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The golden hour had long since bled into a bruised, atmospheric purple over the horizon, casting the Twin Peaks executive suite into a deep, clinical shadow that seemed to swallow the sharp edges of the expensive furniture. Outside the heavy oak doors, the office was winding down with the rhythmic, distant swish of the cleaning crew’s vacuums, a mundane sound that only heightened the suffocating silence of the hallway where Will stood clutching a stack of files to his chest. His fingers were trembling with a subtle, persistent vibration that he couldn't quite quell, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic cadence that made every breath feel shallow and stolen.
"Hey, Will! Heading out?"
Will jumped slightly at the sound of Sarah’s voice, turning to see the accountant waving a hand as she packed her bag with a cheerful, oblivious efficiency that felt worlds away from the electric tension coiling in his own gut.
"Oh, not yet. Just a few more things for Mr. Lawson," he managed to say softly.
"Well, don't stay too late," she smiled, stepping toward the elevators with a casual wave. "And happy birthday, by the way! I hope you’ve got some fun plans tonight."
"Thanks, Sarah," Will breathed, watching the elevator doors slide shut before the silence of the hallway returned to claim him, feeling like a physical weight against his shoulders. He felt that familiar, restless ache in his jaw, a nagging, hollow void that usually ended with him biting his lips until they were raw and swollen, a habit he couldn't seem to break no matter how hard he tried. He turned toward the executive suite, the click of the lock echoing with a heavy finality in the quiet room as he let himself in.
Chance Lawson sat behind the mahogany expanse of his desk, just a dark silhouette against the city lights that stretched out like diamonds sixty floors below. He was all sharp angles and heavy shadows, his skin holding a pale, olive clarity that seemed to glow under the office lights. His hair was thick and ink-black, falling in messy, heavy waves over a forehead that was creased in focus. There was a raw weight to his face—the thick, dark slash of his eyebrows and a jawline that looked like it had been carved from granite.
His white dress shirt was crisp against the tan of his throat, the top button undone and his black tie loosened just enough to show his restraint was fraying. The silk hung limp against his chest like a discarded leash. He didn't look up from his monitor as Will crossed the thick carpet, his steps hesitant and heavy with anticipation until he reached the edge of the desk. Chance just sat there, the steady, rhythmic click of his mouse the only sound in the room, radiating a crushing authority that made the air in the suite feel thin and hard to breathe.
"You're late with the filing, Will," Chance murmured, his voice a low, vibrating baritone that seemed to settle right in the marrow of Will’s bones.
"I had to make sure we weren't interrupted," Will whispered, his eyes fixed on the silver fountain pen resting on the legal pad, his pulse thrumming in his throat.
Chance finally leaned back, his heavy leather chair creaking softly as he settled into the darkness, his dark eyes tracking the way Will was subconsciously worrying his bottom lip again, pulling the damp skin between his teeth until it was a deep, bruised crimson. The silence stretched between them, thick and expectant, until Chance lifted one hand from the desk and made a slow, silent motion with his fingers, a gesture of effortless command that made Will’s knees feel weak.
Will’s breath hitched as he stepped around the edge of the mahogany, his thighs nearly brushing against Chance’s expensive slacks until he was standing directly between the CEO's spread legs. Only then did Chance’s hand move, his fingers wrapping firmly around the nape of Will’s neck to anchor him there, pulling him forward until their faces were inches apart and the air between them was sweltering with the scent of sandalwood and unsaid promises.
"I've told you about that," Chance murmured, his thumb sliding over Will's lower lip and forcing it free from his teeth with a steady, relentless pressure. "You get so worked up, and your lips get so plush and dark, and it’s distracting me from my work, especially on your birthday, Will, when you should be focused on being much more celebratory."
Before Will could offer a breathless apology, Chance surged forward, crushing their mouths together in a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of shared secrets and corporate ice, his tongue sweeping against Will's teeth with an insistent, heavy pressure that left Will's head spinning. Will let out a muffled, needy whimper, his fingers tangling in the expensive silk of Chance’s lapels as he arched into the contact, seeking the grounding weight of the man who held his entire world in the palm of his hand. When Chance finally pulled back, Will was panting, his eyes glossy and unfocused as he looked up at the silhouette of his superior, his plush lips dark and glistening from the intensity of the friction.
"You're shaking, Will," Chance murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards beneath their feet, his hand shifting from Will's neck to tilt his chin upward so he could inspect the beautiful, tear-stained wreckage of his face. "You've been waiting outside the door for a while, huh? Why don't you get out of my sight and find something useful to do with that mouth?"
Will sank slowly to the floor, his movements deliberate and heavy with a thick, suffocating anticipation that made the silk of his own trousers rustle against the plush carpet. He crawled into the narrow, dark space beneath the mahogany desk, the shadows swallowing him whole until the only thing he could see was the sharp, immaculate crease of Chance’s trousers and the daunting, heavy heat waiting for him in the sweltering silence of his hiding place. The air under the desk was warm and smelled intensely of Chance’s sandalwood cologne, a scent that had become synonymous with safety and submission for Will over the long months of their arrangement.
