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A much needed change (Floss88 x lasciel)

In responce to the single word Sam got up, stood obediently to the side of the room, his cock rock hard once again from licking Catherine and silently watched her go. He recoiled slightly at her final statement, but his cock twitched and pulsed regardless. For what felt like a long moment he stood there naked and alone at 4am in the rented apartment, cock rock hard, sweaty and with a face covered in the slightly sticky evidence of his activities.

He didn't know what else to do, Sam had expected... something? When she gave him a third option. Instead he felt used and discarded, listless he washed his face in the bathroom. Returning to the open plan area Sam turned out the lights, poured himself a whiskey, and went to sit on the couch. He managed one sip before he fell asleep. One final brilliant decision he thought.

Sam slept fitfully and poorly on a couch designed for elegance and good back support over its potential as an alternative sleeping solution.

***

He was woken, less than 3 hours later by the dawn. His groan significantly less sensuous than it had been the night before. His head ached from his jaw to the crown, his knees were sore and of course his ass ached. Of course the rest of his body felt the usual level of awful one gets from drinking cocktails and sleeping on a sofa but none of it compared to the pain as the evenings events began to return to him in a flood.

"I can't beleive I said that," he muttered bringing his head back and pinching his nose. He hadn't just let his rival fuck him he had begged her too. "Jesus Christ"

Quickly he got dressed, he wanted a shower, he wanted to make coffee, he wanted to sleep in a bed. But most of all he wanted to be out of here before Catherine woke up. He told himself it was because he didn't want to talk to her till he got himself together... not because she had asked, no ordered, him to be gone when she woke up.

Once he was dressed though, he began with the single minded focus of the hungover, to clean up. He rearranged the couch cushions from his impromptu bed, returned the blanket to the closet, tragically poured the whiskey away, washed the glass and put it away, finally he even wiped down the coffee table of glass rings, and another, longer mark where something moist had been put to rest last night. Finished he looked back on the apartment like he had never been there.

She'll like that. He thought
That is not why- I'm just being polite.
Sure. Totally

He had unfortunately failed, leaving in his mercifully uncreased suit, his shirts top three buttons open, coiled on the floor was Sam's silk tie. When he realised in the cab on the way home, Sam considered it a small price to pay to get out of there.
 
Catherine was being shitty, and she knew it.

Off the master bedroom was another bathroom, and in it she washed up from the evening's exertions. Sweat, lubricant, and her own fluids made a mess of her thighs, and her makeup needed to be washed off, and the smell of Sam clung to her skin where she'd touched him. Or at least her brain insisted on the latter, regardless of the objective truth.

He had looked deeply disappointed when she dismissed him. But if their positions were reversed, would he have been any kinder? She gave him fifty-fifty odds of letting his own conquests sleep in his bed versus sending them packing when he was done with them. Then again, those women likely got exactly what they'd been seeking in the evening. Sam hadn't, not that he'd been complaining in-the-moment. But she was aware that two doors over he was likely processing some complicated feelings. If he'd been almost anyone else she would've still been out there, exhaustion be damned, offering comforting words and touch as he came down from the experience.

But at the end of the night he was still Samuel Cauldwell, she was still Catherine Jones.

He couldn't, couldn't be allowed to think his behavior was acceptable. His dogged persistence at getting into her pants the few months was wildly unprofessional, and then to approach her at Narcissus of all places... And she had no business encouraging him. He had gotten what he'd asked for, nothing less, nothing more, and hopefully now they could both put the encounter behind them and never ever speak of it.

Because Catherine wasn't sure she could turn him down again, not if he begged her.

---

With the blackout curtains drawn in the spacious bedroom, sleeping in a hotel-quality bed, Catherine didn't awaken until a luxurious 10 AM. Which was still far too few hours of sleep, a fact made apparent by how her whole body felt tight and her skin felt dry and ill-fitting. Worse, she had a hangover, something she hadn't managed to give herself in years. Her stomach was roiling and her head pounded with every beat of her heart, and the inside of her mouth was dry and tasted like she'd been licking a dumpster. Her hamstrings ached, as did the fingers of her right hand, and the balls of her feet throbbed with the familiar pain of too-much-time spent in heels.

A bright purple length of silicone in her immediate field of view as she rose, cleaned up and left to dry on the dresser, reminded her of why she felt so awful.

"Fuuuuuuuuck me," she swore in a drawn-out hiss, as the sight forced her to realize that the prior evening's events hadn't just been an inappropriate dream about a coworker. No, she really had brought Sam back to her (corporate) apartment and pegged him. Fuck, she'd bent him over the couch and railed him until he came trembling beneath her... she hated how the memory made her pussy throb.

Rising from her bed, each step towards the living-room was punctuated with a quiet fuck, a soft mantra she chanted to herself as she eased the door open to peek and see if he was still asleep on the couch.

He was gone, and she sighed in relief. Hell, if it weren't for her toys being out (and their mutual memories), she could've convinced herself he'd never been there to begin with. He'd reset the room, and it had been enough hours that the smell of sex had dissipated from the air. He'd even wiped down the table, from what she could tell. Was that his usual MO? He needn't have bothered, the whole place would be cleaned once she checked-out Tuesday morning.

But she supposed she was grateful for the lack of reminders, Catherine thought as she strode through the living room towards the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. A splash of color against the white-and-cream decor of the living room caught her eye, however.

He'd forgotten his tie. It had slipped from the back of the chair she'd set it on at some point... picking it up, she carefully and loosely coiled it, then found a paper bag in the kitchen to put it in. Throwing it out was the easiest option, but felt an awful waste of a good (and likely expensive) tie. Well, she knew where to find him on Monday...

