kinda awkward, honestly."
Sarah straightened decisively, pushing her salad plate aside. "Let’s ask him to grab drinks with us after work. Me, you, Leo from Marketing, maybe Priya from Legal? Something lowkey and casual."
Maya hesitated, watching as Ethan scanned the crowded cafeteria, his hazel eyes wide behind his silver frames. He looked adrift. "Okay," she conceded slowly, a flicker of mischief returning. "But you ask him. And if Thorne appears and vaporizes us with his laser eyes, I’m blaming you." Sarah grinned, pushing her chair back. "Deal."
—
Ethan shuffled into the cafeteria, the cool air conditioning prickling his bare skin beneath the thin wool trousers. Every step sent the fabric rasping directly against his sensitive cockhead. The outline felt obscenely pronounced. He could feel the cling of the fabric outlining every curve of his ass cheeks, as he moved towards the salad station. His face burned; he kept his gaze fixed on the polished floor tiles, acutely aware of stares prickling his skin.
Sarah materialized beside him, bright with cheerfulness, her smile wide and genuine. "Hey there! Ethan Drummond, right? Strategic Development?" Before he could stammer a reply, she plowed on. "We're grabbing drinks after work - me, Maya Rodriguez from Compliance, Leo Vance from Marketing, Priya Sharma from Legal? Just a casual thing at The Taproom. You should totally come!" Her bright eyes held open friendliness.
Ethan froze, clutching his water bottle like a shield. "I... uh..." His blush deepened, creeping down his neck beneath his loosened tie. "...Yeah," he managed, forcing a shaky smile. "Yeah, okay. Sounds... sounds good. Thanks, Sarah." Sarah’s smile broadened. "Awesome! Around six? We'll grab a booth!" She bounced back towards her table leaving Ethan alone.
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