Will’s hands were trembling as he reached for the silver buckle of Chance's belt, the metallic clink sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room as he worked with a quiet, focused intensity to free the heavy, aching length of him. He didn't hesitate, his plush lips finally parting to take Chance into the wet heat of his mouth, moving with a desperate hunger that sought to quiet the frantic noise in his head. He loved the way he felt stretched wide, the sensation of Chance filling the empty, aching void in his jaw until his mind went completely blank and the only thing that mattered was the slick, sliding friction of his tongue against the skin.
He was lost in the wet, rhythmic sounds of his own making, the low, guttural vibration of Chance’s breath the only thing he could hear in the darkness, when the heavy double doors of the office suddenly swung open with a sharp, echoing clack that made Will's heart stop in his chest.
"Mr. Lawson? I have those quarterly projections you asked for."
It was Miller from Marketing, his voice far too loud and projecting with a corporate cheer that felt like a physical blow in the quiet, charged room, and Will froze instantly, his mouth still full and his nose pressed against the dark fabric of Chance’s trousers. The terror was immediate, a cold spike of adrenaline that made his skin prickle as he looked up with eyes wide and shimmering with a glassy sheen of fear, meeting Chance’s steady, unreadable gaze from the shadows.
Chance didn't move a single muscle above the waist, leaning back in his executive chair with a terrifyingly level expression while his right hand reached down into the darkness to bury his fingers deep in Will’s hair, his grip tightening into a firm, grounding anchor that acted as a silent command to stay perfectly still.
"Put them on the edge of the desk, Miller," Chance said, his voice smooth and cold as a sheet of ice, with not a single tremor to betray the fact that his secretary was currently on his knees beneath the very wood Miller was leaning toward.
The danger under the desk was a physical weight, a thick, suffocating pressure that made the very air feel electrified and heavy with the scent of Chance’s sandalwood cologne and the salt of Will’s own fear. Will felt the adrenaline turn into a sharp, twisted sort of thrill that thrummed through his veins like a live wire, making his heart hammer against his ribs in a frantic, uneven rhythm that he was certain Miller could hear through the heavy mahogany. He knew he should stay perfectly still, that a single misplaced sound or a stray breath could ruin the carefully constructed professional world they’d built in this office, but the sheer, agonizing risk pushed something deep inside him over the edge as he looked up into the darkness.
"Oh, sorry to interrupt, sir. I thought you were wrapped up for the day," Miller said, standing right in front of the desk now, the scent of his cheap, spicy cologne drifting into the small, sweltering space where Will was hiding.
Chance’s fingers suddenly tightened and pulled, his knuckles white as he ground his palm against the back of Will’s head to haul him even closer in a silent, desperate command. The force of the movement buried Will’s nose deep into the coarse, dark hair of Chance’s pubis, the scent of musk and heat overwhelming his senses as he was pressed flush against the CEO’s skin. The pull was relentless, dragging Will forward until the heavy, aching length of Chance was pushed even farther into the wet depths of his throat, stretching him to a point that made his eyes roll back in his head.
Will felt his throat begin to flutter instinctively around the intrusion, the rhythmic, involuntary pulsing of his muscles acting as a frantic, hidden caress while Miller continued to drone on about spreadsheets and quarterly margins just inches away. Each time his throat spasmed in a needy, suffocating beat, he felt Chance’s thighs twitch beneath his palms, a sudden, involuntary reaction that the CEO had to fight with every ounce of his willpower to keep out of his voice.
"Is there anything else, Miller?" Chance asked, his voice dropping an octave and sounding strained in a way that made Miller hesitate, his hand hovering over the mahogany. "I have a very tight schedule this evening, and I’d like to get through this review without any further distractions."
Will’s eyes were squeezed shut, his long lashes damp with the tears that were still tracking down his flushed cheeks, and he let himself drown in the sensation. The pressure of his nose against the coarse hair and the deep, intrusive weight in his throat acted as a grounding force against the mounting panic of discovery, turning the terror of the moment into a singular, blinding focus on the man holding him.
"No, sir. Just those. Have a good night," Miller replied, his footsteps finally beginning to retreat toward the heavy oak doors until they finally clicked shut with a solid, echoing thud that signaled the return of their private sanctuary.
The silence that followed the closing of the door was absolute, a heavy, deafening vacuum that was broken only by the sound of Will’s own jagged, shallow breathing struggling against the thick obstruction in his throat. Chance didn't immediately let go as his fingers stayed buried deep in the dark, messy silk of Will’s hair, his palm still ground firmly against the back of Will’s head to keep him pinned in that deep, agonizingly intimate position. Will’s nose remained buried in the coarse, dark hair of Chance’s pubis, the scent of musk and sandalwood filling his lungs until his head swam with a dizzying, sensory-overloaded haze that made the clinical office lights above feel like a distant, fading dream.