---

Dan texted her later that morning, apologizing profusely for his outburst and begging her for forgiveness. Given how out-of-character his tone was she suspected he had been at Narcissus and seen her leave with another man. Catherine debated for several hours whether to even give him the time-of-day. But Dan knew her buttons well enough that he was back in her bed by the end of the day, and his company was enough to finally make her stop thinking about what she'd done with Sam.

Monday proved a surprisingly normal day, or as normal as it could be given the circumstances. At least Sam was no longer leering at her. If anything, their little encounter had been the kick-in-the-teeth he'd needed to make him treat her like, well, any other colleague. And she was more than happy to treat him like any other lawyer on the opposing council's team, just as she'd tried to from day one.

She'd taken the paper bag with Sam's tie in it with her, and it lurked in her laptop bag throughout the day, the last reminder of their little hook-up. There hadn't been a good time to give it to him, not that she expected one to present itself. At lunch their teams each broke to go eat, at afternoon coffee she had to reconvene with her team to discuss some last-minute changes their clients were suggesting. It wasn't until the day's -- and month's -- round of negotiations drew to a close that she even expected to have a chance anyway.

But Sam denied her even that much. As the meeting cleared, he had kept himself thoroughly surrounded by a shell of his own associates, requiring she make herself known if she wished to talk to him. And he didn't linger past that moment, departing with his team at the first possible moment, and leaving her holding the proverbial and literal bag.

Well, fuck you, too, she thought as she tidied up her own papers up and debated simply throwing the bag into the trash bin. Did he really expect her to bring it back to California and try again the next month?

---

Catherine did, in fact, bring his tie back to her apartment in California (with a layover via Nagoya), though she remained divided on whether to try to return it again or keep it as a trophy. It found a home on her dresser for a week, then placed in a drawer when the sight of the paper bag became too much for her nerves. By the time Sam and his team were flying out west she had put it in the back of her closet, and it still she felt aware of it like a tell-tale heart beating in the back of her mind.

Throwing it out would give her no relief, she was sure. So come Friday, the traditional day upon which he'd make his usual proposition (though she hoped he'd remained suitably cowed), she dug the bag free from her things and packed it next to her laptop, where it lurked at her side throughout the day until their meetings came to a close and everyone stood to leave.

Catherine strode over to Sam this time, not giving him a chance to escape. They were in her company's offices this time, and she felt emboldened by the home-field advantage. Her voice was steady and even, as polite and otherwise emotionless as any other time she'd addressed him during the day.

"Mister Cauldwell, if I may speak with you for a moment?"
 
Monday was rough, Sam was professional enough that he was fully in the meeting but periodically the image of Catherine naked popped into his head. Unlike his previous distraction however she was not completely naked but rather sporting a thick purple addition. Rather than a pleasant distraction this caused him to dive back the image with a current and proposed corporate group maps.

Sam consciously avoided Catherine, he wasn't proud of it but he frankly did not want to address. He didn't know how to address it, so... he didn't. Sam tried to justify it, it was a one night stand that shouldn't have happened, it had been incredibly unprofessional and so on. But frankly he knew he was for want of a better word afraid, of seeing that raised eyebrow and tone of in her voice, and the fact he didn't know what his own reaction might be.

***

Over the next month Sam through himself into his work and when he wasn't at work he went to the gym. His goal principally was not to think about getting bent over a couch, in this he was unsuccessful. Sam thought of himself, with ample supporting evidence, as a winner. He fought, competed and dominated every field in life and relished the victory more than whatever he was trying to get.

What had happened with Catherine rocked that self image in ways he wasn't comfortable with. Sam could even easily decide if he had enjoyed the night, he had been left feeling embarrassed, discarded and used, but... it might also have been the best sex he had ever had in his life. He had, he eventually managed to admit to himself, enjoyed the power she had exerted over him. Frankly the biggest evidence of this was the way Catherine intruded on his thoughts whenever he tried to masturbate. Not just the fucking either but for some reason her calling him 'a fucking mess'.

Sam didn't know what he wanted, but he also knew there was literally only one person he would ever consider talking to about it, Catherine. Sam's friends, male and female were mostly lawyers, corporate accountants and day traders for whom friendship was as much about mutual competition as it was support. The idea of bringing up 'this time a member of a rival firm literally bent me over and I liked it' was unthinkable.

***

The meeting was, not uneventful but largely none contentious. The nature and complexity of the deal was such that there were rafts and rafts of text which needed to be read through by both parties and agreed. Even, or perhaps especially, text one assumed the other side didn't have a problem with. There were hour long debates over precise sentence structure which might seem trivial now but five, ten, fifty years later could be the basis of multi-million dollar disputes. That said it was bread and butter to everyone in the room so it went smoothly.

Everyday Sam considered talking to Catherine, and demurred. He desperatly wanted to talk to her but wasn't sure what he wanted from the exchange, he didn't want to show weakness but couldn't work out how to talk about the evening without doing so. Sam was not normally a man for analysis paralysis, he picked an option and went for it.

He was as much grateful as he was nervous when he heard her voice on Friday. He hid it reasonably well though, turning and smiling, the faintest hint of worry in his eyes.
"Of course, Miss Jones." His cock moved just slightly in his pants as he said her name like that unnoticeable of course but he felt it. Turning back to John Sitwell, one of his team who while entirely pleasant and talented did not seem to have a single happy, intetest or goal unrelated to company law. Sam clapped him on the arm "I think work's over anyway we can go through this again on Monday."

John nodded and grinned, his eyes seemed to say 'you sly dog', the man had no idea. Sam hadn't mentioned Catherine to his colleagues even before The Night, the prospect of being soft on the opposition being a worse risk than the obvious breach of professional ethics that would entail. As he left Sam turned back to Catherine.

"I-" he paused for a moment unsure what to say, another alien experience. "I was hoping to speak to you Miss Jones. Perhaps somewhere else?"
 
