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er as cum flows from my mouth and into theirs. I feel it go down my neck, large drops leaving a glistening trail on my skin as they hike over the curve of my breasts.
Grabbing my own tits, I smear their cum all over my naked body, wishing for this kiss to never end. Because now I’m sure that we aren’t just fucking. This isn’t just sex.
This is something else.
Something better.
I may never need to use my toys again.
Wait!
Oh.
My.
God.
My toys. I might know a way out of this mess! I might have the answer!
But I can’t tell you till I’m sure. Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to be patient. No sense in raising your hopes. But Linda problems could go away so fast.
Don’t pout. Just give me some time, okay?
Drake
Emails are pinging and my entire staff is frantically shuffling around the building. The phones have been ringing off the hook, non-stop. I answer the one on my desk.
"Hello, Drake speaking."
"Mr. Carlton, it's Michael from Capital Bank. I have some difficult news. I'm calling to inform you that we are withdrawing financing for all normal operations."
"Wait, you don't need to do that."
"I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable. It's a unanimous and final decision."
"I can explain, I—" I begin to say, but it's useless. The banker on the other end of the call hangs up and ends the conversation. The finality of it is deafening.
Just fucking great.
In the last 24 hours, the media backlash has been a difficult pill to swallow. I'm being swarmed and blindsided from every fucking angle. And if I'm honest, sometimes I feel like I'm downright choking. I'm sitting in my office as my staff crowds around the large television mounted on the wall.
We're all hanging on its every word, listening to the news reporter.
"The so-called 'Shark of Wall Street' is creating a national frenzy. In a move highlighting the arrogance, degradation, and downright corruption of Wall Street's elite, sources have revealed that CEO Drake 'The Shark' Carlton, and CEO Sloane Hardman of Hard Times have been engaged in a bizarre and taboo sex ring with business newcomer, Natalie Vanderhill. It remains to be seen how a series of corruption charges will derail the careers of all three individuals, as well as affect a slew of private investors."
My entire staff turns to me, trying to read any emotions revealed on my face. Even Eric is sweating; I can see armpit stains pooling under his arms and seeping through his button-up shirt. I don't give in to it, and instead remain stoic.
The reporter continues, "Photographs of the three have been retrieved that show a lewd, crude, and completely degenerate trio. Less than 24 hours after the news of this broke, Capital Bank's VP of Public Affairs took to Twitter, and had this to say: 'We refuse to turn a deaf ear to this scandal & frankly we refuse to financially back Carlton, Hardman, and Vandherhill any longer.' It remains to be seen whether or not the trio can ever regain investor confidence. The public has expressed a myriad of reactions to the allegations, many viewing it with shock and outrage. One stockholder called this a 'breach of trust.' And in further developments, Carlton and Hardman are each being indicted on alleged stock manipulation charges. This news organization strives to be fair and objective in it's reporting, however, in this instance, it's fair to say that we feel this trio should be punished to the full extent of the law."
CJ breaks our silence. "This package just came for you," she says.
She hands me a large, unmarked envelope, and I immediately open it. Inside, I find a handwritten note that reads:
"I told you not to fuck with me."
There is no name attributed to the package or the note, but its source is no fucking mystery; I immediately recognize the tight, closed loops of the letters that slant to the left.
This is Linda's work.