He could feel his own throat continuing to flutter and pulse around the heavy length of Chance, a rhythmic, involuntary spasming of overstimulated muscles that he couldn't control even if he’d wanted to. It was a visceral, hidden cadence that vibrated through the small, sweltering space under the mahogany, the slick friction of his own internal rhythm acting as a constant, needy caress that made Chance’s thighs tremble beneath Will's palms. Chance let out a long, controlled exhale, his shoulders finally dropping from their rigid, professional stance as he leaned his head back against the leather of the chair, his eyes closing in the shadows of the suite.
"He's gone, Will," Chance rasped, his voice thick and stripped of its corporate armor, sounding more like a low, vibrating growl that resonated right in the marrow of Will's bones.
Will let out a muffled, wet sound against Chance’s skin, a half-sob of relief and lingering adrenaline that was caught in the back of his throat. He didn't try to pull away, his fingers still digging into the expensive fabric of Chance’s trousers as he anchored himself to the solid weight of the man who owned him. The risk they had just taken was a presence in the room, a pressurized charge that made the air feel thick and electric, and Will found himself leaning into the depth of it, his eyes squeezed shut as he focused entirely on the sensation of being stretched and filled.
Chance shifted slightly, his hand moving from the back of Will’s head to trace the sensitive, damp line of his neck, his thumb dragging over the pulse point that was thrumming with a frantic, uneven beat. He seemed to savor the wreckage he was holding, the way Will was hunched between his knees with his face hidden and his breath coming in short, hot bursts that fanned over Chance's skin.
"You stayed so quiet for me," Chance whispered, his fingers curling around the nape of Will's neck to give a firm, grounding squeeze that made Will whimper into the coarse hair of his lap. "I could feel your heart hammering against my leg the entire time he was standing there, but you didn't break. Not once."
Will’s long lashes were clumped with the tears of a release he hadn't even reached yet, his plush lips still sealed tight as he surrendered to the heavy, immovable pressure. He loved the way he felt anchored here, hidden away from the world in a mahogany cage where the only rules that mattered were the ones Chance whispered, and he let himself sink deeper into the stillness, the fluttering of his throat the only thing betraying how close he was to falling apart.
Chance’s fingers finally loosened their punishing grip on the back of Will’s head, shifting to a slow, possessive caress that traced the flushed curve of Will’s jawline before his thumb migrated to the swell of Will’s cheek. He began to trace the prominent, heavy shape of his own length through the thin skin of Will’s face, outlining the way the plush muscles were stretched taut and working with a rhythmic, desperate devotion that made the air in the small space feel sweltering. Will let out a long, nasal hum of approval, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his weight entirely into Chance’s palm, relaxing his neck until he was sinking even deeper onto the solid, pulsing heat that occupied every inch of his mouth.
He felt the vibration of Chance’s low, gravelly chuckle, a sound that felt grounded and safe in the wake of the terror Miller had brought into the room. Chance leaned forward slightly, his shadow falling over Will like a shroud as he looked down at the beautiful, hidden wreckage he’d made under the mahogany desk.
"You're so beautiful, Will," Chance whispered, his voice a thick rasp that seemed to settle right in Will's gut. "Especially with your mouth full of me like this, so eager to swallow me down, huh? You didn't even flinch when Miller was standing right there, just kept taking more of me like you were born for it."
Will’s long, damp lashes finally lifted, and he looked up at Chance from the shadows, his hazel-green eyes shimmering with a glassy sheen of unshed tears that caught the faint, clinical glow of the monitor above. His plush lips were stretched wide and glistening around the dark, heavy heat, his face a mask of submission that made Chance’s own breath hitch in a sharp, sudden intake of air. Chance ran his fingers through the messy, sweat-dampened silk of Will’s hair, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of Will's scalp as he stared down at the sight of his secretary worshipping him in the dark.
"Want me to fuck your mouth, Will?" Chance rasped, his thumb dragging over the corner of Will's mouth where a silver thread of saliva was beginning to track down his chin. "Can I give you my cum, baby? Do you want to take it all for me right here?"
Will let out a high, needy whine that vibrated against the heavy length in his mouth, the sound broken and desperate as he squeezed his eyes shut again, his fingers twitching against Chance's trousers in a silent, frantic plea for the friction he was starving for. He moved his head in a small, sharp nod, his tongue swirling against the sensitive skin in a frantic cadence.
Chance didn't wait for a second confirmation, his fingers tangling with a renewed, predatory intensity into the sweat-dampened silk of Will’s hair as he braced his other hand against the underside of the mahogany desk for leverage. He began to move with a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm at first, the friction of Will’s plush, overstretched lips against his skin eliciting a low, guttural groan that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards of the executive suite. Will let his neck go limp, his head tilting back and forward with every insistent, heavy push of Chance’s hand, his eyes squeezed shut as he surrendered entirely to the sensation of being filled to the point of suffocation.
The air in the small, sweltering space under the desk became thick with the scent of sandalwood and the wet, rhythmic sounds of Will’s devotion, a cadence that was far more visceral than any corporate memo they had ever drafted together. Chance’s pace quickened, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts that fanned over the damp skin of Will’s forehead as he steered his secretary through the slick friction. Will let out a muffled, high-pitched whine that died in his throat, his hands pressing into Chance's thighs as he felt the heavy, pulsing heat of Chance reaching a breaking point that made his own vision swim with white-hot sparks.