Catherine caught John's look at Sam and matched it with one that sent most men's testicles retreating into their abdominal cavity. (And if it turned out Sam's entire team shared his secret desire to be stepped on by the competition, then her bigger problem was having not taken advantage of such.)

"Yes, of course."

Though she'd hoped to hand over the bag and be done with it, there wasn't any good way to do so with his colleagues lingering about that wouldn't invite further questions. So she turned away and headed towards an adjacent and more private meeting room, confident Sam would follow. While she didn't close the door once inside, she did nudge it most-of-the-way shut. No sense letting prying ears and eyes in, even if their discussion was to be entirely innocuous.

Alone now, she set her bag on the much smaller tabletop and pulled out the smaller paper bag within. Inside that was a box, though Sam couldn't see that until he picked it back up off the table where she'd set it in presentation. After the tie's first trip from dresser to drawer she'd worried about crumpling it in the interim and put it in something a little sturdier than paper. Inside the box the tie was loosely coiled, free of twists or creases despite it's 'round-the-world journey.

In Catherine's opinion nothing further needed to be said. Obviously he'd left it at her unit, obviously she was returning it, and obviously that was the end of that. If she'd been a wise woman she would've turned on a heel and marched right back out of that small, far more intimate conference room and hurried to catch an elevator with her colleagues as they filed out of the building for the evening.

If she'd been a wise woman she wouldn't have looked at his face.

He had something to say, and that made her hesitate. Instinct made her want to cross her arms under her bust and grip opposite elbows, but she knew better. She put one hand on the tabletop instead, leaning a little forward, forcing Sam to enter her space if he wanted to retrieve the bag. And she watched him, green eyes as chill as the overcast winter weather of Alta had been that day.
 
Sam followed her, of course he followed her, a little disappointed as she headed into the conference room. It made sense it looked like a work issue or question more than the coffee or beer he had been envisaging. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say to her. Or even what he wanted to say.

As they came into the room, he saw the bag on the table with a moment of complete confusion. The tie long forgotten, another disposable possession, Sam had the lack of care for things of someone born into considerable wealth and privilege. He had things that mattered to him, gifts usually, but anything else was well, replacable. He was open handed with money and careless with things because to him they didn't matter, a trait which irritated his father immensely who while also a child of privilege had suffered under the tyrannical miserly reign of Sam's grandfather.

He caught himself glancing at her chest as she leant forward and correcting himself he tried to look her dead in the eye and evidently uncomfortable managed it.

"I just wanted to say" Sam avoided saying Miss Jones, it had connotations I his head he was struggling to shake and he wasn't sure if the woman from that apartment was 'the real Catherine' or an act she enjoyed that it would be inappropriate to assume was always on. "I, well, I wanted to know." Christ was this what it was like for other people? He paused took a breath glanced up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing.

"I've never done anything like that before, and I am starting with the conflict of interest issues and honestly working up from there." He paused again still unsure, testing each word like he was a man walking across a lake on creaking ice. "But, I don't want to never do it, or something like it again. So if you wanted to get a drink this weekend or next month, I would like that." He finished lamely, god that was awful. He was no trial lawyer but he had been captain of the debate team in collage, that was dreadful.
 
In contrast, Catherine had not grown up with excessive wealth, and possessed many habits some of her colleagues found "embarrassing" that she still fought to shake. Coming from a firmly middle-class family she'd taken years to warm up to just how aggressively her peers spent their money, and she still wasn't comfortable with some of the excesses. Intellectually she'd known that Sam had forgotten about the tie the moment he'd walked out the door of her unit. The cost of doing business, she suspect he'd call it. But for the same reasons she couldn't just let it sit in her closet, she also couldn't throw it out.

His eyes had flicked down, ostensibly towards the bag, but... they lingered at an angle she knew was a few degrees too high. The cobalt blue button-down she'd chosen today fit moderately tight around the bust, but that didn't excuse his wandering gaze. Not that Catherine expected much better of him.

She expected, then, for him to make some inappropriate come-on, as he almost always had on Fridays like this. What finally came out of his mouth, however, deviated quite thoroughly from the script she'd come to expect.

Know what, Sam?

Now he was looking at the ceiling. Anywhere but her face seemed to be the theme. Did that mean he was disquieted by meeting her gaze? The thought sent a tiny shiver of excitement down her spine.

He picked his words slowly, carefully, with all the nerves of a boy asking his crush out to prom. That trepidation alone surprised her, but what he said was what really blew her hair back.

"Mister Cauldwell." So much disappointment packed into two little words. "I think there has been a misunderstanding. I have no idea what that or it you refer to, and any such fraternization between us would be a severe breach of our ethical duties to our clients." Despite her denials she knew exactly what that and it were, where "a drink" would lead, and how much she wanted to get another opportunity to put him back in his place. Hearing him beg for more as she fucked him...

A hint of color had risen in her cheeks, and she squashed the thought with extreme prejudice before it could get away from her.

"I think it would be best if you disabused yourself of any ideas of the potential success of your continued pursuit." Now the emotion was gone from her voice entirely, and her flat statement was meant for both of them. She dropped into an even lower hiss as she continued, leaning in a little more, fearful of being overheard. "Honestly, I'd have expected a man like you to be a little less fucking desperate."
 
Sam's face was a mask of confusion as she began, though it soon disappeared this was one outcome he was, sort of, expecting. Professional misconduct was after all the kind of thing that could get you disbarred and functionally end your career, while what they had done while not strictly against the rules as say owning shares in the rival company might be it would hardly looked upon well. Had it stopped at total denial he would have, extremely reluctantly, written off the loss as it were. Perhaps try and find a professional with a similar skill set, as it were, and that would be that. A reluctant sacrifice for both their careers.

