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even longer than I’d realized, and so thick that he’s cutting off my airway. Though my lips are stretched wide around the base, he continues to force himself into me.
    For a fast moment he pulls halfway out, then he slams home again. I don’t even try to regulate my breathing; he’s not the only one who has aggressions to work out. If I can get him off in a minute or two, that’s perfect. He’ll be out of commission, and I’ll catch my breath then.
    I get to work. It’s hard to act like I’m in control when he’s fucking my mouth like this, like I’m a rag doll. He’s strong, powerful.
    He holds me deep on his cock, and I can feel the softness of the plump head in my throat, the pulsing of the twisted veins, the rigidity of the long, curved shaft. Truth be told, he has a gorgeous cock, both to look at and to suck. And I suspect he knows how to use it, though I doubt I’ll ever get to experience it beyond rough oral.
    I moan, knowing that the vibrations in my throat will turn him on, bring him closer to the orgasm that will release us both from our standoff.
    Tears are running down my face. It’s just a physiological reflex, but it bothers me because I don’t want him to think of me as weak. Not that I care about his opinion… I just don’t want him to think he’s won.
    He slowly eases out of my throat, and I gulp down as much air as I can around his retreating erection, but then he thrusts deep again. When he does it again, I realize he’s trying to exhaust me.
    If he thinks I’m going to safe word out, he’s wrong. I dig my fingers into his ass—it’s so muscular, tense as he thrusts—and I pull him closer.
    It nearly kills me.
    Another thirty seconds, and I’ll be out like a light. I redouble my efforts. The elevator starts moving again, I think. It’s hard to know. Then it stops, and there’s a ding .
    Hawthorne is close. Any second now, he’s going to—
    My eyes close as he finally comes. Three more thrusts, and that’s all I can take. I’m pushing him away, but someone is scooping me up, cradling me in his arms. Solid arms… the size of tree trunks. I’m pulled into a sturdy broad chest.
    “The two of you are going to be the death of me,” Romeo murmurs. To hear his voice, you’d never guess he’s carrying anything at all. As he steps off the elevator, I can hear the deep, reassuring thumping of his heart.
    I stare up at him, and then the unexpected happens. It starts as an unidentifiable warm feeling that sweeps over me. From below, I can appreciate the angular power of his jaw and shoulders.
    Safe. I feel safe. For the first time in years, I’m not worried that someone will step out from behind a shadowy doorway and grab me.
    And then he gently sets me down, and the feeling vanishes. For a moment, I sway on my feet. Romeo has a supportive hand on me, and both Slade and Hawthorne reach out.
    “I’m fine,” I say, and Hawthorne pulls back a little too fast. I’m still reeling from the earlier feeling, so I miss my opportunity to rub his demonstration of humanity in his face. Maybe it’s just as well.
    We’re standing at the entrance to an elegant, polished office. There’s only one word engraved in frosted letters on the doors, only one word in enormous, gold letters behind the darkened station where the receptionists would sit.
    Tarraget.
    I have no idea what business is conducted here, and I suppose that not knowing means I’m not the kind of client Tarraget wants. When I read the name, I imagine it being said in a movie trailer voiceover, serious, masculine.
    “In a world where greedy employees use too many paper clips, in a city where some people take too many personal days, Tarraget is corporate America’s only defense…” I trail off as I realize all three of the men are staring at me.
    “I’m fine,” I say. “Who wants to fuck?”

Chapter 6

    Hawthorne’s office is at the end of the longest hallway I’ve ever seen. We walk through a secretary’s office and