Green Enterprise Summit Pt. 3

The door to the accessibility washroom clicked shut, the sound loud in the otherwise silent space. You locked it quickly, the finality of the action sending a jolt of anticipation through you. The room was small but clean, the faint scent of disinfectant hanging in the air. The mirror above the sink reflected your flushed cheeks, perfectly applied makeup still intact. Richard leaned against the sink, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

This was a calculated risk. Richard was notoriously hard to sway—a man who valued control above all else. That he was even here, alone with you, spoke volumes about how far you’d managed to push him. But the real work was just beginning.

“Richard” you said, your voice low and deliberate as you took a step closer to him. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the tiled floor. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and assessing. “Pretend?” he echoed, his tone carefully neutral.

You smiled, slow and knowing, and let your eyes sweep over him. His tie was slightly loosened, his collar unbuttoned—a far cry from the composed, polished man you’d seen earlier. “You don’t have to play the role of the untouchable businessman,” you murmured. “Not here. Not with me.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half amusement, half frustration. “You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?”

"I know men like you, Richard," you said softly, your voice a sultry purr that hung in the air between you. "Always in control, always making the right moves. You make a mistake sometimes, but in those times, you just want to let go, don't you? They aren't mistakes at all..."

His expression flickered—just for a second—but it was all you needed. His body betrayed him; his breath hitched, and his shoulders stiffened, then softened. You slid your hands up his chest, letting your touch linger, until they rested just below his collarbones.

"You don’t have to hold back with me," you murmured, leaning in until your lips were a whisper away from his ear.

"I shouldn’t," he muttered, his tone more conflicted than resolute.

"But you want to," you countered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

The tension in the room crackled like static electricity. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as if he were wrestling with himself. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, might walk out the door and leave you standing there.

But then, something in him snapped.

He grabbed your waist with both hands, pulling you against him with a **** that made you gasp. His mouth crashed onto yours, and the world tilted on its axis.

The kiss was nothing like the ones with Vincent—no calculated moves, no sense of transaction. This was raw, unrestrained passion. His lips were rough against yours, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You responded in kind, your hands threading through his hair as you pressed closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hands roamed over your back, gripping the fabric of your dress as if he were trying to pull you even closer.

The taste of whiskey lingered on his lips, mingling with the faint minty flavor still lingering on your tongue from earlier. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, every touch igniting a fire that you couldn’t extinguish even if you wanted to.

He broke the kiss briefly, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You smirked, your fingers trailing down his chest. “And you like danger.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he captured your lips again, his hands sliding down to your hips. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he were staking a claim.

You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. It was a sound you couldn’t suppress, a reflection of the pleasure coursing through you despite yourself. Mentally, you chastised yourself for enjoying this as much as you did, but in the moment, it was impossible to care.

His hands moved lower, brushing the curve of your ass before pulling you even closer. You could feel the heat of his body through your dress, the hard lines of him pressing against you in a way that left no room for ambiguity.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he muttered against your lips, his voice a low growl.

“I think I have an idea,” you replied breathlessly, your lips curling into a smirk even as you kissed him again.

This was the turning point—the moment you’d been working toward. He’d cracked, and now it was just a matter of steering things in the direction you needed. But as his hands roamed over your body, as his lips left yours to trail along your jaw and down the column of your neck, you couldn’t deny that you were as caught up in the moment as he was.

His teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your breath hitched, and he smirked against your neck, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re not as composed as you seem,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers tugging lightly at his hair. “Neither are you.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through you. “Fair enough.”

The intensity between you continued to build, the air in the small room thick with heat and desire. You were teetering on the edge, both of you knowing exactly where this was heading but neither of you willing to stop.

And as his hands moved to the zipper of your dress, as his lips found yours again in a kiss that left you breathless, you couldn’t help but think that you’d never felt more alive.

"I shouldn’t be doing this," he said again between kisses, though his actions spoke louder than his words.

"Then don’t stop," you whispered, pulling him closer.

Your mind swirled with conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t just about Richard—it was about Damian, about the trial, about survival. But the way his hands roamed your sides, the way his lips explored yours—it felt good. Too good.

Richard’s hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you against him with a strength that sent a shiver through your body. His cock, now fully hard, pressed against your abdomen, trapped between your bodies. The heat of it was unmistakable, and the sensation sent a surge of both anticipation and guilt coursing through you.

Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, the soft fabric of your dress the only barrier between you and his shirt. Richard leaned down, capturing your lips in another deep, hungry kiss. His hands slid lower, teasingly brushing over the curve of your ass before squeezing, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

"You’re something else," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire.

"So are you," you replied, your voice just as breathless.

As his lips trailed down your neck, you let your hands slide up his chest, grazing the buttons of his shirt, before finally breaking away from his embrace. You dropped to your knees, your movements deliberate and confident, your gaze locked onto his as you did. Richard’s breath hitched as he watched you, his hands twitching at his sides as though fighting the urge to touch you.

Your hands ran up his thighs, the muscles tensing under your touch, until you reached the waistband of his briefs. Slowly, teasingly, you pulled them down, revealing his cock in all its length and thickness. It stood proud and heavy, the tip glistening slightly.

"Looks like someone’s been waiting for this," you teased, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

Richard groaned, his hand reaching out to brush through your hair, his fingers curling slightly. "Don’t make me beg," he muttered, though there was an edge of humor in his voice.

Leaning in, you kissed the tip lightly, tasting the salty bead of precum. You flicked your tongue over it before trailing your lips down the length of his shaft, your lipstick leaving faint traces of color as you moved. Richard groaned again, his hand tightening in your hair.

"You’re a fucking tease," he hissed, his voice low and strained.

Smiling against him, you finally took him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head as you sucked gently. The taste was musky, salty, and undeniably masculine. You hollowed your cheeks as you slowly worked more of him in, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you couldn’t fit.

Richard’s head tilted back, his free hand gripping the edge of the sink behind him for balance. "God, you’re good at this," he groaned, his hips jerking slightly.

You worked him methodically, your tongue swirling around the head before sliding down the shaft, your lips creating a wet, slick sound as they moved. The room was filled with the mix of your soft, muffled moans and the wet, obscene noises of your efforts. Saliva dripped down, coating his cock and your hand as you continued, each movement deliberate, designed to drive him closer to the edge.

Richard’s breathing grew heavier, his groans more frequent. His hand guided your movements, though you were already in full control, reading every reaction, every twitch and gasp, and adjusting your pace and pressure accordingly.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice thick with pleasure. "You’re dangerous."

You pulled back for a moment, letting your hand take over as you looked up at him, your lips swollen and glistening. "Only if you can’t handle it," you teased before taking him back into your mouth, pushing him even closer to losing all composure.

As you continued your efforts, the weight of what you were doing bore down on your mind, a mix of guilt and frustration swirling within you. You hated how practiced and efficient you’d become, hated how you could so easily tune out your emotions, focusing solely on the task at hand. But the promise of the Forget-Me-Mint dulled the edge, allowing you to push aside the shame and degradation for the moment. If you weren’t going to remember this, did it even really matter?

Richard’s hand rested on the back of your head, his fingers lightly tangling in your hair as you moved. You could feel the tension building in his body, the occasional hitch in his breathing a sign that you were doing exactly what he wanted. It was humiliating, knowing how much effort you were putting into this, but the faster you finished, the sooner it would be over.

"God, you’re incredible," Richard groaned, his voice filled with a mix of awe and lust. His praise made your stomach churn, but you **** yourself to ignore it, focusing instead on the motions you knew would drive him wild.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock, your lips forming a tight seal as you took him deeper, letting your throat relax to accommodate him. The slick, wet sounds of your mouth on him filled the small washroom, each obscene noise making you cringe internally. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not if you wanted to get through this as quickly as possible.

Richard’s hips bucked slightly, his restraint slipping as he lost himself in the sensation. "Fuck, just like that," he muttered, his free hand gripping the edge of the sink for balance. His praise felt like a slap to the face, but you kept going, pushing aside the discomfort and focusing on your technique.

Your hand stroked the base of his cock in time with your movements, the combination of your mouth and hand creating a rhythm that had him groaning loudly. His reactions spurred you on, even as your mind screamed at you to stop. The mint’s promise was the only thing keeping you going, the thought of forgetting this entire encounter a small comfort amidst the degradation.

