Chapter Text
Reo had long ago accepted that being Nagi Seishiro’s secretary was nothing like the tidy, nine-to-five job he had envisioned when he first stepped into the corporate world.
On paper, his duties were clear: manage schedules, coordinate meetings, oversee correspondence, make sure projects flowed smoothly through all departments. In practice, it meant managing Nagi himself—herding his distracted genius from one obligation to the next, ensuring he never skipped meals, translating his blunt answers into polished communication for the board, and fielding every stray request that the man couldn’t be bothered to handle on his own.
Nagi was brilliant. Everyone knew it. Numbers don't lie, and his strategies unfurled with effortless precision whenever he deigned to focus. But he was also lazy—so unbothered by the structures of office life that Reo often found himself the barrier between Nagi and the company's complete collapse.
Reo should have resented it. Sometimes, he told himself he did. Yet, whenever Nagi leaned back in his chair, lids half-lowered, and murmured “Reo, handle it” without even glancing up, Reo felt something curl tight in his chest that had nothing to do with irritation.
It was intoxicating, being the one person Nagi relied on for everything. It made his head spin.
So Reo scheduled his appointments. Ordered his food exactly the way he liked it. Made sure his lemon tea was the right sweetness that wouldn’t make him frown. He picked up his dry cleaning, kept a spare tie in the office drawer for the days Nagi forgot, and yes, on more than one occasion, he had stayed late just to make sure Nagi got home in one piece after dozing off in the sofa.
He told himself it was devotion to the job. But in the quiet moments, he admitted it was devotion to him.
And it was dangerous—because lately, the boundaries between professional obligation and something far messier had begun to blur.
♡♡♡
Reo’s mornings always started earlier than Nagi’s. He would arrive an hour before his boss, straighten the scattered papers on the desk, review his inbox, and prep the day’s itinerary. By the time Nagi shuffled in, creased hoodie over his shirt and tie, hair still a little mussed, everything would be ready—tea and snacks on the desk, reports stacked neatly, meetings already rescheduled to fit Nagi’s preferred pace.
“Morning, Reo.” Nagi’s voice was always quiet, still weighted by sleep.
Reo felt his lips tug upward before he could stop himself. “Morning. Only twenty minutes late today, great job. Tea's at your left hand, contracts on the right. Don’t mix them up.”
Nagi blinked down at the desk, then at him. “Mm. Thanks. You always know.”
The words were simple, but they landed deep. Reo swallowed the warmth that threatened to rise in his chest. Of course I know. It’s my job to know you better than anyone.
By mid-morning, Nagi would slump in his chair, long legs stretched out under the desk. He hated meetings; he tolerated them only because Reo sat beside him, fielding questions, filling the awkward silences, and nudging him when his attention drifted. More than once, Reo had caught Nagi’s gaze on him during a presentation—not bored, not absent, but heavy, lingering in a way that made Reo shift in his seat.
Lunch was another ritual. Nagi never remembered to order food, so Reo did it for him. He knew exactly what Nagi would eat depending on the weather, the workload, even his mood. Curry on rainy days, light sandwiches when the sun burned bright outside. Nagi rarely said much beyond a soft “Reo’s the best,” but the look in his eyes as he ate, soft with quiet contentment, was enough to undo Reo for the rest of the afternoon.
And then there were the small touches—barely there, easy to dismiss as accidents, but each one carving deeper into Reo’s restraint. Nagi brushing past him to reach for a file, his knuckles grazing Reo’s wrist when taking a pen, the faint warmth of his breath when he leaned in to murmur, “Handle this for me?”
Reo told himself it was all part of the job. Yet every time, his heart pounded like he was toeing a line that no contract had prepared him for.
The office was quietest at night, when most of the staff had gone home. Those were the hours Reo dreaded most—and the ones he secretly craved. Alone with Nagi, the hum of the city pressing faintly against the glass walls, Reo often caught himself staring at the man slouched on the sofa, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, looking every bit like temptation in human form.
