Theo’s fingers tightened on Savannah’s nape, the pressure grounding him in the moment as he fought to maintain control. “There will be a final inspection from my team,” he said, his voice rough, the strain bleeding through despite his effort to sound unaffected. “I want everyone, including the drivers, to be properly compensated.”
He paused, drawing in a ragged breath, tormented by the warm glide of Savannah’s lips over his c**k. Her mouth was a furnace, her movements precise and deliberate, pushing him closer to the edge with each wet, silken stroke.
Clover’s voice crackled through his headset, her tone brimming with frustration. “You’re looking at this from the wrong perspective, Theo. Technical timelines don’t make allowances for an organic creative process. You don’t understand how—”