"That's it, take it all for me, baby," Chance rasped, his voice dropping into a thick, gravelly register that signaled the end of his professional restraint. "Stay right there and swallow every drop of me like a good boy."
The snap was instantaneous, Chance’s jaw tightening until his muscles corded in his neck as he hit that final, deepest point of impact against the back of Will's fluttering throat. He let out a low, primal growl, his fingers digging into Will’s scalp to hold him perfectly still while his release hit with a force that made his whole frame shudder against the chair. Will’s eyes flew wide, his hazel-green gaze shimmering with a glassy sheen of tears as he felt the sudden, hot weight of Chance filling him, the sheer volume of it making him let out a soft, choked sound that was lost against the damp fabric of Chance's trousers.
He didn't pull away, even as the aftershocks continued to roll through Chance's body and Will stayed pinned, his throat working with a desperate, rhythmic swallowing that was entirely focused on the man looming over him. He felt a strange, heady sense of peace as the adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by the heavy, anchoring heat of Chance’s cum and the lingering scent of sandalwood that clung to the air.
Chance finally let out a long, shuddering exhale, his hand shifting from Will’s hair to trace the damp, flushed curve of his cheek with a thumb that was uncharacteristically gentle. He looked down at the wreckage he’d made, the tear-stained face and the dark, wet rose of Will's lips as he finally began to slide back.
"So good," Chance whispered, his voice returning to a smooth, satisfied baritone that felt like a warm blanket in the quiet of the office. "Taking every drop like I asked."
Chance finally began to pull back, the slow, sliding friction of his withdrawal leaving Will’s mouth feeling achingly empty and cold in the sweltering shadows of the desk. As the heavy length of him finally cleared Will's plush lips, a long, shimmering string of silver saliva followed, anchored to the tip of Chance’s cock and stretching thin until it finally snapped and draped across Will’s chin. Will’s mouth remained parted in a dazed, silent gasp, his lips glistening and dark with a messy combination of cum and his own spit, his hazel-green eyes blown wide as he looked up with a devoted, shattered expression.
Chance didn't give him a second to recover before he reached down with a renewed, predatory intensity, his large hands hooking firmly under Will’s armpits to haul him out from the cramped space. He was a little rough with the movement, the sudden upward yank making Will’s knees scrape against the plush carpet, but there was an underlying thread of grounding gentleness in the way his thumbs hooked over Will's collarbones to steady him once he was upright.
Before Will could even pull in a full breath of the office air, Chance stepped into his personal space and crashed their mouths together in a kiss that was filthy and unrestrained. He used his tongue to lick away the shimmering mess of spit and cum that coated Will’s mouth, claiming every drop of his own heat with a slow, possessive deliberation. Will let out a muffled, broken whimper against Chance’s lips, his body sagging into the solid weight of the man holding him as he hummed with a needy, vibrating approval, his head spinning from the taste of Chance still lingering on his tongue.
When Chance finally pulled back, he gripped Will’s shoulder and spun him around with a firm efficiency that left Will’s head spinning. He pressed Will forward until the cool, polished mahogany of the desk bit into Will's stomach, forcing him down until he was lying face-down across the leather blotter and the scattered quarterly projections Miller had left behind.
"Stay right there," Chance rasped, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register that made Will’s stomach flip with a fresh jolt of electricity.
Will’s cheek was pressed against the cold wood, his fingers scrabbling against the leather as he looked out at the darkened office through a haze of tears and sweat, feeling the weight of Chance looming over his back like a sweltering shroud. He was exposed and pinned, the sharp crease of his own trousers the only thing left between him and the predatory patience of the man who had spent what felt like the last hour breaking him down.
The cool, polished mahogany was a sudden, bracing shock against Will’s flushed skin as Chance leaned over him, his heavy weight a constant, anchoring pressure that made the leather blotter beneath Will’s cheek feel like the only solid thing left in a world gone blurry and dark. Chance reached down to undo the fastening of Will's slacks, the metallic click of the zipper sounding dangerously loud in the heavy silence of the suite. He hooked his large hands into the waistband and hauled the fabric down in one smooth, unrelenting motion, forcing Will to kick his legs out slightly until the trousers pooled onto the floor.
Will let out a broken, needy whimper at the sudden rush of office air against his lower half, his fingers scrabbling against the edge of the desk for purchase as he felt the vulnerability of being exposed on the wood where he usually took dictation and managed the CEO's calendar. Chance began a slow, torturous descent, his lips pressing deep, searing kisses into the thin cotton of Will’s dress shirt as he trailed his mouth down the length of Will's spine with a predatory deliberation. His breath was hot and damp through the fabric, a sweltering contrast to the air conditioning that hummed in the background, until he finally reached the small of Will's back and the pale, trembling curve of his ass.
Chance’s teeth grazed the soft skin of Will's left cheek, a sharp, sudden nip that made Will’s entire body jolt against the desk, his toes curling into the plush carpet as a high-pitched sob of surprise and pleasure escaped his throat.