Every so often, Nagi’s voice would cut through the quiet—soft, lazy, drawing Reo’s attention like a hand at his collar.
“Reo should sit closer.”
“Reo works too hard.”
“Reo, look at me.”
Each command was light. Each one carved deeper.
Reo told himself he could keep the line intact. That being indispensable didn’t mean being intimate. But every brush of Nagi’s fingers against his wrist, every murmur meant only for him, every lingering glance across the office whispered otherwise.
It wasn’t a question of if the line would break. It was a question of when.
♡♡♡
Reo should have known the moment he walked in and saw Nagi slouched so far down his chair that his chin nearly touched his chest, pen dangling loosely between his fingers like it weighed a hundred pounds.
The contract he had placed neatly on the desk two hours ago was still untouched. The folder sat open, blank signature line glaring up at him, the ink crisp, waiting.
“Nagi,” Reo said, trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice. “You’ve been staring at this all morning. All you need to do is sign your name.”
Nagi didn’t even blink. “It's a pain.”
Reo pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a pain. It’s literally your name. You sign your name a hundred times a week.”
“Mm.” Nagi shifted, stretching one leg over the arm of the chair like he was lounging at home, not in the corner office of a company headquarters. “Then you do it.”
Reo’s jaw tightened. “I can’t do it. You’re the CEO. It’s your signature legal needs, not mine.”
That at least got Nagi to look at him, pale eyes sliding lazily up, catching him with unnerving directness. “So?”
“So?” Reo snapped, exasperation bubbling. “You can’t outsource your own damn signature.”
Nagi tilted his head, studying him with that unreadable calm that always made Reo’s stomach knot. Then, slowly, he let the pen roll from his fingers onto the desk.
“What’s in it for me?”
Reo blinked. “…What?”
“What do I get if I do it?”
The air went out of Reo’s lungs in a strangled laugh. He couldn’t be serious. “You get not getting sued, for one. You get the satisfaction of your business not collapsing in flames. You get—Nagi, this is your responsibility.”
“Mm. Doesn’t sound like much fun.” Nagi leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, gaze intent in a way that made Reo’s mouth go dry. “I want a reward.”
Reo stared, thrown off-balance. “You already get incentives and bonuses. What else could you possibly—”
“Not money.”
The certainty in his tone made Reo’s pulse falter.
“…Then what?”
Nagi’s expression didn’t shift. His eyes stayed on him, unblinking, heavy, as if pinning him to the spot. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost lazy, but it cut through Reo like glass.
“A kiss.”
Silence fell heavy between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic outside the tall windows.
Reo felt the heat rush to his face. “Wh-what did you just—”
“If I finish this boring thing...” Nagi tapped the edge of the contract with one long finger. “Give me a kiss.”
Reo’s heart kicked against his ribs. He opened his mouth, closed it again, grasping for logic. “That’s—Nagi, that’s completely inappropriate. This isn’t—”
“It’s easy.” Nagi’s tone was maddeningly calm, as if he were suggesting Reo fetch him another tea. “Quick. Just one kiss. Then I’ll do it.”
Reo’s body felt hot all over, blood rushing in his ears. He wanted to protest, to remind Nagi of professionalism, of boundaries, of everything. But under the indignation was something worse—something that made his hands tremble at his sides.
The thought of kissing him, even just a brush of lips—gods, it was reckless. Dangerous. But the way Nagi was looking at him, expectant, as if he already knew Reo would give in, made it impossible to breathe.
He should say no. He had to say no.
But then Nagi tilted his head slightly, lips parting just enough to show the faintest glimpse of tongue, and murmured, “C’mon, Reo. I’ll be good if you do.”
Reo’s throat closed. His body moved before his mind could stop it, leaning down, knees brushing against the chair. He pressed the briefest kiss possible to Nagi’s mouth—just a whisper of contact, barely more than a touch.
And still, his pulse roared like a storm.
When he pulled back, breath uneven, Nagi’s gaze held him, steady and unreadable. Then he murmured, “Thanks.” He picked up the pen, signed the contract in a single stroke, and dropped it back onto the desk like it had never been an issue.
