Page 17 of Crawl for Me

Sable

“ N ight, Sable,” Sam calls as he shrugs into his coat, waving half-heartedly on his way to the elevators.

“Night,” I mutter, barely glancing up from my screen.

And then he’s gone. The bullpen empties with him, phones silenced, chatter gone, overheads dimmed to the half-light that makes everything look ghostly. Just the hum of the vents and the occasional pop of the printer settling.

I lift my mug, hoping for a last swallow to keep me going, but it’s bone dry. Figures.

Two more spreadsheets left, and my brain’s already trying to tap out. I need more. Coffee, fuel, something to drag me through the finish line.

Fresh coffee at seven p.m. is totally fine, right? Probably not. But fresh coffee at seven p.m. is exactly what I’m about to do anyway.

My joints creak as I push up from the chair, lacing my fingers over my head until my spine cracks. A heavy yawn slips out— fuck, I’m tired.

I cut through the shadowed cubicles, already picturing the little pods of energy waiting in the break room, when light spills from the corner office. Noah’s.

I lean against the edge of a cubicle wall, mug dangling from my fingers, and let myself watch him through the half-shut blinds for a second. He’s fussing with papers, shifting stacks from one side of the desk to the other. Tie crooked, sleeves shoved up, hair a little ruffled.

I don’t know what the hell possessed me this morning—maybe the way he’s been coming apart under me all week, boxers ruined from the grind of my hips.

Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve been the hottest nights of my life, leaving me raw and wired, my thighs aching, my skin still buzzing hours after he’s stumbled back to his apartment.

So there I was, squirming at my desk, restless as hell as the memories ticked over in my head, pulse climbing every time I pictured his face when I rode him.

And instead of focusing on work like a normal human being, I wound up in the bathroom stall with my skirt shoved high around my waist, blouse tugged open, bra pushed down under my breasts.

My fingers pressed inside, slow and deliberate—not enough to push me over or relieve myself, just enough to feel the wet spread of it.

Just enough to show him, to use it at some point, maybe as a reward for how damn good he does for me.

I didn’t know when I was going to send it to him.

I was still working on that part internally.

But when it was his time to give his rundown in that meeting, fuck, he was so hot.

Clear, confident, assertive as hell. Don’t get me wrong—I love squirming, frantic Noah.

The way his throat works, the way he fumbles when I so much as look at him too long.

But watching him in that meeting… it set something off.

A flicker low in my stomach I wasn’t expecting.

That same submissive man—red ears, stammering apologies—stood up and handled himself properly.

So I sent it right then. A little treat. My version of a ‘good job’ for finally finding his footing after nearly two weeks in the deep end. And maybe—just maybe—because I wanted to watch him slip right back into bumbling, undone Noah the second his phone buzzed.

Which he did. Nearly swallowed his tongue in front of the whole department.

He’d called me cruel. I told him to stop whining and urged him on.

And Christ, he didn’t half commit . A dick pic.

I’d told him to play, but I hadn’t expected…

that. Not from him. I’d expected something awkward, something fumbling.

But no. What I got made my breath catch on the spot.

I’d opened it and had to white-knuckle the edge of my desk to stop myself from bolting to the bathroom and grinding myself against my own palm like a lunatic.

Right there, hard and thick in his fist, the head slick and gleaming like he was seconds from spilling, caught right there on the edge.

So. Fucking. Hot.

I angle my head, watching him from across the dim bullpen. He’s sunk back in his chair, chin propped in his palm, eyes fixed on his laptop.

I should keep walking. Coffee, spreadsheets, then home—shove on my sweats, sink into the couch, pour a glass of wine, and wait for the knock on my door that’ll come like clockwork now.

But he’s right there.

I glance around. The office is dead, every monitor asleep, phones completely silent. There’s nobody here, nobody watching. That’s all the excuse I need.

My heels click softly against the tile, moving me until I’m at his doorway.

I knock once against the frame and lean against it. “Staying late?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide. “Yeah,” he says quickly, voice tripping. “Not long. Got to finish a couple things.” He shrugs softly. “You?”

I hum, shifting the empty mug in my hand. “A few more bits before I head out.”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you… want me to come round again tonight?”

“Maybe.”

I step further into the room and drop my empty mug onto the spare chair, the ceramic clink echoing in the quiet. His laptop’s still open, glowing faintly across the desk, but I push it aside and hike my skirt high over my thighs before sliding onto the edge of the wood.