Before Will could pull in a steady breath, he felt Chance’s large, calloused hands come down to grip him, his fingers digging into the flushed skin with a possessive strength as he slowly and thoroughly spread Will’s cheeks for his own inspection. The exposure had him trembling under the bright, unforgiving office lights, and Will buried his face into the leather blotter, his hazel-green eyes squeezed shut as he felt the sweltering heat of Chance’s breath hitting the most sensitive, private parts of him.
"You're so perfect for me, Will," Chance whispered, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to resonate through the wood of the desk and into Will's very bones.
Without another word, Chance leaned in, his tongue flicking out to lap at Will’s hole with a slow, rhythmic intensity that made Will’s vision swim with white-hot sparks as the slick friction grounded him in the most visceral way possible. He moved with a heavy, wet pressure that claimed every inch of Will, his mouth wide and warm as he worshipped him, leaving Will a mess of tears and sweat with his plush lips parted in a silent, jagged gasp.
The silence of the suite was heavy, a thick and suffocating weight that seemed to press down on Will as he lay draped across the cold desk, his lungs burning with every shallow and jagged breath he managed to pull in. Chance was methodical in his hunger, burying his face into the pale skin of Will’s ass to focus entirely on the aching heat of his rim, his tongue swirling and pressing with a rhythmic and uncompromising power. He used his saliva to coat every inch of the sensitive skin until the friction became a slick and heavy glide, his nose pressing into the soft flesh as he pushed deeper. Will’s fingers were scrabbling frantically for purchase against the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he felt the resistance of his own body begin to melt away under the relentless and wet heat of Chance’s mouth.
With a sudden and firm push of his tongue, Chance drove past the rim and deep into the wet depths of Will's hole, causing Will to groan. The sensation of being filled by something so warm and mobile was overwhelming, his rim squeezing and pulsing around Chance’s tongue in a rhythmic, involuntary cadence that seemed to drive him even harder.
Each time Chance’s tongue drove deep past the rim to flick against that one specific, hidden nerve, Will let out a loud, whining moan that seemed to echo in the room. He was falling apart, his hips jerking upward in a practiced and involuntary search for more of that pressure, his breath coming in short and hot bursts that fanned over the polished wood of the desk.
Chance suddenly pulled back just an inch, his large and calloused hands tightening their grip on Will’s hips to anchor him even more firmly to the desk, the heat of his breath hitting the damp and hypersensitive skin in a sweltering wave.
"Quiet, Will," Chance rasped, his voice dropping into a dark and dangerous register that made Will’s stomach flip with a fresh jolt of electricity. "The cleaning crew is still just down the hall, and I don't think you want them coming in here to find my secretary sprawled out on my desk like a common slut on his birthday, do you?"
Will let out a small and needy whine that was caught in the back of his throat, his head tossing to the side as he tried to swallow the sounds that were threatening to break out of him. He nodded frantically against the leather, his long and damp lashes clumped together with tears as he focused on the heavy, possessive weight of the man looming over him.
"I told you that you had to be a good boy tonight," Chance whispered, his thumb dragging over the flushed skin of Will's thigh before he dived right back in, his tongue hitting the rim with a renewed and predatory speed. "If I hear another sound out of you that isn't a whisper, I’m going to make sure you have something much larger in your mouth to keep you silent."
Will squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his own knuckles between his plush lips, his body vibrating with the desperate and jagged need for the release he was being denied. Chance remained a constant and sweltering vacuum, his mouth claiming every bit of Will's sensitivity with a prideful intensity that left Will a beautiful and sobbing wreckage of a man, forced to endure the wet and rhythmic worship in a suffocating silence.
Chance finally pulled back from the damp, hypersensitive wreckage of Will’s hole, the sudden absence of his sweltering mouth leaving the air of the executive suite feeling biting against Will's flushed skin. Will let out a long, shuddering exhale that was muffled by the leather blotter, his body still vibrating with the phantom friction of Chance’s tongue and the jagged, desperate need for the internal pressure he was being denied. He stayed perfectly still, his cheek pressed against the cold desk and his fingers twitching against the edge of the desk, listening to the sharp, metallic rasp of leather sliding through a silver buckle behind him.
"Hands behind your back, Will," Chance commanded, his voice a low, vibrating baritone that broke no hesitation and made Will’s stomach flip with a fresh jolt of adrenaline.
Will didn't think to resist, his devotion to the man looming over him far outweighing any lingering sense of professional decorum, and he reached back with trembling fingers to cross his wrists over the small of his spine. He felt the heavy, familiar weight of Chance’s leather belt loop around his skin, the material cool and unforgiving as Chance pulled it taut with a firm efficiency that made the leather creak in the quiet room. The binding was tight and uncompromising, pinning Will’s arms against his back and forcing his chest to arch deeper into the polished wood of the desk, exposing the pale line of his throat to the shadows of the office.