Reo stood frozen, staring down at him, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
He had been played. And yet, part of him—the shameful, dangerous part—was already wondering how easily he would give in when Nagi asked again.
♡♡♡
It didn’t stop with one kiss.
If anything, that first brush of lips seemed to light something in Nagi that Reo hadn’t seen before—not urgency, exactly, but a quiet, greedy curiosity that refused to fade.
Two days later, another stack of documents sat untouched. Reo had already reminded him of the deadlines twice. Nagi twirled the pen idly between his fingers, gaze fixed on Reo with a weight that made his steps falter.
“What do I get if I finish these?”
Reo froze mid-step. “Don’t start.”
Nagi tilted his head, voice flat, certain. “Maybe another kiss?”
Heat rushed to Reo’s face. “Nagi—”
“You already did it once,” he said, as if the fact alone bound Reo to repeat it. “So do it again.”
He leaned down, intending something quick, forgettable. But this time, Nagi’s hand slid beneath the desk, closing firmly around his wrist, holding him there until the kiss stretched long enough to feel dangerous.
Reo pulled back, flustered, but the damage was done.
After that, it became a pattern.
When Reo reminded him of a client call, Nagi said, “I’ll answer if you kiss me after.”
When Reo dragged him through a budget review, Nagi leaned in close, pouting, “This meeting's too boring. I want two kisses as compensation.”
When Reo scolded him for napping through a board update, Nagi only cracked an eye open and said, “Wake me up properly, Reo. With your lips.”
Reo wanted to scream. He wanted to walk out, slam the door, remind Nagi that this was beyond unprofessional, utterly inappropriate. But faced with that steady gaze, with the soft weight of his voice wrapping around him, he folded every single time.
And each time, the so-called “reward” escalated.
A kiss became two. Two became longer. Longer became deeper.
One evening, as Reo leaned over the desk to point out a miscalculation, Nagi caught his tie in one hand, tugging him closer until their mouths collided in something far too hungry to be dismissed as “just a reward.”
Reo broke away, chest heaving. “This is—this is insane. You can’t keep asking—”
Nagi blinked, still holding his tie, lips swollen and glistening. “Do you hate it?” he asked, voice quiet but unwavering.
Reo’s heart pounded in his ears. The answer should have been yes. It should have been easy. “I…” His throat closed around the word. Nagi’s gaze pressed into him, steady and waiting. Reo swallowed, heat twisting low in his belly. “I don’t know,” he whispered, hating how thin and ruined his voice sounded. “I should...”
But Nagi only let go of his tie and leaned back on his chair, satisfied, as if he already had the answer he wanted.
And Reo realized, with a sinking heat that stole his breath, that he was losing.
♡♡♡
After that night, Reo had noticed something new in the way Nagi looked at him—something heavier, sharper, a craving that wasn’t satisfied with the brush of lips. Every time Reo gave in, it only seemed to whet his appetite, like Nagi had discovered an entirely new way to keep himself entertained and had no plans to stop testing the boundaries.
That afternoon, Reo stood beside Nagi’s desk, tablet balanced on his palm as he ran through the next quarter’s projections. He was halfway through when Nagi leaned back in his chair and spoke over him, voice lazy but demanding.
“Reo should sit down.”
Reo didn’t look up from the screen. “I'll go back to my chair after this section.”
“No.” Nagi swiveled, tugging at Reo’s sleeve until he nearly lost hold of the tablet. “On me. I’ll listen if you sit here.” He patted his thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Reo froze. “Nagi, that’s… not how this works.”
“It is,” Nagi said simply, lips curved on a small pout. His gaze, usually indifferent, was intent, almost heavy in its persistence. “I can't understand the words because you're too far. Please?"
Reo stared at him, torn between exasperation and the dangerous curl of heat low in his stomach. The sheer audacity. The CEO of the company, begging his own secretary to sit on his lap like some spoiled prince who couldn’t function without attention.
