Ricky leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, the kind that creaked just enough under his solid frame to remind you of old money without trying too hard. His office sat on the top floor of a converted warehouse downtown, walls lined with bookshelves stuffed with law tomes that probably hadn't been cracked in years. The air smelled like polished wood and faint cigar smoke, a space he'd designed to intimidate without screaming it. Helen perched on the edge of the client chair across from his massive oak desk, her legs crossed at the ankles, skirt hugging her thighs just right. She was all tailored silk and subtle pearls, the kind of woman who made divorce look like a wardrobe change.
He'd been her lawyer for three months now, ever since her husband—some smug tech exec with more zeros in his bank account than sense in his head—decided the pool boy was a better bet than her. Ricky had sized her up from the first consult: classy, composed, but with that flicker in her eyes that said she was done playing nice. He was going to gut the bastard for every penny, and then some. Underhanded? Sure. Ruthless? That's what they paid him for. But Helen needed to know the full play—every dirty trick, every backroom deal. No surprises.
"Alright, Helen," Ricky said, his voice low and steady, like he was laying out a winning hand. "We've got leverage. Your prick of a husband thinks he's slick with those offshore accounts, but I've got a PI who's already tracing them. We're talking asset freezes, hidden emails, the works. I'll bury him in paperwork until he begs to settle. But to pull this off, you gotta be all in. No flinching at the tactics."
Helen nodded, her fingers twisting the strap of her handbag. "I trust you, Ricky. Just make sure I walk away with everything I deserve."
He smirked, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. His three-piece suit—charcoal gray, tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist—hugged him like a second skin. At 38, Ricky had the build of a man who hit the gym between depositions, handsome in that sharp-jawed way that made juries listen. Well-endowed, too, though that was a detail he kept for negotiations like this. "You will. But trust means commitment, Helen. We're partners in this fuckery."
She met his gaze, a spark there that wasn't just desperation. The room felt smaller, the hum of the city outside fading. Ricky's pulse kicked up; he'd planned this moment since their second meeting, when she'd laughed at one of his dry jokes about blood in the water. He wanted her in deep, literally. Pushing back from the desk, he stood, towering over her at six-foot-two. His hand went to his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness. The clink of metal echoed in the quiet office.
Helen's eyes widened, but she didn't move. "Ricky, what—"
"Shh," he cut her off, voice dropping to a growl. "This is the bonus clause, Helen. You want me to shark this divorce? You seal the deal." He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock—thick, veined, already half-hard from the anticipation. It sprang out, heavy and demanding, the head flushed and glistening. He wrapped a hand around the base, stroking once, watching her reaction.
She swallowed, lips parting, but there was no protest. Just a flush creeping up her neck. Ricky stepped around the desk, closing the distance, his free hand tangling in her perfectly coiffed hair. "On your knees, Helen. Show me how committed you are."
For a beat, she hesitated, then slid off the chair, knees hitting the plush Persian rug. It was soft under her, imported from some market in Istanbul, but she barely noticed. Ricky guided her head forward, her mouth inches from his dick. "Open up. Suck it like you mean it."
Helen leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip. Salty, warm. She wrapped her lips around him, taking the head into her mouth, sucking gently at first. Ricky groaned, fingers tightening in her hair. "That's it, you classy little slut. Deeper." He pushed forward, inch by inch, feeling her throat relax as she took more. Her hands came up to his thighs, steadying herself, nails digging in through the wool.
He started thrusting, slow at first, fucking her mouth with controlled dominance. "Look at you, Helen—on her knees for her lawyer. Bet your husband's never had you this eager." Dirty words spilled from him, fueling the heat. She hummed around his cock, the vibration shooting straight to his balls. He picked up pace, saliva dripping down her chin, her lipstick smearing along his shaft. Her eyes watered, but she didn't pull back, sucking harder, tongue swirling under the ridge.
Ricky's control frayed. He held her head steady, hips snapping. "Fuck, yes—gonna cum down your throat." His first load hit fast, balls tightening as he pumped ropes of hot cum into her mouth. She swallowed most, some spilling out the corner of her lips. He pulled back, panting, cock still twitching. "Good girl. But we're not done."
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Helen looked up, cheeks flushed, but there was fire in her eyes now. Not just submission—hunger. Ricky hauled her to her feet, spinning her around to bend her over the desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolling off the edge. He hiked up her skirt, exposing lace panties that he ripped aside with one yank. "Spread your legs. Let me see that pussy."
She did, ass up, heels clicking on the hardwood. Ricky palmed her cheeks, spreading them, thumb brushing her slick folds. She was soaked, dripping for him. "Knew you'd be wet for this, Helen. All that pent-up frustration—time to fuck it out." He lined up his cock, still slick from her mouth, and thrust in deep. No teasing, just buried to the hilt in one go.
Helen gasped, gripping the desk edge. "Oh god, Ricky—it's so big." He filled her completely, stretching her walls, the angle hitting deep. He started pounding, relentless, his hands on her hips bruising. "Take it, you greedy bitch. This is what you get for hiring the best." Each slap of skin echoed, her moans mixing with his grunts. He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing circles that made her buck back against him.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, suit jacket straining as he drove into her. Helen's breaths came in ragged bursts, her body clenching around him. "Harder—fuck me harder." Ricky obliged, slamming in, the desk creaking under them. His second orgasm built quick, balls slapping her ass. "Gonna fill this pussy, Helen. Mark you as mine." He came with a roar, spilling inside her, hot spurts coating her depths. She shuddered, her own climax hitting, walls milking him dry.
But Ricky wasn't finished. He pulled out, cum leaking down her thighs, and flipped her onto her back on the desk. Her blouse was half-unbuttoned, bra pushed up, breasts heaving. He stripped off his vest and shirt, revealing the chiseled chest beneath—years of boxing keeping him sharp. "Round three. You ready to earn that settlement?"
Helen nodded, legs wrapping around him as he plunged back in. This time slower, grinding deep, his mouth claiming her neck, biting just enough to leave marks. "You're mine now, Helen. Every dirty tactic, every win—it's ours." She clawed at his back, urging him on, their bodies slick and frantic.
By the time he came again—third load pulsing into her, mixing with the first—she was a trembling mess, orgasms rippling through her in waves. Ricky collapsed over her, both breathing hard, the office reeking of sex and satisfaction.
Weeks later, the divorce settled just as Ricky promised—Helen's ex stripped bare, alimony flowing like champagne. She met Ricky at his office again, this time with a bottle in hand. "To ruthless tactics," she toasted, pulling him into a kiss that promised more bonuses ahead.
Ricky grinned, locking the door. "And to the best damn partner a shark could ask for."
The desk waited, as plush and inviting as ever.