It’s always the fucking tie.
Cha Young is sick of it. She’s not sure which is worse, the sight of his long, deft fingers pulling the button out of the loop at his throat and one finger hooking around the knot in his tie and pulling until it releases, sliding down the length until he’s satisfied, or the little exhale he gives when his neck is free from the confines of both shirt and tie. It’s one of either frustration or relief, depending on his mood and how many papers he has left to review. ‘Frustration’ is a short burst of hot air often punctuated with a grunt, whereas ‘relief’ is a long, slow exhale as he tilts his head back and his eyes drift shut; something like euphoria, perhaps.
It’s enough to drive a girl insane.
So it’s not really much of a surprise that, late one evening when they’re stuck in the office reviewing the case files, when Vincenzo leans back in his chair, lets out a long, wearied sigh and fiddles with his tie for the umpteenth time she snaps.
‘Yah,’ Cha Young cries. ‘Why do you bother wearing the damn thing if it irritates you that much?’
Vincenzo lifts his head. He looks confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your tie,’ she hisses. ‘Just don’t put one on.’
His hand goes to wear the item in question is now lying askew against his chest. His forefinger strokes the dark blue silk thoughtfully. ‘My tie?’
‘Stop that,’ she snaps.
‘Byeonhosa-nim.’ He sounds bemused. ‘Why does it bother you?’
He’s fucking unbelievable, really, pretending like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. At first it seemed like maybe he did it because his tie did bother him, that maybe he buys his shirts with the collar just a touch too small, and then she wondered if it was just a little tic of his, a habit that he’s picked up from god knows where, like how he flicks that cursed lighter open and closed all hours of the day. But then she started to think he was doing it on purpose. Wriggling the knot of his tie until there was enough space to unbutton his collar, exposing his neck for anyone and everyone to see, and trust her, she knows everyone has seen. She’d watched Seo Mi Ri practically salivate at the sight.
It’s her own fault, really. They’ve been having sex for a while now, nothing serious, but Cha Young blames the pig-blood dousing incident as the catalyst. What’s a girl to do when a man publicly drowns your enemy with blood and buys you popcorn like it’s a date at the fucking movies? She’d propositioned him then and there and he’d accepted, and they’d come up with an arrangement that was mutually beneficent.
Cha Young pushes herself up from her desk and stomps over to him. With one hand she pulls his chair back and twists it on its wheels so he’s facing her. Using one knee she parts his legs until there’s enough space for her to step between them. She fingers the loop of his tie and yanks the tail of it free from the knot, slipping the dark blue material out from underneath his collar. She turns it over and thumbs the little label that proclaims its creator: Booralro, of course. Then she twists one end around her palm and pulls, so the length of it is taut between her hands. Vincenzo’s eyes widen. He knows exactly where she’s learnt this particular motion from: she’s seen him do it with a tape measure before. She flexes the tie between her hands, testing the stretch and strength of the material. It doesn’t need to be that strong for her intended use anyway, but maybe she’ll think of something else to do with it later.
‘Byeonhosa-nim,’ he sounds a little alarmed. That’s a first. ‘What are you doing?’
She doesn’t bother to reply. She leans forward, pressing the dark blue silk over his eyes, making sure that the widest part of the tie blocks his vision. He wears these stupid fashionable skinny ties, so she decides to wrap it twice to make sure he really can’t see, before tying it in a firm knot at the back of his head. She leans back to admire her handiwork.
To his credit, he doesn’t move to remove it. Their encounters so far have been… a little on the vanilla side, which, while lovely, it just isn’t going to cut it with her current level of frustration. It is somewhat surprising that Vincenzo seems to be so tender with her when they’re having sex, given that they’re apparently just fucking with no feelings involved. That’s something to look into another day, but right now, she really just wants to make him pay. So she drops to her knees in front of him and fumbles for the silver buckle on his belt, undoing it quickly and tugging it free of the loops on his trousers. When her fingers find his zipper, his hands reach forward and land on her shoulders.
‘Byeonhosa-nim, what are you doing?’ he repeats.
‘Shut up,’ Cha Young commands. ‘Be quiet, and don’t move. If you move, I’ll be disappointed.’
He obeys. But then, he always does. Cha Young thinks maybe that’s the issue—he’s just a little too obedient, a little too considerate, a little too quick to cater to her wants and needs. Honestly, if she thinks about it, he has sex with her like he’s in love with her. She really shouldn’t complain—it’s great sex and she always comes, sometimes more than once, so it’s not like she leaves unsatisfied, and yet… There's still room for something more. Just once, she would like him to be greedy, to be completely single-minded in his desire for her, to fuck her until she aches for a day afterwards, to make her feel like he will lose his mind if he doesn’t get inside her right now.
So she decides to take matters into her own hands, quite literally. She yanks down the zip of his trousers and tugs his underwear down until his cock springs free. It’s half hard and stiffening rapidly, but he still hisses, ‘Someone might come in.’
Cha Young rolls her eyes even though he can’t see her. ‘No one is going to come in. Everyone’s gone home. If anyone comes in we’ll say I lost an earring.’