And yet—gods help him—Reo felt a flicker of pride. No one else would ever see Nagi like this. No one else could coax him into moving, working, paying attention. That privilege was his alone.
“…You’re impossible,” Reo muttered. But when Nagi tugged at him again, he didn’t resist. He let himself be drawn into the chair, awkwardly at first, settling stiffly across Nagi’s thighs.
Nagi made a pleased, soft sound, large hands immediately finding Reo’s waist, anchoring him. “Better,” he murmured, cheek brushing Reo’s shoulder. “Now I can work.”
Reo’s face flamed. “This is absurd. I can’t believe you—”
“Shh.” Nagi nuzzled closer, one hand sliding up and down Reo's side. “Read it to me again. I’ll listen this time.”
Despite every professional instinct screaming at him, Reo unlocked the screen. His voice wavered as he read aloud, perched in Nagi’s lap. He felt the warmth of him, the steady press of breath against his neck, the weight of those hands holding him possessively.
Every soft hum of acknowledgment from Nagi vibrated through Reo’s body, unraveling him further.
He told himself he’d only stay a few minutes. Just long enough to quiet the whining, finish the last of the documents, and then he’d move. That was the plan.
But Nagi had no intention of letting him go so easily.
Reo tried to steady himself, reading aloud from the screen, voice clipped and professional, when he felt the first subtle shift—the slow glide of Nagi’s fingers loosening from his waist, sliding lower. They traced over his hip, along the smooth line of his thigh.
Reo faltered mid-sentence. “What are you—”
“Listening,” Nagi murmured lazily, cheek still pressed against Reo’s shoulder as if nothing at all were unusual. But his hand kept moving, palm heavy and deliberate against Reo’s thigh, thumb brushing once, possessive and casual.
Reo’s face went hot. He gritted his teeth, eyes glued to the screen. “Your hand. Keep it still.”
Nagi made a soft, noncommittal sound, fingers flexing lightly, squeezing with the barest pressure before creeping upward again—inch by deliberate inch, brushing fabric higher with every movement.
“Nagi.” Reo hissed the name, trying for authority, but it came out more like a plea.
“Mm?” Nagi tilted his head, lips grazing the side of Reo’s neck, warm and feather-light, teasing with the faintest hint of heat. “I’m listening. We’re on the revolving credit facility now. Keep reading, please.”
Reo’s pulse hammered. He couldn’t focus on the numbers—not with that hand sliding so dangerously close. Every upward stroke made his breath hitch; every subtle squeeze had his body betraying him.
And beneath it all, there was that familiar, intoxicating swell of pride. This was Nagi—Nagi Seishiro, who could command entire rooms with a single bored glance, crush negotiations with silent authority—reduced to a man pawing needily at his own secretary, whiny and restless unless Reo gave him attention.
Only he could make Nagi like this. Only he could draw out this side.
Reo’s voice shook as he tried to continue reading. He cleared his throat, forcing the words out, all while Nagi’s hand inched higher. When fingertips brushed the crease where his thigh met his hip, Reo choked on the sentence entirely.
He nearly sighed in relief when Nagi finally withdrew his hand. He shifted as if to stand, thinking the CEO had finally gotten tired of the game, that maybe he could salvage a shred of professionalism before the night was over.
But then he felt it—the ghost of fingertips grazing upward instead of retreating. Nagi’s hands slid from his waist to his chest, palms splayed against crisp white cotton, brushing over the faint rise and fall of his breath.
Reo stiffened. “Nagi—”
Nagi hummed in response, like he wasn’t doing anything inappropriate at all. His thumbs traced lightly across Reo’s sternum, feather-light, toying with the edge of his buttons. “You smell good,” he whispered, low and almost dreamily. “So good, Reo.”
Reo bit down on a sound that threatened to escape him, shoulders rigid, but then he felt it—hard, undeniable pressure beneath him. His heart jolted violently in his chest. Nagi was hard. He shifted just slightly, and the truth of it pressed up into him, unavoidable.
Heat flooded Reo’s face. “You—Nagi, are you—?”
