⚠︎ - smut, legal age gap, work place sex,
15 minutes late. Again. The elevator doors slide open with a hiss, revealing the sleek chrome-and-glass expanse of Billie’s penthouse office suite. Your heels click against polished marble as you hurry past the empty reception desk. Billie hates tardiness almost as much as she hates incompetence. Almost.
Her office door looms ahead – heavy mahogany, frosted glass etched with the stylized ‘B’ logo of her global tech empire. You pause, smooth your pencil skirt, take a breath that does nothing to calm the flutter low in your belly. Then you knock. Twice. Sharp.
"Come in." The voice is low, smooth, utterly devoid of warmth. It slices through the door like a blade.
You push it open. Billie sits behind a vast obsidian desk, bathed in the cool light streaming from the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the city skyline. She doesn’t look up immediately. Her focus is laser-locked on typing away at the computer screen in front of her.
“Good morning ma’am” you said trying to get her to look up at you, “I got you your favorite coffee ma’am, the one from the place that’s kinda far? Which is why I was late. So sorry by the way.” You ramble away nervously placing the coffee cup on her desk.
Billie’s fingers stop moving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her gaze. Her eyes are dark, intense, framed by sharp cheekbones and the severe lines of her black silk suit. They travel over you, a slow, assessing sweep that makes your skin prickle beneath your sensible blouse. Billie lets out a tired sigh, “You’re late.” She states flatly, “don’t be late again.” She says coldly.
You shift your weight. "Yes, Ms. Eilish. It won't happen again. I swear." The lie tastes sour. The commute is unpredictable, the coffee place is ridiculously far, and Billie’s impossible standards are… well, impossible. That and you wanted to look the best for her
Billie leans back in her chair, the expensive leather sighing softly. She picks up the coffee cup, takes a slow sip, her gaze never leaving your face. "Your promises," she murmurs, setting the cup down precisely on its coaster, "are starting to sound like background noise, honey." She pauses, letting the pet name hang in the air, a velvet glove over an iron fist. "I hired you because of your potential. You’re young, talented. Don’t waste it all being late everywhere.” A ghost of a smile touches her lips.
You smiled at her, walking over to open the blinds. “You talk like you’re so old, you aren’t even that much older than me.” You tease her softly.
Billie’s smile actually appears this time, “Alright, Alright, you’re already late and we have shit to do, come on.” She says gesturing to the papers on her desk. You walk over to her storage shelf, reaching up over to grab the papers. You feel Billie’s eyes on you, specifically your ass. You pretend not to notice.
Billie’s gaze lingers on you as you stretch for the papers. The silence stretches too, thick and charged. “I need you to deal with some client calls 10 minutes ago.” She says firmly. You nod quickly, grabbing the papers and placing them on her desk.
Billie leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers. Her dark eyes hold yours captive. "Tell me," she says, her voice dropping to a low purr that vibrates in the pit of your stomach, "what exactly is so fascinating about those blinds that you'd prioritize them over my schedule every morning ?"
“You need sunlight.” You say with a small smile.
“You young people and your sunlight.” She says teasingly.
You laugh softly, “I’m going to go make those calls.” You say walking away.
In your office, you try to focus on the calls. You really do. But Billie’s presence permeates the space. The scent of her expensive, subtly smoky perfume seems to cling to the air. The memory of her gaze, heavy and knowing, keeps intruding. You fumble with the phone, misdial twice. Your cheeks burn. You’re usually so efficient. But Billie… Billie unravels you. It’s been like this since day one.
The afternoon drags. You organize files, draft emails, schedule meetings – all while acutely aware of the woman in the next room. The low murmur of her voice on conference calls, the sharp click of her heels as she paces. The phantom weight of her stare seems to follow you, even when the door is closed. You catch yourself staring at it, wondering what she’s doing, if she’s thinking about you. Pathetic. You shake your head, forcing your attention back to the spreadsheet glowing on your screen.