His gaze snags on the space between my legs instantly, shoulders hitting the back of his chair, color blooming high across his cheeks.

“You had me soaking into my underwear at my desk after that picture today,” I murmur.

His lips part, jaw trembling slightly. “I—I did?”

“Oh, yes.” I lean down, close enough to catch the panic sparking in his eyes. “But tell me—were you good? Or did you touch yourself after I told you not to?”

He shakes his head frantically. “I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t touch myself.”

“Mmh.” My teeth graze his earlobe lightly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He trembles, chest stuttering underneath me.

“You’ve been so good this last week,” I breathe, watching his hands fist tight on the arms of his chair.

“Keeping yourself together. Playing by the rules. Not staring when you wanted to. Not giving us away.” I pause, pressing a light kiss to his jaw.

“Feels like that deserves a reward, don’t you think? ”

“Here? Now? But?—”

“There’s no one here, Noah.” My palms press back against the desk, shoulders arching slightly as I tilt my chin at him. “It’s just us.”

“Fuck.”

I cross one leg over the other, the edge of my heel dragging over his thigh until it presses flush against the hard bulge straining in his slacks. A guttural groan breaking from his chest as his eyes slam shut.

“Eyes open,” I warn, rolling the point of my heel in a slow grind against him. “Don’t you dare look away from me.”

His lashes lift, chest rising fast. Good. I slide one hand between my thighs, skirt bunching higher, fingers pressing over the damp line of my lips as I rub his cock with the steady grind of my heel. I don’t blink, don’t break his gaze, daring him to look away when I know he won’t.

“I think…” My breath slips out with a low hum as I rub my clit harder. “…I might let you stroke yourself now. What do you say?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares, lips parted, pink rising fast up his neck.

“Noah?” My voice sharpens.

His whole body jerks. “Fuck—yes. Please.”

I smile slow and sharp, moving my heel away as he fumbles with his belt, buckle clinking loudly in the silence.

His cock springs free, flushed thick, already leaking at the tip.

The sight makes my thighs twitch, and I drag my fingers harder over the soaked lace of my underwear, shuddering through it.

“If I’m slow, you’re slow,” I say. “If I stop, you stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” he rasps, fist already wrapping tight around his cock. “Yes, I—fuck, I understand.”

“Good boy.”

I shift on the desk and spread my legs wide—propping a heel on each leg of the chair so he’s almost eye level with my pussy. His throat bobs hard, eyes flicking down, then back up to my eyes.

“Look,” I order, sliding two fingers over the soaked gusset. “Don’t you dare look away.”

He groans, fist working his cock with frantic, sloppy pulls. “Fuck…” His voice fractures, and he squeezes harder, pre-come already dripping over his knuckles. “Sable—I?—”

“Messy already?” I hum, curling my fingers under the lace and tugging it aside. His breath rips out ragged when my pussy is bared for him, gleaming under the harsh light. I circle my clit, slow and deliberate, keeping my gaze locked on his flushed face. “Is this what you’re really begging for?”

His head tips back, teeth bared, the muscles in his neck straining. “Please… please—” His pace falters. “Let me come, I’ve been desperate for it all day, I can’t hold it, I?—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” My voice lashes through the haze, sharp enough to snap him back.

His hips twitch up once, before he slams them back down, pinning himself to the chair. His hand slows, thighs quivering against the chair, veins in his forearms straining.

“You don’t get to finish until I say.”

A broken whimper shreds out of him, stomach muscles flexing hard as he holds back. “Yes—yes, Sable, please, I’ll wait?—”

“Good boy.” I lean down, grabbing his jaw with my free hand, forcing him to look up at me. I let spit pool on my tongue, then lean closer, parting my mouth until it slips from my lips in a long, wet strand. It lands right on the head, spreading across the slit, running over his white-knuckled fist.

The sight alone drags a gasp out of me.

My hips chase my own hand, grinding shamelessly as my fingers drag over my clit and push lower, sinking two fingers deep inside myself.

The stretch tingles, knuckles forcing me wide until I curl them up hard into my swollen G-spot.

My thighs twitch around my wrist, muscles tensing, breath breaking against the quiet office air.

“Faster,” I choke, fucking myself on my own hand. “Keep up with me, Noah.”