“Yeah...” The word was a sigh against his skin, Nagi’s breath fanning over his collar. His fingers trembled as they brushed upward, catching faintly on a button before sliding across the swell of Reo’s chest. “Can’t help it. You’re so close.”
Reo swallowed hard. His pulse raced, his body screaming with awareness, yet he clung desperately to composure. “You’re… shameless.”
Nagi only whined softly, forehead pressing against Reo’s neck. “Reo's fault. Take responsibility.”
Reo’s breath caught. He hated—no, loved—how his chest swelled at that. That pride again, fierce and impossible to ignore.
Nagi’s hands slid back down, brushing over Reo’s ribs, his waist. He squeezed gently, as though testing how narrow it really was, and whispered, almost reverently, “Your waist’s so small… fits so well in my hands.”
Reo’s whole body shivered, heat crawling up his throat. “Nagi,” he whispered, half warning, half pleading.
“Feels good holding you like this,” Nagi murmured, squeezing again, his voice embarrassingly soft, like a spoiled boy begging for comfort. “Feels good having you on me.”
And then he shifted his hips ever so slightly upward, the hard line of him pressing against Reo in a way that made his vision spark.
Reo’s nails dug into his own thighs, desperate for control, but his body betrayed him—he couldn’t stop the arch of his back, the way his breath stuttered out in a shaky gasp.
And Nagi, greedy as ever, pressed closer, whispering against his throat, “Stay. Just a little longer. Don’t get up yet. Please, Reo.”
The chair creaked faintly under the both of them. Nagi’s hips moved in slow, languid circles, grinding up into the curve of Reo’s body. His breath was hot and uneven, mouth trailing sloppy kisses along the exposed skin just below Reo’s hairline. His tongue flicked out, slow and unhurried, before his lips sealed over a spot and sucked gently—like he couldn’t stand the idea of not leaving his mark.
Reo’s grip on his thighs tightened, his posture faltering every time Nagi shifted against him just right. He tilted his head to the side, trying to keep steady breaths, but a small, involuntary sound escaped him when Nagi’s teeth grazed his skin.
“Nghhh—Nagi, fuck—” Reo hissed, cheeks hot. “We’ve... got a meeting in a few minutes...”
Nagi only hummed, a needy sound that vibrated against Reo’s throat. His hands splayed over Reo’s thighs, fingers sliding higher with each pass, stroking teasingly close to the heat between his legs before retreating, just to trace the same path again. He whined softly into Reo’s skin, voice slurred with want.
“Cancel it,” Nagi whispered, almost petulant, before licking another slow stripe up Reo’s nape. “Please, Reo...”
Reo’s body trembled under the weight of his insistence. He tried to keep his voice steady, tried to be rational, but it was slipping fast under Nagi’s needy grinding. “We can’t just—Nagi—ahh—” His protest broke into a stutter when Nagi rolled his hips up hard, dragging a moan out of him.
“Please,” Nagi breathed, desperate, needy, hips rutting up in slow, helpless movements.
Reo shivered, caught between the pull of responsibility and the weight of Nagi’s raw, all-consuming need pressing into him. Nagi’s hands, lazy but insistent, finally slid higher and brushed against the waistband of Reo’s trousers. His fingers lingered on the buckle, slow and taunting, as if daring Reo to stop him.
But Reo didn’t. He clenched his jaw so tight it hurt, heart hammering. Because if he spoke, if he even made a sound, he was terrified he’d admit it—he’d give the only answer Nagi wanted, the answer he wasn’t ready to give: an enthusiastic yes.
A faint click broke the silence—Nagi’s fingers had undone the belt, the soft slide of leather pulling free making Reo’s stomach drop.
“Nagi…” Reo’s voice was taut.
“Shh.” Nagi’s breath was warm at his ear, his lips dragging down the slope of Reo’s throat as he tugged open the button and eased the zipper down. His hand slipped inside, palm hot through the thin fabric of his underwear. The way he cupped Reo, like he was holding something fragile and precious, sent heat straight through him.