Chance leaned over him then, his large and calloused hand coming down to grip the back of Will’s neck to anchor him even more firmly to the mahogany. With his other hand, he reached out and pulled open the heavy side drawer of the desk. There was a dull thud of wood on wood before he pulled out a bottle of lube, setting it on the leather blotter right next to Will’s head.
"You're so tight for me, Will," Chance rasped, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to settle right in the marrow of Will's bones. “I was tempted to just drive into you, but I can’t have my little whore not able to take me, can I?"
Will heard the click of the cap, then the wet, squelching sound of the liquid hitting Chance’s palm. A moment later, two lubed fingers pressed against Will’s rim before pushing inside with a blunt, invasive force. Will’s breath hitched, his forehead rubbing against the leather as he felt his internal muscles stretch to accommodate the intrusion. Chance didn't give him time to settle; he added a third finger almost immediately, his hand moving in a heavy, controlling rhythm that mapped out every sensitive, pulsing inch of Will's heat.
"You think you can handle me, or are you going to break before I even get started?" Chance asked, his thumb digging into the pulse point in Will’s bound wrist as he waited for the signal.
The silence in the office was suffocating, thick with the scent of sandalwood and the sharp, electric charge of Will’s own fear and desire. Will’s vision was already swimming, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm as he felt the daunting stretch of Chance’s fingers preparing him for something much larger.
Will’s fingers, trapped as they were, tapped twice with a sharp, insistent pressure against Chance’s palm.
"Please," Will choked out, his voice a wrecked and needy whisper. "Please, Chance..."
Chance let out a dark, approving huff of a laugh and withdrew his fingers, the sudden absence leaving Will feeling cold and hollow. He didn't wait.
Chance drove forward in one slow and relentless thrust. Even with the prep, the sudden, invasive stretch was a sharp shock to Will’s system, a stinging burn that made his entire frame jolt against the desk. It was a tight, grueling friction that made Will's breath hitch in a thin, pained wheeze, his toes curling into the plush carpet as he felt the unyielding reality of Chance’s size claiming every inch of him.
Will’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mind going completely static as he finally felt the rough and unpolished weight of this man filling the void. Chance only gave Will a few seconds to adjust before opting for a slow and agonizingly deep rhythm. He moved with a heavy deliberation, his hips grinding into the soft curve of Will’s seat with a steady force that made the desk creak in the heavy silence of the suite. Each thrust was a long and sweltering slide that felt like it was reaching all the way to Will's core, an invasive pressure that made his vision swim with white-hot sparks as he struggled to keep his breath from hitching into a loud, forbidden sob.
The slow torture of the rhythm finally fractured as Chance’s restraint snapped, his hips beginning to drive into Will with a sudden, predatory speed that turned the deep sliding into a frantic, wet percussion against the mahogany. The friction was white-hot and relentless, a heavy and invasive force that made Will’s vision splinter into jagged sparks of gold and white as he felt his internal muscles pulsing in a desperate attempt to keep up with the man pinning him down. Will’s fingers were white-knuckled where they were trapped beneath the leather belt, his back arching in a long and agonized line as he felt the pressure building in his gut to a point that he couldn't possibly contain in silence.
"Ah—Chance, please, I—" Will’s voice broke the clinical quiet of the office, a sharp and strangled cry of overstimulation that echoed far too loudly against the glass walls of the executive suite.
"I told you to be quiet, Will," Chance rasped, his voice dropping into a dark and dangerous register. "I warned you about the noise, and yet you’re still acting like a wanton whore begging to be heard."
Before Will could even whisper an apology through his plush, trembling lips, Chance hauled himself back and pulled out of Will entirely, the sudden absence of his heat leaving Will feeling achingly hollow and cold in the shadows. Chance gripped Will’s shoulders and flipped him over on the polished wood with a firm and uncompromising force, hauling him upright until Will was a swaying, dazed wreckage of a man. Chance sat back into his heavy leather chair and reached out to pull Will toward him, his large hands hooking under Will’s thighs to drag him into his lap.
Will was forced to straddle him, his bound wrists still pinned behind his back and his hazel-green eyes blown wide and shimmering with unshed tears as he looked down at the man who held his entire world in his hands. Chance's calloused fingers guided the heavy, pulsing length of his dick back to Will’s wet and waiting rim before he gripped Will’s waist and slammed him down with a sudden, relentless force.
Will let out a muffled, high-pitched whine that died in his throat as he was impaled on the spot, the sheer, vertical weight of the impact making his head fall back and his chest heaving with a jagged, desperate breath. He was sitting fully on Chance now, legs folded onto his chair and his face inches from the dark, unreadable gaze of the man who was currently claiming every inch of his internal heat. The position was exposed, the office lights reflecting in the tears tracking down Will's flushed cheeks as he felt the heavy, grounding pressure of Chance filling him to the very limit.
The heavy silence of the executive suite returned as Chance settled deep into the leather of his chair, making no move to thrust or provide the friction Will was clearly desperate for. Instead, his large hands locked around Will’s waist like iron bands to ensure every agonizing inch of his length remained buried and perfectly still. Will was a beautiful, trembling wreckage in his lap, his bound wrists pinned uselessly behind the small of his own back and his hazel-green eyes blown wide with a glassy sheen of tears.