You adjusted your pace, moving faster, your lips sliding up and down his length with practiced ease. Your tongue pressed against the underside, tracing the sensitive vein as you worked him closer to his release. The taste of him was bitter and salty, and you swallowed down the saliva pooling in your mouth, determined to keep going without hesitation.

"Shit," Richard gasped, his voice breaking as his body tensed. "You’re too good at this."

The comment made your stomach twist, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you redoubled your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and increasing your speed. Your hand pumped the base of his cock as your mouth worked the rest, the combined sensations driving him closer to the edge.

Richard’s groans grew louder, his breathing ragged as he fought to hold back. "I’m close," he muttered, his hand tightening in your hair.

You braced yourself, preparing for the inevitable, and pushed forward, taking him as deep as you could. Your throat constricted around him, and his hips jerked in response, a guttural moan escaping his lips.

The heat of his release hit you suddenly, salty and overwhelming. You **** yourself to swallow, knowing it was the only way to finish this quickly. Each wave of his release felt like a weight pressing down on you, but you didn’t stop until he was completely spent.

As he finally pulled back, you sat back on your heels, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. The lingering taste in your mouth made you grimace, and you grabbed a tissue from the counter to dab at your lips, careful not to smudge your lipstick too much, or whatever was left of it anyway.

Richard looked down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You’re something else," he said, tucking himself back into his pants and fastening his belt.

You **** a tight-lipped smile, not trusting yourself to speak without letting your disgust show. Instead, you reached into your clutch and discreetly popped another real mint into your mouth, the cool, sharp flavor a welcome contrast to the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

Richard adjusted his tie, smoothing down his shirt as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "You’ve definitely earned your spot at the summit," he said with a wink.

You nodded, swallowing the mint and rising to your feet. "Glad I could help," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

As you unlocked the door, ready to step out of the washroom and put this entire ordeal behind you, Richard’s hand suddenly gripped your wrist, pulling you back into the room with an unexpected ****. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but before you could react, his lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding. His hands were back on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body firm and unrelenting as he dominated the kiss.

You froze for a second, shocked by the suddenness of it all. This was supposed to be over, done, behind you. But then, as you felt the heat of his mouth and the urgency of his grip, you found yourself responding, matching his intensity, even though a voice in your head screamed for you to push him away. The lines between necessity and something else blurred in the haze of his passion.

When you finally broke the kiss, panting, you placed your hands firmly on his chest to create some distance. “You know this mouth was on your cock 30 seconds ago,” you said, your voice breathy but laced with sarcasm, “it probably still smells like cum.”

Richard hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if deciding how to respond. A sly grin spread across his lips, and he shrugged. “You know,” he said, his voice low and husky, “I’m actually not the kind of guy to mind that at all.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips with his once more. His hands roamed your body, his touch firm and unapologetic, sliding up to your chest. His thumb brushed over your breast, and then his hand froze, his brow furrowing slightly as if something felt off. He broke the kiss, looking down, his curiosity piqued.

“What’s this?” he asked, slipping his hand into the cup of your dress and pulling out the wad of bills Vincent had stuffed there earlier. The sight of the crumpled cash in his hand made your stomach churn with embarrassment, but you didn’t let it show.

Richard held up the money, arching a brow as his eyes flicked back to yours. “Are you a stripper?”

You met his gaze with a wry smirk, masking the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside you. “No,” you said, your tone sharp and witty, “but I get tipped like one.”

He stared at you for a beat, his expression unreadable, before he let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough,” he said, shaking his head. And then, to your utter disbelief, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another rough kiss, his hand sliding back to your waist as if the interruption hadn’t even happened.

His mouth was warm and demanding, his movements growing more insistent as his free hand caressed your curves. He pulled back suddenly, leaving you breathless, and reached for his wallet. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, a mixture of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach.

Richard flipped it open and pulled out another wad of cash, counting out $200 with quick precision. He held the bills up between you, his expression now serious. “To keep quiet,” he said firmly. “I can’t let this go to the press, no matter what.”

You looked at the cash in his hand as you processed his words. “Agreed,” you murmured, barely able to meet his gaze.

Richard smirked, his confidence returning as he leaned in one last time, brushing his lips against yours. “Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction, before slipping the cash back into the cups of your dress himself, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Your mind raced as you tried to steady your breathing, the weight of the bills now pressed against your chest serving as a stark reminder of just how deep into this mess you’d fallen.