Then those long fingers pressed against him—slow circles, just enough pressure to make Reo’s breath stutter.
A soft, broken moan escaped before he could bite it back.
Nagi’s hips jerked up at the sound, grinding against him, and he groaned like he was the one being touched. “So wet for me,” he rasped, voice thick with hunger and awe. “You want this too, don't you?”
Reo’s nails dug crescents into Nagi's arms, his eyes fluttering shut as Nagi’s touch grew bolder, slipping beneath the fabric at last. The first brush of Nagi’s bare fingers against his slick folds made his whole body arch, a broken sound escaping him.
Nagi’s fingers didn’t stop. Slow, teasing, pressing just enough to make Reo shiver and whine. Every brush sent jolts straight to his core, every glide of skin over skin igniting a fire he couldn’t contain.
“Shh… let me feel you,” Nagi murmured, lips brushing Reo’s jaw, teeth grazing his neck. His hips pressed harder, grinding in time with the teasing strokes, and Reo’s head fell back against Nagi's shoulder, mouth parted, eyes half-lidded in a haze of need.
“The—hahh—meeting... Reo tried again, but the words cracked, betraying him.
Nagi froze mid-stroke, and Reo felt the tiniest twitch of his lips against his shoulder. "Ah. Right," Nagi said, voice low and measured, like he wasn't begging Reo to cancel the meeting just moments ago. "Is it... in person?"
Reo shook his head, panic flaring as his gaze flicked to the clock on the wall. They really need to move now.
A soft ping sounded from Nagi’s laptop—participants were already filtering into the meeting room. Reo’s stomach dropped, heart hammering. He tried to shift off Nagi’s lap, to scramble to the desk, to escape—but Nagi’s hands clamped onto his hips, iron-strong, holding him impossibly still.
With deliberate calm, Nagi clicked into the meeting. Mortification flooded Reo—because Nagi's hand was still on him, pressing against his heat, fingers sliding in a slow, merciless rhythm that made his thighs quake and his chest tighten.
The casual chatter of their colleagues drifted through the speakers, oblivious, while Reo dug his nails into Nagi’s arm in a desperate attempt to escape the relentless stimulation. But Nagi didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pressed firmer, curling his fingers with precise attention against Reo’s clit, making him bite down on a strangled gasp.
Then a voice cut sharp through the haze—one of the department managers. “Where’s Mikage-san? He’s usually the one to start these off.”
Reo’s heart lurched into his throat. He opened his mouth, tried to answer, but nothing came out.
Nagi’s lips brushed his ear, breath hot and merciless. “He’s with me,” he murmured smoothly, tone deceptively calm, even as his fingers pressed harder between Reo’s legs.
Reo’s face flamed, his pulse thundering in his ears. He tried to shake his head, tried to pull away, but Nagi only tightened his hold and whispered, low and rough, “Answer them, Mikage-san.”
Reo’s chest heaved, his voice caught between humiliation and the molten ache spreading through him. He was embarrassed, cornered, but his body screamed with how much he wanted to obey.
Reo’s throat worked, a weak sound catching before he managed to choke out words. “S-sorry, I’m—having some issues with my laptop,” he said, his voice strained, just on the edge of breaking.
The manager hummed in acknowledgment, the conversation shifting, and Reo seized the chance to breathe, to gather the scraps of composure he had left. He cleared his throat, forcing his tone into something resembling authority. “Alright. Let’s… get started. For the next quarter, our focus should be on expanding the—ah—”
Nagi’s fingers pressed harder against his slit, rubbing against his soaked folds, and Reo’s voice cracked, turning the last syllable into a strangled gasp. He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing, only to be met with Nagi’s most innocent, unreadable expression, as he scrambled to recover. “—expanding the, um, partnerships we’ve established this year So—”
Nagi sat silent, unreadable, hand merciless in its steady rhythm. He didn’t need to say anything—every glide of his fingers, every subtle curl against him screamed intent.
Reo’s breath hitched, his professional cadence slipping into fragments.