It’s nearing 5 PM when Billie’s door finally opens. You jump, startled. She stands framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the fading light outside. She’s taken off her suit jacket; her crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of smooth skin and the delicate chain of a necklace. Her expression is unreadable.
"Cancel my 5:30," she says, her tone clipped. "And bring the Henderson contract analysis. Now."
"Yes, Ms. Eilish." You scramble to find the file on your desk, fingers clumsy. You grab it and hurry towards her office.
You step inside, closing the door softly behind you. Billie isn’t at her desk. She’s standing by the window, gazing out at the city lights beginning to sparkle against the dusk. The room feels cavernous, intimate. You approach cautiously, holding out the file. "The Henderson analysis, ma'am."
Billie doesn’t turn immediately. She finishes whatever thought she’s chasing, then slowly pivots. Her eyes meet yours. They’re darker now, more intense. She doesn’t take the file. Instead, she takes a step closer. Then another. The space between you evaporates. You can smell the faint trace of coffee on her breath, the expensive scent of her skin. Your heart hammers against your ribs.
"You’re nervous," she murmurs, her gaze dropping to your lips, then slowly traveling back up to lock with yours. It’s not a question. "Why?"
"I…" Your voice catches. You swallow. "The Henderson deal is complex, ma'am. I just want to ensure the analysis is thorough."
Billie’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. "Is that all?" Her hand lifts, impossibly slowly. Her fingertips brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. The touch is feather-light, electric. You freeze. "You tremble," she observes softly, her fingers trailing down the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw. Her touch is cool, deliberate. "Like a little bird caught in a storm." Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip. "Tell me what you’re really afraid of."
Your breath hitches. Her proximity is overwhelming. Her scent, her power, the sheer intensity radiating from her. "I… I’m not afraid, Ms. Eilish."
"Liar." The word is soft, almost affectionate, yet it carries the weight of an accusation. Her other hand lifts, settling firmly on your hip. Her grip is possessive, anchoring you in place. "You’ve been trembling around me since your first interview. Watching me. Wanting." Her gaze dips lower, lingering on the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. "Don’t bother denying it. I see it."
You can’t speak. Your mind is blank, filled only with the sensation of her touch, the heat of her gaze. Her fingers tighten slightly on your hip, pulling you infinitesimally closer. Your bodies are almost touching now. You can feel the warmth radiating from her.
"You crave discipline," she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear as she leans in. "Structure. Someone to tell you exactly what to do, how to be. To hold you accountable." Her lips graze the sensitive shell of your ear, sending shivers cascading down your spine. "Isn’t that right?"
A tiny whimper escapes you. You nod mutely, your eyes wide, locked on hers.
"Words," she commands softly, her voice dropping to a velvet growl. "Use your words."
"Yes," you breathe, the sound barely audible. "Yes, Ms. Eilish."
"Good girl." The praise is a low rumble that vibrates deep in your core. Her hand slides from your hip, skimming up your side, over your ribs, coming to rest just beneath your breast. Her thumb strokes the sensitive curve through the thin fabric of your blouse. "You need to learn consequences," she continues, her gaze darkening with intent. "For being late. For being distracted. For lying." Her other hand cups your chin, tilting your face up to hers. "I think," she whispers, her lips hovering inches from yours, "you know what you’re doing.”
You gasp softly, “I don’t know what you mean.” You lie softly.
Billie’s smile widens, predatory and utterly captivating. "Still lying," she murmurs, her thumb tracing your bottom lip again. "Tsk, tsk." Before you can react, her grip tightens on your chin. Her other hand slides firmly to the small of your back, pressing you flush against her. The sudden contact steals your breath. She’s solid, unyielding. "Let's correct that," she breathes against your lips. Then she kisses you.
