Art of Misalignment

Chapter 41 Under-the-Table Deal

The elevator chimed. Sarah stepped into the hallway and smoothed her silk dress. She rang the bell for apartment 402.

Dave opened the door. He looked exhausted and already half-drunk. “You’re late.”

“Traffic on the FDR,” Sarah said, walking past him into the living room.

She dropped her clutch on the marble island and placed the folder down. “Old Theater. Final version.”

Dave picked up his drink. “I need to see the load distributions, Sarah. If we’re pitching an unsupported atrium, the math has to be solid.”

Sarah slammed her hand on the folder. “You look tired, Dave.”

“I have a board meeting in nine hours,” he snapped. “Move your hand.”

“You need to relax.” Sarah took his glass, sipped from it, and slid it back.

“Here. Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Dave took a long swallow of the red wine. A few minutes later, his eyes began to glaze over. His breathing grew heavy and uneven. The drug was kicking in fast.

Sarah noticed and moved closer. She placed a hand on his arm. Dave jerked back at first.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice thick.

Sarah smiled softly. “Dave, don’t fight it. You clearly need this. Why not let go a little?”

She unbuttoned her silk dress slowly, letting it slide off her shoulders and pool at her feet. Her full, firm breasts were bare. She took Dave’s hand and pressed it firmly against one breast, guiding his fingers to pinch and roll her hard n****e.

At that moment, Dave’s last thread of control snapped. He leaned forward and took her n****e into his mouth, sucking hard and hungrily, his tongue flicking and circling the stiff peak while his teeth grazed the sensitive skin.

Sarah moaned and arched her back. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it off his shoulders, and unzipped his pants. His thick c**k sprang out, veins pulsing, already leaking at the tip. She wrapped her fingers around the hot shaft, stroking firmly from base to head. “Yes, just like that,” she whispered. She dropped to her knees, took him deep into her mouth, and sucked hard, her tongue pressing along the underside while her hand pumped the rest of his length. She bobbed her head faster, taking him deeper until he hit the back of her throat.

Dave groaned loudly, his hips jerking forward. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the marble counter. He kicked her legs apart, gripped her hips, and thrust into her wet p***y in one hard stroke, burying every inch inside her. He f****d her fast and deep, his hips slapping loudly against her ass with each thrust, the wet sounds filling the room.

After several minutes, Dave’s movements slowed. Sweat ran down his chest. He pulled out, breathing hard, and dropped onto the sofa. Sarah climbed onto his lap, straddled him, and guided his slick c**k back into her. She sank down slowly, letting him stretch and fill her completely, then began riding him hard — rising until only the head remained inside, then slamming down again and again. Her breasts bounced heavily in front of his face. She rolled her hips, grinding her c**t against his pelvis with every downward stroke.

Dave gripped her waist tightly, thrusting up to meet her. Finally, with a deep, guttural groan, he came hard inside her, his c**k pulsing as thick spurts of hot c*m flooded her p***y and began to leak out around his shaft.

Panting heavily, sweat covering his body, Dave stared at her with wide eyes. “Sarah… you set me up!”

Sarah smiled, still breathing fast, his c*m slowly dripping down her thigh. “Dave, who told you to care only about Chloe?”

Sarah scanned the ballroom from behind her velvet mask. She was looking for the hedge fund giants at table six — the kind of money that could free her from the firm’s internal politics.

“You’re looking the wrong way,” a raspy voice said.

Jeffrey stood behind her, his gold mask glinting under the chandelier. He didn’t look happy. “I haven’t seen you on the executive floor in a week, Sarah. No check-ins. No updates. You get the title and suddenly you’re too busy for the man who gave it to you?”

Sarah turned, keeping her expression calm behind the mask. She forced a soft smile. “I’ve been buried in the theater’s foundation issues, Jeffrey. I wanted to bring you results, not excuses.”

“I don’t care about the foundation tonight,” Jeffrey said, stepping closer. He took the champagne glass from her hand and set it on a passing waiter’s tray. “You’ve been ghosting me. That’s a bad career move.”

The threat was quiet but clear. Sarah felt the pressure closing in. She needed him, but she also needed an exit plan. She placed a hand on his arm. “I didn’t realize you missed our… interactions so much. I’ll make it up to you.”

Jeffrey’s eyes darkened. “Prove it. We’re leaving. There’s a private lounge upstairs where we can discuss your dedication to this firm.”

He started to lead her toward the stairs, his grip tight on her arm. Sarah stopped. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t move either.

“I’ll go,” she said, her voice low and business-like. “But I want something in return.”

Jeffrey gave a short, dry laugh. “You’re negotiating now?”

“Always. I need an introduction to Marcus Thorne. He’s in the VIP lounge. He’s looking for a new lead architect for his Pacific project, and I want that meeting.”

Jeffrey stared at her for a long moment. He liked her nerve; she could see it in the way his jaw relaxed.

“Thorne is hard to impress,” he said.

“I’m hard to ignore. Do we have a deal?”

Jeffrey leaned in, his breath smelling of tobacco. “Fine. I’ll open the door for you. But first, you’re going to remind me why I helped you in the first place.”

“Deal,” Sarah said.

She let him lead her through the crowd.