“N-Nagi-san wants reports on projected revenues by the end of the week. And… ngh—” Reo bit down hard, teeth sinking into his lip to muffle the sound threatening to spill out.
On screen, the managers nodded, oblivious. Nagi was the only participant whose camera was off, his avatar—a purple otter—smiling back at Reo.
Reo gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his fingers ached, forcing himself to breathe evenly. He willed his voice to stay steady, to sound like nothing was wrong. “Moving into next quarter,” he managed, though the words came ragged at the edges, “we plan to… allocate more resources toward… expanding our overseas branches.”
Nagi slid one finger inside, slow and deliberate, then another, stretching him while his thumb circled his clit. Reo’s whole body jolted, his breath catching audibly. He bit the inside of his cheek, praying no one noticed.
One of the managers chimed in, asking about projected costs, and Reo scrambled to answer, words tumbling clumsily from his mouth. “W-we’ll… we’ll review the current expenses and, ah, compare them against—against our last quarter’s revenue.” His voice cracked, his thighs trembling as Nagi curled his fingers just right, dragging along sensitive walls with precision that made his head spin.
He shifted helplessly in Nagi’s lap, but the movement only pressed him harder against Nagi’s hot hardness. He was burning, drowning, body betraying him with every shaky exhale. He forced himself to look at the screen, trying to keep talking. “If—if projections hold, we can consider—”
Nagi pressed deeper, and Reo’s sentence collapsed into a strangled gasp. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, panic and lust tangling together in his chest.
“Everything alright, Mikage-san?” another manager asked, frowning slightly.
“Y-yes,” Reo stammered, voice high and shaky. “Just—my, uh, N-Nagi-san’s laptop lagged for a second.”
Reo struggled to keep his voice level, to hold the meeting together, but Nagi’s hand was merciless beneath the desk. Two fingers stroked him with slow, insistent precision, spreading the slick gathering between his folds, circling over the sensitive nub until his thighs quaked with the effort of staying still.
Every brush made his lungs tighten, words faltering. He tried to push through, voice hoarse, answering questions, but sentences fractured around hitching breaths. His toes flexed in his shoes, teeth sinking into his lower lip until it almost bled.
Nagi’s other arm held him firmly in place, forcing him to ride out every stroke. He moved at a torturously steady pace, curling his fingers just enough to make Reo gasp, then easing off, dragging the pleasure out until his body trembled, every muscle taut with need.
“Focus,” Nagi whispered against his ear, warm breath ghosting over him, making him shiver. “We’re almost done, Mikage-san.”
Reo’s head was swimming, vision blurring as heat coiled low in his belly. He tried desperately to press his legs together, to control the trembling, but Nagi only spread them wider, making him feel impossibly exposed, unbearably vulnerable. He managed to rasp out, “That's... ngh—all from me... thank you—” before his voice broke into a gasp as Nagi pressed down harder, rubbing tight circles over his swollen clit.
The pressure mounted, hotter, relentless, until his whole body tightened around Nagi’s fingers. Every stroke dragged him closer to the edge, and his attempts at professionalism crumbled into helpless whines he could barely muffle. His chest heaved, sweat beading at his temples, fingers clinging to the desk as if it could keep him tethered to reality.
And then—Nagi shifted just right, curling his fingers inside him while his thumb pressed firmly against his clit. The world dissolved. Reo’s breath caught, back arching helplessly as the orgasm tore through him, violent and consuming. He bit down on his hand to muffle the broken cry that slipped past his throat. His thighs shook uncontrollably, waves of release pulsing through him and soaking Nagi's fingers.
The meeting voices droned on, oblivious, while Reo sagged backward into Nagi's chest, spent and trembling, mortification and blss mingling in a haze of heat.
Nagi withdrew his fingers slowly, glistening with slick in the dim light. Reo barely had the strength to protest before Nagi lifted them to his mouth, tongue sliding over them with deliberate care. He sucked the taste of him clean, eyes heavy-lidded, savoring. Only then did he murmur, low and satisfied, “Good job, Mikage-san.”