She didn't stop there though, as she continued lowering her voice, Sam had two distinct physical reactions, for start his cock became semi erect but the didn't even notice as the hairs on his arms stood on end and his eyes widened. It wasn't rage, but outrage, the shear arrogance, how dare she. Sam was not currently mostly naked in a strange apartment currently, nor was he I'm any way drunk both of which apparently made access to his pride so much easier and Sam had a lot of pride.

"Desperate?" He matched her own whisper but his voice strained with apparent exasperation. "If I remember correctly we were both drinking alone when you, took me back to your apartment. I went along with your idea of sex, if we can even call it that. I am, so sorry, to have the presumption to try and spend more time with you. Did I hope to fuck you back?" an odd turn of phrase, but he was under full steam now even if his voice never rose above a whisper. "Yes, I don't see why that's so desperately beneath your attention!"

Sam finally stopped, realising he had been tapping a fingertip on the conference table lightly for emphasis and snapped it back quickly. He didn't know why he was being like this, he had been rejected before sure, he wasn't god, but never like this. Never by someone he had, consciously or not, been effectively offering his ass to. He was under no illusions after all that even if she concented to "normal" sex that she'd never want to repeat that experience. To have that implicit offer described as desperate like he was some slut, it was too much.
 
Even when she pushed his buttons he was restrained. Catherine respected that, liked it, even. And hated herself for that feeling, the thrill that wound like a spring tight in her chest as she stared him down (or rather up, given their difference in height), and raised a skeptical brow at him.

"If I remember correctly, you tried to get into my pants for six months, and when that didn't work approached me at a very particular kind of bar. And let's not stop there, since you insist on bringing up the series of events after that point."

Catherine straightened and reached into her bag again, this time to pull out her phone. "Since I know men like you so much enjoy hearing the sound of their own voice, and are far more likely to respect such..." Small fingers tapped at the screen, lacquered dark nails clicking softly on the glass as she pulled up a saved video file, turned down the volume to the lowest setting, and hit "play". Turning the screen towards him she waited as the clip replayed.

The view was from somewhere overhead near the entryway, though the angle was more than wide enough to catch the couch and it's occupants. Sam's knees were on the seat of the couch, arms over the back, back arched and butt thrust back towards a woman in heels and thigh-highs and a garter, and a leather harness around her hips. She fucked him slowly with a phallus mounted to her pelvis and said something too quiet for the microphone to pick up. Sam's reply, however, was much clearer.

"Please, it's so big! Please fuck me Miss Jones! Please fuck my ass!"

The clip froze at the end, and while the focus wasn't great and the colors absent, it wasn't terribly difficult to make out the identity of the two characters.

"Tell me, Sam," a hint of that predatory purr had entered her voice, sharp and clear in contrast to the grainy quality of the clip. And yet, she looked utterly nonchalant as she put her phone back in her bag, as if she'd just shown him a funny meme rather than a sex tape. "Is that not the sound of a desperate man?" She had the audacity to smile at him, then.
 
Particular kind of bar? Sam honestly had no idea what she was talking about, it was just a cocktail bar surely? If it wasn't he could hardly be blamed for not knowing all the secret codes of her- this like of thought was cut short by the emergence of the phone. Sound of his own voice? No she couldn't have done. Had she... known what was going to happen and- the clip began and was clearly from some kind of surveillance system.

In one way it was better the whole thing wasn't entirely planned, maybe, but in another it was much worse. This wasn't a bad phone recording easily denied, it was clearly him and his voice was unmistakable. Sam blanched the colour running from his face. Fuck, fuckfuckfuck.

This was it, the woman held not just his career but his entire reputation in her hands. To say she had him by the balls would be wildly underselling it. He was profoundly irritated with himself when he realised he was rock hard. This was not the time! And it absolutely was not the place! Fuck! But as she smiled at him he thought he almost saw a single ray of light, not a way out of this but that their might be an alternative to total social ruination.

Sam paused for a moment, unsure if this was a good idea. Maybe he should just flee and try to ditch the case, maybe he should act aghast and horrified how dare she etc. But he didn't, his throbing cock only really gave him one route forwards.

"Yes Miss Jones," outrage gone from his voice he looked down, his tone calm and contrite, fuck "he sounds pretty fucking desperate to me."
 
No. No no no no no.

"Yes,"

Fuck.

"He does."

It was like watching a car accident in slow motion. Except Catherine was the driver, and she could feel herself pushing down hard on the gas. With that quiet agreement from him she'd felt something in the air change and thicken, and the tension between them shot up exponentially. Was he as turned-on as she felt in that moment?

A quick glance down verified her suspicions. She knew the look of a man trying to hide how he was straining against his trousers. Not that she was much better, but at least he couldn't see how her lower lips had flushed and grown slick with moisture. He couldn't feel the arousal coiling low in her abdomen as she considered the sounds he'd make if she just leaned over and pressed one shapely thigh into his crotch.

She was disgusted with herself. Even that feeling didn't make her stop, though.

Instead she looked away, though not out of any sense of being cowed. Her glance was instead towards the glass set into the door dividing their smaller room from the larger conference room they'd been in before. The last of the other lawyers had already left, likely forgetting that Samuel and Catherine were still even in the side room. As the leads of their respective teams it wasn't entirely out-of-reason for the two of them to have a private discussion at the end of a meeting anyway, and it was hardly the first time Sam had hung around to chat with his counterpart. They were alone.

Her smile widened.

"My my, Sam. I see desperation isn't the only thing you're feeling right now." Catherine closed the distance between them in a few graceful steps, hips swaying slightly as she walked in her polished pumps, and if Sam backed up she followed him all the way until his butt hit the wall. She made a show of looking him up and down, letting him know she knew he was embarrassingly aroused. "Have you been thinking about it?" She leaned a little closer, though still didn't quite touch him, her hips just inches from his tented pants. "How good it felt to give up control? How hard you came as I fucked your ass?"
 