"Now," Chance whispered, his breath hot and damp against Will’s mouth, his voice holding a terrifying level of professional calm. "You're going to stay right here, and you're going to look me in the eye while I finish my work. If you make another sound above a whisper, or if you try to find your own rhythm on me, I'm going to make sure you're still in this office when the sun comes up."
The vertical weight of the position was a constant, invasive pressure that hit his prostate with a direct, punishing precision, making his vision swim with white-hot sparks as he struggled to maintain the silence Chance demanded.
"If you can't control your voice, then you don't get to move," Chance murmured against the shell of Will’s ear, his grip tightening just enough to anchor Will's hips firmly against his own. "We're just going to stay like this, Will."
Will’s head fell onto Chance’s shoulder, his forehead rubbing against the expensive silk of Chance's collar as a fine tremor ran through his thighs. It was a different kind of torture—the stillness was a heavy, radiating burn that seemed to seep into his very bones, and every time he tried to shift his hips in search of even a fraction of friction, Chance’s fingers would dig into his skin in a silent, possessive command to remain a statue.
"Please," Will whispered into the crook of Chance’s neck, his voice wrecked and needy. "Chance, I can't... I need to move."
"No," Chance murmured, reaching out with one hand to hover over the glowing keyboard of his laptop. "I have one more email to send, and I want to feel you trembling against me the entire time I type it. Every time you move, I’m adding another paragraph."
The rhythmic, clinical click-clack of the keys was the only sound in the room besides Will’s jagged, needy exhales. Will squeezed his eyes shut, his plush lips parted and glistening as he focused on the overwhelming fullness, his bound wrists wedged against his own spine and the leather of the belt biting into his skin every time he would instinctively twitch.
The silence was so loud that the sudden, sharp rapping of knuckles against the heavy oak doors was like a physical blow. Will’s entire body jolted, his heart leaping into his throat in a blind, frantic panic. In his terror, he tried to scramble off Chance’s lap, but Chance’s reaction was instantaneous; his hands clamped onto Will’s hips and he slammed him back down with a sudden, relentless grunt of effort.
The depth of the impact was staggering, hitting Will so hard his entire world tilted on its axis. A silent, jagged scream clawed at his throat, and with his wrists bound uselessly behind his back, he was forced to lurch forward, his teeth sinking hard into the expensive cotton of Chance’s shoulder to stifle the sound. He bit down until his jaw ached, the fabric of the dress shirt dampening under his mouth as he struggled to keep the internal pressure from bursting out into the empty room.
"Mr. Lawson? It’s the evening crew," a cheerful, muffled voice called from the hallway. "Just checking if you’re staying late so we can skip the trash in here for now."
Will’s vision was swimming with stars, his spine arching as he stayed pinned in that agonizingly deep position, his face still buried in Chance's shoulder.
"I’m still in here, Rodriguez," Chance called back, his voice terrifyingly steady and authoritative even as his body remained a heavy, invasive weight beneath Will.
As he spoke, Chance reached around to the small of Will's back, his large hand beginning a slow and soothing movement up and down the length of Will’s spine. The fabric of Will's own shirt bunched and slid against his skin with every rhythmic pass, a grounding, physical comfort that was at odds with the illicit tension of the moment. It was a silent command to stay calm, a steadying presence that kept Will from spiraling into a blind panic while the conversation continued just a few feet away.
"I’ll probably be another hour, Rodriguez. You can circle back tomorrow morning."
"Sounds good, sir. Have a good night!"
The sound of the janitorial cart began to rattle away, the squeak of the wheels fading down the carpeted hallway until the silence returned, heavier than before. Chance didn't stop the soothing motion of his hand immediately; he continued to rub Will's back for a few more seconds, feeling the way Will’s breathing gradually shifted from panicked hitches to deep, shuddering exhales. Finally, he gently pulled Will back just enough to look at the beautiful, trembling wreck of his face, his thumb dragging over the damp, red indentations where Will’s teeth had been clamped into his shoulder.
"Look at you," Chance whispered, his voice holding a dark, shimmering pride. "My pretty whore. You didn't make a peep. I'm so proud of you. I think you might have finally learned your lesson."
Chance didn't waste another second. He gripped Will’s hips with a bruising intensity, his fingers digging into the flushed skin as he began to move. He thrusted into Will with a driving and relentless, heavy friction that made the chair creak and groan under their combined weight.
Will let out a long, jagged moan—the kind of sound he’d been swallowing for the last hour—and his head tossed back, his neck corded with the effort of every breath. Without his hands to steady himself, he was entirely at the mercy of the rhythm, his body arching instinctively to meet every deep, punishing stroke that hit his prostate with a direct, rhythmic precision.
"Chance—oh god, please," Will sobbed, his voice wrecked and high-pitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, his vision a blur of white-hot sparks as the pressure in his gut coiled tighter and tighter, his internal muscles pulsing in a desperate, rhythmic attempt to keep up with the man pinning him down.