‘In my underwear?’
She shuts him up by flattening her tongue and licking a stripe up the length of his cock. He shudders and gasps, and she grins, satisfied, before moving to the head of his cock. She gives it a kiss, winking at it as it squints back at her, before giving it a few kitten-licks. He’s fully hard now and already starting to leak, so she takes him in her mouth, enjoying his salty-sweet taste and pursing her lips so only the softest of skin surrounds him, and moves her mouth up and down slowly. He groans, and his hands come up to tangle in her hair, but she unseals her lips with a pop and pulls back.
‘Ani,’ she purrs. ‘No touching. I told you not to move.’ It’s a shame she doesn’t have anything else to bind his hands together. Depriving him of both sight and touch would be ideal, but she has a suspicion he’ll just do whatever she asks. Vincenzo lets out a frustrated exhale, but moves his hands to the armrests of the chair. Obedient. Just as expected. So she decides to see just how far she can push it.
‘Don’t come,’ she commands. ‘If you come, you don’t get to fuck me.’
She watches his throat bob as he swallows. He nods once.
‘Good boy,’ she says sweetly, patting his thigh.
She moves back to his cock, but instead of teasing him, she takes him fully into her mouth, pressing her tongue to the underside of his cock.
‘Fuck,’ Vincenzo whines, his hips shifting torturously in the chair. His hands flex and fist but he doesn’t move to touch her. ‘Byeonhosa-nim…’
The fact he’s keeping up the formalities spurs her onto wickedness, so she moves her mouth up and down his length, hollowing her cheeks on each withdrawal of her head, her right hand coming up to twist around what she can’t fit in her mouth. He’s groaning and grunting now, cock twitching in her mouth as she sucks and squeezes, and she decides to pick up the pace and the pressure, bobbing her head and relaxing her mouth so her lips glide easily, letting her saliva drip down his length and onto his skin. She looks up at him from her position on the floor; he makes quite a pretty sight, really, blinded and completely at her mercy, his head tipped back and mouth hanging open, hands clutching desperately at the scratched plastic armrests of the wheelie chair.
Cha Young brings a hand up to cup his balls and swirls her tongue around the head of his cock and he writhes, moaning, not unlike that fucking noise he makes every time he adjusts his stupid tie. She rolls his balls gently in one hand—it’ll never not be amusing to her that men have something this delicate and vulnerable right below their dick—and decides to be generous because really, he’s being very well-behaved, so she swallows him down in one swift movement, burying himself in her mouth until her nose is touching his soft skin and the head of his cock is at the back of her throat. His cry is guttural, wrecked, and she can feel his balls start to tighten and his cock twitch so she immediately pulls back and tightens her hand around the base.
‘Don’t come,’ she threatens. ‘I told you not to come.’
She gets up from the floor and stands over him. His chest is heaving and he’s breathing fast, and she can see his knuckles are white as they grip at the chair to steady himself. God, she feels powerful. The adrenaline rush of reducing a man as capable, as calculated as Vincenzo to a shuddering, gasping mess—there’s nothing like it.
She considers the logistics of sitting in his lap, but then his chair is on wheels, so fucking in it is probably going to send them shooting around the office like a rogue pinball in a machine, and she really doesn’t fancy dealing with motion sickness while she bounces on his cock. So she yanks him up by the collar, his dick bobbing comically as he stands, really, how do men just go about their days with these attached, and she drags him over to the table in the centre of the office. It’s covered with case files and research, but she doesn’t bother pushing anything aside. Mr Nam has spent time organising things, and he’d be very upset if he came in tomorrow to find it all over the floor. So she maneuvers Vincenzo until the back of his thighs are hitting the edge of the table and pushes his shoulders down until he’s lying prone on his back on top of all the paper.
She grins down at him. He looks lovely like this, she thinks, his pretty blue tie tight around his eyes, still fully dressed, cock standing proud, pre-come leaking down his shaft. She can’t be bothered to remove her clothes either, so she hikes her skirt around her hips and clambers atop him, knees settling on either side of his hips. She dips a hand between her legs; unsurprisingly she’s slick and hot. She circles her clit with a practiced motion and moans.
‘What are you doing?’ Vincenzo says warily, even though he knows exactly what is happening above him. He can probably hear the sound of her fingers slipping along her cunt. ‘Don’t you want me to fuck you?’
‘Be quiet,’ Cha Young orders him. She brings her fingers out from between her legs and slips them between his lips, allowing him the luxury of tasting her. His tongue darts out and he licks her essence from her fingers, and oh, god, this is completely obscene, her lover blindfolded on the table where they were sipping coffee and talking strategy not hours before, sucking on her fingers like they’re a popsicle and it’s the height of summer, but she’s drunk on power and she can’t bring herself to stop.
She pulls her hand away and reaches down to tug her underwear to one side, rising up on her knees to press her cunt against his cock, sliding herself along his length until his head bumps her clit. She repeats the motion one, two, three times, until Vincenzo chokes out a groan and grasps her hips in his hand.