Sam glanced over Catherine's shoulder at the exact moment she looked back and noticed with relief the empty room behind them. The rest of his colleagues rushing out to enjoy their weekend on the company dime, it wasn't the first time he'd been the last to leave an office and it wouldn't be the last. Thank god, he knew technically nothing visibly wrong had happened in this room but he already felt like every action and every word he said was illicit.

She turned back and smiled, Sam suddenly felt he knew exactly what it was like to be a mouse cornered by a cat. He just couldn't help how much it was turning him on, a voice inside kept him informed continuously that this was terrible, that he should try and put a stop to this and request in the least sexual form of begging he could manage that she delete the footage. But.... he didn't do that.

Catherine stalked towards him like a predator, all lithe grace and coiled muscle, Sam didn't even realize he was backing up until his ass hit the wall. As Catherine looked him up and down he looked down himself and saw how undeniably visible his engorged cock was in his suit trousers, well fuck there's no hiding that.

"Yes Miss Jones." He managed to get out, this wasn't going to plan at all, not that he had really had a plan. But he had hoped to balance the scales, perhaps even take a turn at being in charge. That fantasy was dissolving like mist beneath the morning sun. "I, I can't stop thinking about it." Sam looked up, there was no way around this, he had to lean in. "I can't stop thinking about how good it felt to beg you to fuck my ass Miss Jones."
 
Catherine made a satisfied sound deep in her throat. They were both playing the game now, and though the winner was already clear that didn't make it any less fun.

It was half an idea in her mind to just kneel him down where he stood and make him deal with all this pulsing heat his display was stoking in her core. But that would've been pushing things. The room they were in was empty but not locked, the building not abandoned, and she wasn't yet sure just how far Sam even wanted to go.

"I'm impressed you can be as efficient and ruthless as you are across the negotiating table with those kind of thoughts running through your head, Mister Cauldwell. You are a man possessing an admirable amount of self-control." Two compliments, both earned and spoken honestly. Catherine knew Sam wouldn't be half as interesting to her if he'd been a push-over, or let his more inappropriate thoughts impact his work.

She took her right hand off her hip, let the backs of her fingers brush against the bulge in his pants, walked up the buttons of his shirt, and took his chin in her small and dainty hand. Stroking the side of his jaw with her thumb she kept his gaze directed at her.

"The part I don't understand, however, is what you expect to gain by... oh, how did you put it, hm, fucking me back? I have no doubt you've had intercourse with a grand selection of women, and I also have no doubt you've ever been as desperate for a repeat as you are right now. So, Sam. Is fucking me really going to give you what you want?"
 
Sam smiled despite himself as she complimented his self control, of course of it were entirely true he would have had himself taken off the case taken some long over due leave and spent a month on a beach somewhere till he... calmed down. But he appreciated it none the less, he had chased Catherine initially not just due to her appearance but because she was clearly just as sharp, dedicated and ruthless as he was (well, as it turned out she surpassed him but still) and that had made he a challenge. When she said something it was worth listening to... even if she didn't have the recording.

Sam didn't move at all as Catherine reached out a hand, he stopped breathing, holding his breath unconsciously as the back of her hand for a moment brushed the throbbing buldge in his trousers. God is that all she has to do? He thought to himself, jealous of the power she could exert with not even a fingertip. Finally she moved his head with a thumb, all effortless, as Sam held his breath.

"I, I don't know what I want Miss Jones." The words came out fast and hurried as he rushed them out and remembered to breath at the same time. She was right, part of him had want to balance the scales somehow? Level things out? But if that was the case really surely he would have approached her confidently. He still wasn't sure if he would have approached her at all. Besides as good as getting fucked had felt physically, and he could more or less freely admit that to himself now, it wasn't what he had missed. This, this electric tension, this not just total lack of control over what happened next but also no real idea what might happen next, this is what he had been unable to stop thinking about. Catherine calling him a fucking mess and closing a door on him, he wasn't sure he liked it, but it was so new so raw a sensation he just had to get more.

"I think, what I want is for you to tell me what I want Miss Jones."
 
It was a truthfulness she hadn't expected out of Sam, and he could see her pause and reconsider as he deviated from whatever little script she'd been working off in her head. He'd thrown her own question back at her, and... Catherine knew what she wanted, but what she struggled with was whether she was willing to take the risks required to get it. No matter how he made her feel (tight, hot, in-control), Samuel Cauldwell was still the head of the opposing council, and giving in to her desires (no matter how enthusiastically he consented) was a severe violation of their professional ethics. If anyone, anyone found out, her career would be over.

Not just her chance at maintaining partnership at J&K, but the chance of anyone ever taking her seriously as a lawyer ever again. Was it worth it?

Her thumb stroked his chin again as she considered.

Fuck, what's the point of money and power if you can't do what you want with it?

"What you want, Sam?" With his back against the wall she could lean in and stretch up, though she was too short to get much higher than his neck. But he could feel her breath as a warm tickle against the side of his throat with her so close, and god he smelled so fucking good. Expensive, well-chosen cologne mingled with the natural scent of his skin, and even the tiger inside her wanted to roll around in it like it was catnip. "I wouldn't ever presume to tell a man like you what he wants. I could venture some guesses, though."

Shifting her weight onto one foot she planted her other hand on the wall behind him and leaned forward and pressed her thigh lightly into his crotch. "I'd guess that you want to hump my leg right now. You won't, but you want to." She pressed a little more firmly as she tilted his chin higher, denying him the sight of her as his gaze was forced towards the ceiling. "I'd guess you're hoping I'll touch you more, but not too much, because it would be so embarrassing to have any sort of accident happen." Leaving his chin where it was she dragged her nails lightly down the side of his neck, then pressed her palm against his chest where she could feel his heart hammering. The thigh between his legs rubbed back and forth, a small but persistent movement.

"And now, I'd guess, you want to tell me how fucking turned-on you are and beg for me to take you home with me. But again. That's only a guess. I'd never presume, Sam."
 
