Stress Relief

Chloe drops to her knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world and goes straight for Celtic’s fly. The thing pops out half-hard already, warm in her palm, and she gives the head a quick lazy lick before opening wide. She slides down easy, spit pooling fast, her lips sealing tight around him. She bobs in this steady rhythm—cheeks hollowed one second, then puffing out as she takes him deeper. Spit runs over her knuckles; she tightens her grip and strokes what won’t fit, thumb swirling under the ridge every time she pulls off for a breath. Celtic’s hips jerk forward on their own and Chloe just hums, throat tightening around the head, sending a dirty little shiver up his spine. She gags once, a wet click, but doesn’t slow down—her free hand cups his balls, rolling them gently while her mouth works like she’s got all the time in the world and zero shame. Every slurp echoes in the quiet office, and when she glances up, eyes glassy and lips shiny, there’s this tiny smirk that says exactly how ridiculous and perfect this is.