It’s not gentle. It’s possession. Her mouth crashes down on yours, demanding, insistent. Her tongue parts your lips with ruthless efficiency, claiming the space. It’s a kiss of dominance, of ownership. A low moan escapes you as you melt against her, your hands instinctively clutching at the lapels of her shirt. The taste of her – coffee, mint, something uniquely *Billie* – floods your senses. Her hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, deepening the kiss. You’re drowning in her, in the sheer force of her will.
She breaks the kiss abruptly, leaving you gasping. Her eyes blaze down at you, dark with hunger and something sharper – control. "On your knees," she commands, her voice rough. "Now."
The command slices through the haze of arousal. Your knees buckle instantly, hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. You kneel before her, looking up. The angle is dizzying. She towers over you, a silhouette against the city lights, her expression unreadable except for the fierce intensity in her eyes. Your breath comes in shallow pants, your body thrumming with anticipation and a delicious thread of fear.
Billie looks down at you, her gaze sweeping over your upturned face, your parted lips, your trembling form. A slow, satisfied smile curves her lips. "Better," she murmurs. Her hand strokes your hair, almost tenderly, before tightening her grip again, forcing your head back further. "Now," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper filled with dark promise, "let's discuss your punishment." Her free hand goes to her belt buckle. She stops herself, “take it off.” She commands softly.
You reach up slowly, hands trembling as you undo her belt. You pull it out of the loops slowly. Billie takes the belt from your hands, “Good girl.” She whispers softly. She folds it in half placing it on the shelf next to her. “Now the pants, honey” she says softly. You nod quickly, undoing the button and zipper on her pants. You pull them down slowly, revealing her toned legs. Billie steps out of her pants, kicking them to the side. She grabs your chin softly, “So pretty, baby. C’mon you can do it.” She whispers softly. You nod softly, pulling her underwear down slowly. Billie steps out of them slowly.
Billie stands before you, completely naked from the waist down. The sight steals your breath. Her skin is pale, flawless, sculpted muscle visible beneath. But your gaze is drawn irresistibly lower, to the apex of her thighs. She’s already glistening, slick arousal glinting in the low light. The scent of her – musky, sweet, utterly intoxicating – fills the air between you.
Billie watches you, her expression unreadable except for the dark intensity in her eyes. Her hand rests lightly on your head, fingers threading through your hair. "Look at you," she murmurs, her voice thick with arousal. "Kneeling where you belong." Her thumb strokes your temple. "You want this," she states, not asks. "You've wanted it for so long. To serve." Her grip tightens slightly, guiding your head to where she needs it most. "Show me."
The command resonates deep within you. You lean forward, closing the small distance. The scent of her arousal is overwhelming now, heady and primal. Tentatively, your tongue flicks out, tasting her. The flavour explodes on your tongue – salt, musk, something uniquely *her*. A low groan rumbles from Billie’s chest, vibrating through you. Encouraged, you press closer, your tongue tracing the slick folds, exploring the swollen heat.
Billie’s hips shift almost imperceptibly, pressing herself more firmly against your mouth. "Yes," she breathes, her voice ragged. "Like that." Her fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements, urging you deeper. "Good girl,” says breathily
You lose yourself in the rhythm, in the taste and feel of her. Your tongue delves deeper, circling her clit, flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Billie’s breathing hitches, sharp intakes of breath punctuated by low moans. Her thighs tremble slightly against your shoulders. The sounds she makes – soft gasps, choked groans – fuel your own arousal until you’re aching between your own legs.
Her grip on your hair becomes almost painful, holding you firmly in place as her hips begin a slow, deliberate roll against your mouth. "Fuck," she gasps, her head tilting back. "Just like that… don't stop." Her movements become more urgent, her thrusts against your tongue harder, faster. You can feel the tension coiling within her, the sharp edge of her pleasure building. She throws her head back, hitting the wall behind her lightly. Her moans become louder, more desperate. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you against her heat. You feel her entire body tense, a tremor running through her. "Oh god…" she gasps, her voice breaking. "Right there… yes!"