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As Catherine moved in closer Sam's eyes darted furtively towards the door, nervous of someone coming in to clear the meeting room. That didn't last, he couldn't think of anything beyond Catherine's breath on his neck, again part of him wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he didn't. He had in this moment forgotten the video, forgotten everything that wasn't listening to her purring tones, the mass of red hair he was staring into, trying not to audibly sniff, and her leg pressing against his crotch.

He couldn't beleive she was right he wanted to, he couldn't beleive it but if she told him right now to hump her leg to completion he wouldn't hesitate. Sam looked up at the ceiling as directed, letting himself be moved around like a doll from her slightest push. This time he did blush, for the first time in years as he considered the prospect of shooting his load in his pants at the office of one of the largest firms on the West Coast.

"Miss Jones I am so fucking turned on that I cannot think, I'm so fucking turned on that all I can think about since you said it is humping your leg,I'm so fucking turned on I would do anything to get you to take me home. Please" Sam said to the ceiling as if invoking a higher power, which in a way he supposed he was. "Please Miss Jones take me home with you, I don't want this to stop."
 
"Hmmm..."

For a few long moments Catherine considered pushing him and seeing if he would in fact make a mess of his expensive trousers. Her thigh pressed more firmly into him, rocked a longer stroke along his tented pants. But there were practical concerns. Like his ability to stay quiet... or the kind of mess he'd possibly make if anything escaped down a pantleg. Nor was she ready to invite the sort of post-orgasmic clarity he'd experience when all was said and done, as she very much enjoyed having him on the short leash of his own arousal.

Of course, leaving him as he was also offered it's own set of issues. He'd need to do something about the impressive bulge he was sporting if they wanted to leave the building without inviting all sorts of awkward questions.

"Anything, you say?" Her hand had wandered lower again, resting lightly against his muscular stomach as she continued to rock against him. Feeling his abs twitch involuntarily was even better than feeling his heart race. "We'll have to discuss what that means later, somewhere more private."

And then she dropped her leg and stepped back, putting her hands back on her hips and giving him a look of smug contempt.

"You're a bit of a disaster right now, Mister Cauldwell. I wonder how that could've happened." Turning away from him with a smile she picked up her bag from the table, though left the paper bag with his tie in it where she'd put it before. "Get yourself under control and meet me by the eastern stairway on level 2 of the parking lot. I'll wait for you for, oh, five minutes. Otherwise I'll assume you've lost your nerve."

And then she left him there, hard and wanting. Her heels thumped softly on the industrial dense-pile carpet of the main room, and then he could hear the distant click of the outer conference door close behind her.

---

When Samuel made his way out of the elevator and towards the eastern staircase on the second floor of the parking structure that made up the basement of the building Justin & Knight was housed in he found Catherine idly leaning against a wall, one heel pressed into the wall behind her as she scrolled through something on her phone. She waited for him to approach before looking up, then held up a fob in her other hand that she clicked once to make a sleek black parked car light up.

Was it so surprising that she drove a Tesla?

Without a word she straightened and headed for the vehicle, tossing her shoulder bag into the back before slipping into the front seat, which adjusted and molded to her petite frame. Looking only mildly impatient she waited for Sam to follow, and if he didn't buckle himself in she stared at him and cleared her throat until he assented. Then she tapped a button on the display and put the car in motion, the electric motors near-silent as they pulled out of her named spot and wound through the switchbacks of the lot until they emerged into downtown Alta traffic.

Music had started up as well, once her phone caught a glimpse of service, but she killed it with another tap on the screen. The intro beats had been synthetic and aggressive.

"Do you remember the rules I told you last time, Sam?" Catherine asked once they had left surface streets and were on the highway. With him in the passenger seat she had cut over a few lanes to the HOV lane, which was helping them escape some of the snarl that was Friday evening rush-hour traffic in Alta. Still, her eyes didn't leave the road as she addressed him. "Recite them for me."
 
Sam had just nodded before she left. He didn't know what to say, this was, what he wanted right? Or if he didn't really know what he wanted this was at least something. Sam spent approximately two of the 5 minutes he had been given reading a work e-mail relating to the layers of a shell companies one of his juniors was chasing from tax haven to tax haven in search of an ultimate beneficial owner they could sue. It was on some levels extremely interesting, but for this purpose about as effective as a bucket of ice water.

For a moment he did consider not getting in the elevator, he almost lost his nerve. As much as he wanted to chase this, going to a third location as a true crime podcast might put it had a point of no return feeling to it that made feel like a decision point. He was worried about the tape but, more that it existed in the world at all than that he thought Catherine would use it with malice. The moment didn't last though, he was carried along on a current that was as much curiosity as lust. This was all new, all an exploration that he just had to pursue.

***

As he entered the lot he spotted her and then the flask from her car a moment later. Tesla, of course this was California after all, the land they cared so much about the environment they would buy a new electric car every three years. Sam filed this thought away under never, ever say aloud and hurried over to the car. Acutely conscious of exactly why he had kept her waiting. At her reminder he quickly tossed his laptop bag on the back seat and strapped himself in, bad habits from back home. He felt almost juvenile, idiotic for having to be reminded. But then he wasn't quite himself.

Sam wracked his brains for a month ago and found it realitivly easy to recall they might not have been the most memorable part of the night but he doubted he'd ever forget a second of it.
"Yes Miss Jones, I remember. First, my hands go where you put them, I am not to move my hands without explicit instruction. Second I am not to touch you at all without explicit permission, while you may do whatever you like. And er third" Sam wasn't sure why but this was the one he found embarrassing he wasn't sure why, was it the idea of showing weakness like backing out of an exercise with a personal trainer or was it the acknowledgement that whatever might happen might be even more alarming than what had already happened? Both probably. "That if it becomes to much I have only to ask for it to stop and we stop. There may have been an addendum to that regarding moving to less intense activity but I'm not sure if that was a change to a rule or a situational rule..... Miss Jones" Sam added realising as he stared out into traffic that he was babbling.
 