‘Byeonhosa-nim,’ he gasps, ‘please—’
‘What do you want?’ she coos, stilling her movements and lifting her hips up so they’re no longer touching, even though stopping is torture for her as well as him.
‘Mi stai facendo morire,’ he whines, and she smiles in victory. When he slips into Italian she knows he’s reaching his limit but she doesn’t relent.
‘Say it,’ she demands. She rubs herself against him again, rising up on her knees when he tries to thrust up for more friction. ‘I want you to say it.’
‘Please fuck me,’ he cries, shifting his hips up, seeking her heat, ‘please, scopami, byeonhosa-nim, ho voglia di scoparti, qui, adesso…’
She grins wickedly, and rewards him by sinking down, revelling in the stretch as he fills her, until her hips are flush against his. His hands are still grasping her hips and she allows it because it’s so good to have him touching her, his fingers digging in so hard she knows his nails will leave little half moon scars behind tomorrow. She lifts herself up until just the tip of him remains inside her and lowers back down, riding him slowly, far too slow to allow him to release despite how close he was when she had him in her mouth moments ago.
‘Cazzo, come sei stretta,’ he hisses through gritted teeth, and she can tell he’s trying hard to control himself. He’s been good, so good, he’s always so good to her, taking down her enemies with her and doing the really dirty work so she doesn’t have to, keeping her safe and giving into her ridiculous whims and wishes, and her heart swells with the affection that’s been brewing underneath the surface these past few months. He’s a perfect partner, truly, considerate and kind and downright vicious in her honour, and how could she not reward him for that, so she picks up her pace, and it’s a reward for her too, because the friction is perfect and depraved and delicious.
She can’t help but stare down at his face, half hidden from her sight by his stupid blue tie, and it gives her such a trip, that he’ll quite literally do whatever she wants, including being blindfolded and fucked on the office table, and she really wants to see him, wants to be able to watch him as he comes apart beneath her, so she yanks the material off his eyes, and they open, instantly riveted to the way she is riding him, her hair cascading down around her shoulders, mouth dropped open, eyes heavy with the lust and intoxication of it all. He stares up at her like she is Circe luring him onto the rocks, like she’s set the sun alight and sent it spinning into the Earth, and she’s powerful not because of what she’s doing to him but just from the way he looks at her. The pace she sets is fast, but it’s not enough, so she drops her hand down to rub her clit, and yes, that’s exactly what she needs for the familiar tension to start coiling, and she tilts her head back, because his eyes are still fixed on her as his hips rise to meet her thrusts and it’s becoming too much to bear.
She’s concentrating on the mounting pleasure when she feels his hand circle the wrist working at her cunt and she startles as it tugs, and when she snaps her head down to tell him off he draws her hand to his lips and sucks her fingers into his mouth, drinking the wetness from her fingers. His other hand quickly replaces hers on her clit and he twists his fingertips in just the way she likes, with just the right pressure, just as she’d showed him how to, and that’s it, just what she needs to send her spinning down into oblivion, and she cries out as her cunt clenches around him, her free hand fisting in the collar of his shirt and her fingers pressing down on his tongue.
Her hips slow as she comes down from the high and his mouth releases her fingers so she can splay them on his chest. He’s still hot and hard within her, and she realises that he hasn’t come yet: he’s still obeying her earlier command. She almost laughs at how ridiculous he is, how eager he is to please her, but instead she chooses to lean down and press her mouth to his. She slips her tongue inside and she can taste herself, tangy and sweet, confirmation that if she didn’t know it before, then she truly knows just how much she owns this man. She pulls back and moves her lips to his ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and running her tongue around the shell, before whispering, ‘Vieni per me.’
A groan wrenches itself out of his throat and he pulls her down until she is flush against his chest, and he fucks up into her, hips thrusting wildly, and she clings to him, burying her face in his neck and holding on as he seeks his release. She’s already come but it still feels incredible, the way his cock is slippery with her wetness and his pace is rapid, desperately trying to find enough friction to send him over the edge. He’s babbling praise about how perfect she is, how good she feels and he’s loud, so loud it’s a good thing everyone else has left their shops and gone home, because there would be no way they could come up with a story elaborate enough to cover up exactly what they are doing. He’s groaning wildly, and he pushes her head off his shoulder and yanks her face down to his so he can kiss her, hips faltering and his cock shuddering against her walls as he spills inside of her.
They’re both breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together, sweating inside their fancy suits, and the room smells explicitly of sex. They’ll have to light a candle or crack a window, otherwise Mr Nam is going to suspect. Vincenzo’s arms loosen around her but don’t fall away, and he strokes her hair away from her face and pulls back to look at her.
‘Byeonhosa-nim,’ he breathes. He looks a little stunned.
Cha Young sits up and blows her hair out of her face, and some of his come slips out from where he is softening inside her. The documents they are laid on have wrinkled a little from their movement. She idly wonders if they’ll flatten out by morning or if she’ll have to come up with an excuse for those too. ‘Stop wearing ties,’ she grumbles.
Vincenzo huffs out a little laugh and brings her wrist to his mouth so he can press his lips against it. ‘Not a chance.’