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I reach up and cup his balls, rolling them slowly in my palm before I give them a gentle tug.

A breath escapes him, barely audible, a hitch that betrays the first real sign he’s losing control. I double down, a hunger in me to draw out more, to strip away his control piece by piece. My hands and mouth work in sync, slick and eager, the wet sounds of suction filling the air.

His cock swells, the thick vein on the underside pulsing. His hips begin to move, matching the rhythm of my strokes, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

His cock throbs once, twice, and then he’s coming, a groan rumbling from his chest as heat floods my throat, salt and musk, more than I can take. I choke around him, drool and his release spilling down my chin, and a wet, overwhelmed, helpless sound escapes as my hips stutter, riding nothing, and I come untouched, shuddering, soaking through my underwear.

His fingers find my chin and scoop up what I spilled, shoving it back into my mouth. “Swallow.”

I swallow around his fingers, my throat working to take everything he gives me.

When I pull back, my lips throb and my pulse refuses to settle.

His thumb wipes the fluids from my lips. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

The wet evidence of my own release can’t be denied. “Yes.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, I want you to go home and throw away your dildo.” He tucks himself back into his slacks and zips up. “The only thing going inside your body from now on is me.”

I nod, too dazed to form words. Right now, I’d agree to anything.

“Good boy. Come back on Thursday.”

And just like that, he leaves me on my knees in the empty break room.

I sit back on my heels, my body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure as my fuzzy mind kicks back into gear. I give myself thirty seconds to collect myself. No more.

Then I stand.

My knees ache as I straighten my clothes and smooth my hair back into place using the reflection in the dark microwave above the counter. My reflection reveals swollen lips, each swallow hurts my throat, and the damp spot spreading across the front of my underwear sparks a wave of irritation.

Sloppy.

I’ve spent weeks building access to the Blue Note Crew, and one blowjob in a locked break room reduced me to pure instinct.

After the kiss when I let Orien get me off in the booth, I shouldn’t have lied to myself that Orien would be anything like my fumbling, lackluster encounter with the security guard.

The problem is, I can’t bring myself to regret what happened. Even after I leave this place and return to my family, this will be the memory I pull out when the nights get too lonely.

I give the break room one final scan. Layout. Sightlines. Entry points. The details settle into place, muscle memory taking over where instinct just failed me.

This is what I’m good at.

Seduction was never supposed to compromise the objective.

The corridor is empty when I step out, the overhead lights too bright after the break room. Slick cools on the backs of my thighs, but I ignore it as I turn in the opposite direction from where Orien went, heading deeper into the inner sanctum of the Blue Note.

This is what I’ve been trying to access for weeks.

And he just handed it to me.

I walk without hesitation, keeping my pace measured. Not sneaking around. That draws attention. If one of the staff catches me, I can say I got turned around after Orien left me.

The first door I check is locked.

The second reveals a storage room filled with liquor, linens, and spare glasses. Nothing useful beyond confirming inventory flow.

The third sits with the door cracked, and I pause just long enough to listen before pushing it wider with two fingers.