"Good." Good enough, anyway.

His recitation told her two things. The first was that he hadn't been so drunk when she'd taken him home that he wasn't capable of making decisions. His enthusiasm and eager submission in the conference room had erased most of her concerns on that front, but him liking what had happened wasn't necessarily the same as being in a mind to consent to it when it had. The second was that he still didn't quite grasp what the last rule meant. Which was, she would admit, partially her fault.

There was a longer pause, as she considered how to correct his understanding.

"The third rule is to protect you, Sam. I do no want to ever force you to do something you do not wish to do. Just because you say yes in one moment, that doesn't stop you from saying no in another." Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel as she spoke, a low but constant beat that seemed loud against the near-silence of their ensconcing vehicle. "Since you now know, to some degree, what you are walking into, I can be more explicit. If we are engaging in an activity and you do not like something I am doing, you only need say stop, and I will stop. If I ask you a question you can say no, and I will respect that. If you wish to go home at any point you are free to... but I will not send you home simply for having a boundary."

That was a deviation from what she'd implied in New Troy. There, she'd worried if he said no and she didn't make him leave, that he'd expect some other form of sex. Now he knew better. Or at least she hoped he did.

"Conversely, you will respect any boundaries I set. The first of which is that you will never, ever so much as hint at any fraternization we may or may not have had to anyone, full-stop. Is that absolutely, crystallinely clear, Mister Cauldwell?"

She waited for his agreement, staring at the traffic ahead with an intensity that was directed at him. When she had his agreement she continued in a far more casual tone, "we can discuss the other details over dinner, as I think we're both in need of a meal."

Catherine kicked the car into "auto-pilot". Traffic wasn't quite at a crawl, but it wasn't moving fast, and the quad-yellow lines of the HOV lane ostensibly prevented anyone from cutting in front of them. When the car acknowledged that it was operating now in semi-autonomous mode she lifted her right hand from the wheel and reached over to grope him. The movement was casual and practiced even; he likely wasn't the only man she'd fondled while driving in this vehicle. "Now tell me, Sam, as I've been dying to know... would you really have humped my leg back there, if I'd given you permission to?"
 
Sam took a deep breath as she finished an consciously pushed the game or the tension or whatever this was aside. He was glad, this part might be more exposing and awkward than just responding but it also was the only way this could be something other than a one night stand.

"Absolutely clear, I wasn't exadurating or being coy before this really is all new to me. I appreciate you laying it out like this. Conversely, and I may regret saying this but I suppose that's the point, please consider this my informed consent for anything up until the point I say stop. And if I do... I might just want to talk something through before it happens if that's ok? I, trust you." He finished before remembering the second part and adding in a much less grave tone. "Oh have absolutely no worries on that account even if this wasn't, what it is, the last thing I'd want is for anyone to think I had a soft spot for you. But yes that and any other rules happy to."

Sam hadn't even thought about food, it had been the kind of outcome he had told himself he wanted from Catherine and they did have to eat sometime. It still felt strange though the idea of performing a mundane activity while thinking about, all of this. That thought had him already half hard before Catherine activated the autopilot.

As she reached over to touch him, as casual about it as if she was simply driving stick, Sam made a point of gripping his hands to his knees. It would be poor form to break the rules so soon after reciting them. He did find himself arching in his seat, flexing and tensing to push his hips forward, desperate for Catherine to have access to whatever she wanted.

"I, I would have humped your leg like a dog and thanked you for letting me do it Miss Jones. I wanted to, I was more worried about whether you'd let me than the consequences Miss Jones."
 
Catherine blinked in surprise as he explained himself. Not at the declaration of newness, that was entirely within her mental model of the man. Alpha and dominating in everything he did, at least until she had put him in his place.

No, it was his assertion of trust. Sure, she would've trusted him to write an iron-clad contract, but on a personal level? They were strangers. She certainly didn't trust him, not yet anyway. By her metrics he was little more than a man she'd met at a bar, albeit one with far more to lose if she cried foul. She didn't think he'd try to abuse her in any way, but if she truly trusted him she wouldn't have taken that video off the security system of the corporate apartment as insurance.

Oh, to have the arrogant self-confidence in one's safety of a man.

She put the thought aside as her hand registered his growing arousal evidenced in the stiffening in his pants. A brief glance aside verified what she thought she'd noticed, that he was pushing into her touch with his hips. Not with his hands, though, which rested on his knees in a tense grip.

Good boy.

Catherine patted his crotch and then put her hand back on the steering wheel when he'd finished speaking.

"How often do your masturbate, Sam? Did you rub one out this morning before work? Maybe at work, in a bathroom?" He'd been surprisingly easy to corner and arouse in that conference room. She wondered if he'd been denying himself in some sort of anticipation, or if he really was just that turned-on by the things she did to him.
 
Sam's cock was fully hard as she removed her hand and went back to driving as if nothing untoward had ever happened. He silently looked over in mild disbelief, well she was serious about the rules then and their implication. Catherine could use his body as she saw fit, his hands remained on his knees. He wasn't sure why but the distinction seemed so much more pronounced when they were both fully clothed and merely sat in a car. But he had agreed to it, she could do what she wanted.

"Really? Sorry Miss Jones, of course really," Sam was for a mere moment shocked that she would ask such a thing before realising how stupid that reaction was. Not that it did much to help him as he dealt with the most awkward subject she could bring up.

"I masturbate most days Miss Jones, sometimes more than once unless" he tried to hold that back but it had gone to far "I have had or think I'm going to have sex. I" he looked strait ahead focusing on the car in front to avoid looking at Catherine's reaction to what he was about to say "I masturbated every morning this week because I thought it would help prevent me getting hard during our meetings."
 