"Look at me," Chance commanded, his own breath coming in short, harsh bursts. He reached up, his hand tangling in Will’s hair to pull his head forward until their foreheads were resting against each other.
Will forced his eyes open, his long lashes clumped with tears as he looked into the dark, possessive depths of Chance’s gaze. He felt the shift in Chance’s body, the way the rhythm became more frantic and more desperate. The slick, wet sounds of their joined bodies filled the quiet office, a rhythmic cadence that drowned out the hum of the city sixty floors below.
"I've got you," Chance whispered, his voice a low vibration that Will felt in his very bones. "Give it to me, Will. Right now."
The snap was instantaneous. Will’s back arched violently, a high, broken cry finally tearing from his throat as he went over the edge. His entire body convulsed, his bound wrists straining against the leather belt as the world dissolved into a blinding, singular heat. He was trapped against Chance’s heavy frame, his own release hot and sudden as it splattered upward, soaking into the expensive cotton of both their shirts where they were pressed together in the vertical position. He arched into Chance as best he could as the release crashed over him in waves, leaving him breathless and gasping against the executive’s shoulder.
Chance followed him a heartbeat later, his fingers digging into Will’s hips as he let out a low, guttural growl, his own release hitting with a force that made his whole frame shudder. Will squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sudden, pulsing surge of Chance filling him to the brim, a sweltering warmth that seemed to radiate through his very core. It was a heavy, grounding pressure that mapped out every overstimulated nerve ending, the sheer heat of it making Will’s vision swim with one last, quiet spark of white light.
Chance buried his face in the crook of Will’s neck, his chest heaving against Will’s shoulder as the silence of the office finally rushed back in to claim them. The damp, cooling weight of their shared mess between their shirts and the thick, internal heat still settling inside Will were heavy, visceral reminders of the wreck they’d made of professional decorum.
The silence of the suite seemed infinite as the aftershocks finally began to ebb, leaving Will slumped against Chance's chest with his breath coming in tiny, staggered hitches. His bound wrists were still pinned firmly behind the small of his back, the leather of the belt biting into his skin and forcing his chest to arch forward into Chance’s firm, executive frame. He felt heavy and anchored, the ache from the earlier finally replaced by a deep, pulsing warmth that made his vision swim with a quiet, heady peace.
Chance held Will close, his large arms wrapping around Will’s waist to keep him from sliding off his lap while their synchronized breathing gradually slowed. He buried his face in the damp, sweat-cooled skin of Will's shoulder, his pulse still thrumming with a steady, satisfied rhythm against Will’s inner thighs.
"My good, quiet slut," Chance murmured, his voice returning to that smooth, authoritative baritone that usually commanded boardrooms, but now held a thread of affection.
He reached around to the small of Will's back, his calloused fingers finding the silver buckle of the leather belt. With a practiced, deliberate flick, he unfastened the binding, the leather creaking as it finally slid free from Will's reddened skin. Will’s arms fell limp at his sides for a moment, the sudden rush of circulation making his fingers tingle as he slowly brought his hands around to cling to the lapels of Chance’s expensive suit jacket.
Will let out a long, shuddering exhale, his forehead resting on the expensive silk of Chance’s shoulder as the office lights continued to hum above them, a stark contrast to the illicit wreckage they’d made of the chair. He felt the heavy, grounding weight of Chance’s hand cradling the back of his head, a gesture that made the sixty floors between them and the quiet city streets feel like a protective, impenetrable barrier.
Chance didn't move to pull away just yet as he shifted his hand from the back of Will’s neck to cup his cheek, his large, calloused thumb dragging slowly over the damp, flushed curve of Will's jawline with a tenderness that was entirely at odds with the predatory authority of the last hour. He tilted Will’s face up, forcing those shimmering, hazel-green eyes to meet his own steady gaze, his expression softening into something raw and unmistakably devoted.
"Happy birthday, Will," Chance whispered, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating baritone that settled in Will's heart.
He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Will’s forehead before his lips migrated to the corner of Will's mouth, tasting the salt and the heat of the evening they’d shared. He stayed there for a moment, his breath fanning over Will’s skin in an intimate rhythm that made the office feel like their own private sanctuary.
"I love you, baby," Chance murmured against his lips, his fingers tangling once more in the messy, sweat-dampened silk of Will's hair as he pulled him closer.
Will leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as the last of the adrenaline finally ebbed away, leaving him feeling heavy and boneless against Chance’s chest. The quiet of the office a cocoon of silk and mahogany that shielded them from the rest of the world. He reached up with a slow, clumsy motion, his fingers still tingling from the belt as he brushed them against the damp cotton of Chance's collar.
"I love you too, Chance," Will murmured, his voice a soft, wrecked thing that barely carried in the still air.
He didn't have the energy for anything more than a tired, lopsided smile, his head falling back against Chance's shoulder as he let out a long, content sigh. The sheer exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to him, making the prospect of the quiet car ride home feel like the greatest gift he could possibly receive. He felt the vibration of Chance's low, satisfied chuckle against his own skin, a sound that made him feel grounded and safe even in the middle of the mess they'd made.