Her climax crashes over her suddenly, violently. A choked cry escapes her lips as her body arches, pressing hard against your mouth. Her thighs clamp around your head, holding you immobile as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. You feel the pulsing contractions against your tongue, taste the sharp tang of her release. Her grip on your hair is iron-tight, anchoring you to her as she rides out the storm.
Slowly, the tremors subside. Her breathing is ragged, harsh in the quiet room. Her thighs loosen their vise-like grip. Her hand slackens in your hair, sliding down to cup your cheek. Her thumb strokes your lips, slick with her essence. You look up at her, your own breathing uneven, your lips tingling.
Billie looks down at you, her eyes dark pools reflecting the city lights. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. A slow, utterly satisfied smile spreads across her face. "Get up.” She commands softly. You stand slowly, legs trembling. Billie grabs your chin softly, “You did so good.” She whispers softly. She pulls you into a soft kiss, tasting herself on your lips.
She pulls away slowly, turning around both of you and pushing you onto the wall behind you. She pins your wrists above your head softly. She kisses your neck softly, biting softly. You gasp softly. Billie pulls away softly, “I’ve really only kept you around this long for one reason.” She whispers softly. You nod. Billie smiles softly, kneeling in front of you. Reaching up your embarrassingly short pencil skirt she pulls your underwear down slowly. They pool at your ankles before you step out of them. Billie hooks one of your legs over her shoulder pulling you closer. She leans forward softly, kissing your inner thigh. You moan. She kisses closer to your core . She looks up at you, grinning, before burying her face between your legs.
Her tongue is a hot, demanding brand against your sensitive flesh. There’s no hesitation, no teasing exploration this time. Billie devours you with single-minded intensity. Her tongue laps at your slick folds with broad, firm strokes, then flicks sharply against your clit. You cry out, your head thudding back against the cool glass wall. Your fingers instinctively tangle in her short, silky hair, holding on as waves of pure sensation crash over you.
Billie hums against you, the vibration sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. Her hands grip your hips, pulling you harder against her mouth. She alternates – long, slow licks that make your knees threaten to buckle, followed by rapid, focused flicks over your clit that have you gasping incoherently. She knows exactly what she’s doing, exploiting every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. She slides her fingers inside you . She curls her fingers, hitting your g-spot. She pumps her fingers knowingly.
You’re already close, wound impossibly tight from kneeling before her, from tasting her, from the sheer power of her presence. Billie senses it. Her tongue becomes relentless, circling your clit with furious speed. Her fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot deep within and stroking it firmly.
"Billie!" Your cry is ragged, torn from your throat. Your hips buck uncontrollably against her face. The coil inside you snaps. Pleasure detonates, white-hot and blinding. Your vision swims. Your body arches violently off the wall, held only by Billie’s iron grip on your hips and her mouth sealed against you. Wave after wave crashes through you, leaving you trembling, boneless, gasping for air.
Billie slows, gentling her ministrations as the aftershocks ripple through you. She presses soft, lingering kisses against your inner thigh before finally pulling back. She looks up at you, her chin glistening, a predatory satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She rises smoothly to her feet, her gaze locked on yours. She leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. You taste yourself mingled with the lingering taste of her on her lips. It’s dizzying.
She breaks the kiss, her breath warm against your swollen lips. Her hand cups your cheek, her thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized escaped. "You belong to me now," she murmurs, her voice rough with spent passion and absolute certainty. "Understand?"
You nod weakly, your body still humming with the echoes of your climax. "Yes, Ms. Eilish."
"Good." She releases your wrists, stepping back. Her gaze sweeps over your disheveled state – your flushed face, kiss-swollen lips, skirt pushed up around your waist. A flicker of amusement touches her lips. "Clean yourself up," she orders, her tone shifting back towards business, though the heat still simmers beneath the surface. "Then get back to work. We have a Henderson contract to finalize." She turns, walking back towards her desk with that effortless, predatory grace, leaving you leaning against the glass wall.
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
dededos
snowghoul