She caught his silent look of disbelief and smiled slightly. "Oh, if you want to pick up where I left off, go right ahead." He'd only be causing himself problems for later, though. Unless he wanted to be walking through the lobby of her building with a raging hard-on.

That idea actually seemed quite appealing. Maybe she would encourage him when she got bored of idle conversation.

Catherine listened to his reply attentively, and he could see her eyebrows rise as he admitted to his strategy. "Hmmm..." She let him sit and stew with that contemplative hum for a few more moments before finally adding,

"I was unaware that you'd been having such problems. Well, did your approach work?"

She doubted it had, given how easily he'd gotten stiff when she'd pushed him. Of course Samuel Cauldwell would be the excitable type. The same hyper-masculine traits that made him ruthless in the boardroom likely fueled him in the bedroom as well, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had one of the lower refractory periods she'd seen as well.

It was something to test, depending on how the evening unfolded.

"I must say then, I am impressed by how well you've been able to perform under distraction. If anything I'd say your preoccupation has made you even more vicious than usual."

Another pause as she gave him a few moments to bask in the compliment. He'd earned it, certainly. If she hadn't known what they'd done together, she never would've suspected that any part of his thoughts had centered around her given their professional interactions. It was a quality to be cherished, as it drastically improved his chances of not fucking it up for either of them.

But she couldn't let his head get too inflated.

"So, Sam. Did you expect that you'd be having sex today? Do you now?"
 
Sam let the comment lie, he wasn't about to start jerking off in her car. Unless she tells you to of course, a sly voice from the back of his mind. The thought almost made him laugh, on some level what he was doing here was completely insane. Though he had felt the same way about skydiving.

"I suppose you could say it worked, Miss Jones, the other side of it was an unparalleled reason to be absolutely focused on the task at hand... as it were." He added aware of the accidental turn of phrase. He smiled and inclined his head slightly at the compliment. It was disorientating, moving so quickly from discussing his masturbatory habits to their professional lives. He felt like he was having to run to keep pace with her.

"I needed to be focused Miss Jones, not just to avoid well this," Sam looked down at his own buldging crotch "but because if I wasn't being, especially vicious, there would be no one there to mitigate you running rings round us." Sam wasn't blowing smoke up her ass either. He was pretty confident in his team, they were smart, talented and worth their exorbitant pay. Catherine though was taking them apart, Sam's interpretation on his role had more been along the lines of running around propping his teams positions back up when she knocked them down.

"I didn't Miss Jones, I wasn't sure I was going to risk talking to you, or what would happen if I did." Sam figured there was one last detail she might be looking for. "I did masturbate this morning Miss Jones and I did think about you fucking my ass and leaving me to sleep on a couch while I did it Miss Jones."
 
"Ah."

Catherine hadn't expected him to find a new way to make her blush, but she felt her cheeks redden as he complimented her work. In some way she'd known she was doing a good job, keeping her team in-line and her clients appraised of the things they needed to know without giving them undue pause, and managing the whole affair in two very different languages. But to her mind it had been a frantic effort to keep her head above-water. To hear from the opposition that she was doing, for lack of a better term, a "good job", made her want to purr in non-sexual pleasure.

"Well, it's good to know I'm keeping you on your toes."

She cleared her throat, happy to let the conversation return back to something more sexual. That was far easier to talk about.

Her intent had only been to find out if he'd relieved himself that morning, but her grip on the wheel tightened (even if she was hardly doing any driving) when he explained just what he'd been thinking about. She chuckled darkly and grinned at the road ahead.

"Now now, Sam, that does kind of defeat the point of getting the evening off your mind, now, doesn't it?" She glanced briefly over at him, curious to see his expression, then looked forwards once more. Traffic was moving a little faster in the HOV lane than she'd expected; they'd maybe even be able to get in before the evening rush at a burger-and-whisky bar she had in mind. Though that in part depended on how long they lingered at her place... she had a few things to see to before they went back out.

Odd, though, for him to remark specifically on the couch. Was he bitter about that? He was in her car with her, though, so he couldn't have been that upset.

"Not that it seems to have done you much good. I mean..." She gestured at his crotch with one hand, though she didn't reach down and touch him again. "You do seem as excitable as ever. Or would you be even more of a mess if you hadn't relieved yourself?" Her glance flashed over again, this time at his crotch.

"You know, I don't think that can possibly be good for your trousers, why don't you relieve some of the strain there?"

If he didn't take her suggestion she added in a far sterner voice, "Belt open, fly down. Now, Sam."
 
"I, I think I would be in even more of a mess Miss Jones, or would have been at the office certainly." Sam wasn't sure what the truth was because here too he was in uncharted waters he seemed to have a bottomless well when he came to Catherine. For the last month he had tried to think of other things, more conventional sex, but always that night had intruded.

Sam paused for a moment, did she really mean what he thought she- the thought was cut short by a stern command. Sam immediately stopped thinking and rushed to obey. Yanking open his belt he pulled his trousers open and the bottom of his shirt aside. His cock did its own job of forcing its way put of his boxers, rising above the cloth like a pillar.

He slunk slightly lower in his seat hoping to avoid the attention of anyone coming past in a towering SUV, thankfully the traffic was being kind and they were rushing along. As Sam wrapped his hand around his cock though he forgot about the cars they were passing and instead focused fully on the beautiful woman beside him. She truely was incredible, yes physically she was beautiful but it was more than that every movement, every gesture had a grace and a poise that was sublime.

In stark contrast Sam felt incredibly crude to be sat next to her pumping his cock while focused on nothing but Catherine. That didn't stop him though, the thick shaft felt hot in his hand has he played with himself. Pumping away like a teenage boy next to a woman who could not look more composed or controlled.
 
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