Price of Silence Pt. 2

Kiara’s body moved before her mind had fully caught up, the same way it always did when instinct and survival overtook hesitation. The delicate line between panic and poise blurred as she leaned closer to Clarence, every shift of her posture slow, practiced, yet betraying the little tremor in her stomach. Her perfume, warm vanilla and amber, lingered in the office air, thickening the atmosphere between them until she felt almost suffocated by it.

Clarence gave a smirk that showed too much gum, his heavy frame slouching back into the leather couch as though he’d been expecting this exact moment. “That’s more like it,” he said, his voice low, pleased.

Kiara’s manicured hand brushed against his thigh as she lowered herself gracefully, knees sinking into the plush rug. She set her little clutch down on the coffee table just beside them—not neatly, but half-open, her phone awkwardly sticking out from its half-tucked place inside, forgotten in her tunnel vision. Her world had narrowed to a spotlight: herself, Clarence, and the power exchange she had been trained to believe was her leverage.

Sink or swim.

Her hands hesitated, just for a moment, then reached for his belt. She undid it, fingers betraying the faintest tremor despite her effort to mask it as sensual slowness. The clink of the buckle echoed too loud in the room, filling her ears. Then the zipper, sliding down.

And then, as if this was all too rehearsed in his head, Clarence leaned back and let his pants fall open. His cock sprung forward, pale and lined, an aged thing that nearly made Kiara flinch on sight. Her stomach tightened, a twist of disgust curling in her, but she froze her expression, blinking through it.

Instead, her mind betrayed her with memory: Rome. The taste of Lucian, the burn of wine on her tongue, the **** surprise of his climax down her throat. She latched onto it like a lifeline, that moment becoming her script. She told herself it was the same—the same performance, the same solution.

Her manicured fingers wrapped around Clarence’s shaft. It felt foreign, different, veined and loose with age, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that. She stroked him slowly at first, letting her wrist twist with delicate rhythm, the way Celeste had once shown her in demonstration videos when they rehearsed intimacy training.

Clarence groaned low in his chest, head tipping back into the sofa. “That’s it,” he muttered, voice thick. “Knew you had it in you.”

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t answer. She just kept her strokes steady, her eyes trained on his lap, her lips pressed together in concentration. Perform. Solve the problem. Secure your place. That was the loop running through her mind, her survival mantra.

Clarence’s breathing picked up, his thighs twitching under her palms as she worked. His age didn’t matter—his power did. And Kiara, on her knees before him, had **** but to wield hers in the only way she’d been shaped to.

And so, despite the bile curling at the back of her throat, Kiara leaned closer. Her hair brushed his thigh, her perfume rising around them, her stroking hand tightening with rhythm that was no longer hesitant but deliberate. She didn’t let herself look at his face. She didn’t let herself think beyond the next stroke, the next inch forward.

Sink or swim. Charm or starve.

That was all she let herself be.

Clarence shifted lower into the couch, thighs spreading wider, cock twitching in Kiara’s hand as though eager for more than the measured strokes she’d been giving him. His belly rose and fell in shallow breaths, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Go on then,” he rasped, voice thick with indulgence. “Show me what that mouth of yours can do. Not just for speeches.”

Kiara froze for the faintest second, then inhaled through her nose. Her lashes lowered, hiding her eyes as she leaned closer. This wasn’t about desire, and she knew it—this was about leverage, about solving the problem like she had in Rome.

Rome was what Celeste had told her she _would _need when the moment got erotic. But this situation wasn't Celeste's training—it was what her mother had implied that day.

It wasn’t hunger, it wasn’t lust. It was currency.

She parted her lips and let the head of his cock brush them, her lipstick smearing faintly against the mottled flesh. She opened wider, sliding him past her glossed mouth, careful not to **** herself in the process. Her cheeks hollowed just slightly as she drew him deeper, tongue pressed low against the underside.

“Mmh,” Clarence groaned, thick fingers resting lazily on the back of her head. Not pressing—just claiming space. “Knew you were gonna look good with a cock in your mouth. Almost a shame the board doesn’t see this side of you, eh?”

Heat crawled up her neck, but she said nothing. She let the words sink into her like a stain, unchallenged, as her head bobbed slowly in his lap. Her pace wasn’t frantic, wasn’t eager. She gave him enough suction, enough glide of tongue, enough wet sound to keep him satisfied, but never more than that. Every motion was controlled, deliberate—professional almost. A blowjob as contract fulfillment, nothing else.

She pulled back to the tip, swirling her tongue once before sliding down again. Saliva began to slick his shaft, her careful rhythm audible now in the quiet office. Clarence chuckled under his breath, hips tilting subtly into her mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Don’t act like it’s your first time—though I’ll admit, it’s damn hot imagining a polished young thing like you having to learn this on the job.”

Kiara closed her eyes, ignoring the twist in her stomach at his words. Her lipstick had smeared faintly onto the base of his cock, painting him in the shade she’d chosen that morning to match her clutch. A detail she would’ve obsessed over any other time, now reduced to background noise in her tunnel vision.

She stroked the base with her hand, synchronizing with the bob of her head, fingers squeezing rhythmically. Clarence’s cock throbbed against her tongue, the veins rough under her lips. She let him slide deeper, then withdrew, leaving his tip glistening with her spit.

“Pretty little mouth,” Clarence breathed, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Bet your daddy never pictured you using it like this when he left you that company.”

Her heart clenched, but her body didn’t flinch. Trained composure held her steady, even as she swallowed him down again, even as his careless jab burned against her pride. The gag reflex fluttered at the back of her throat, but she **** herself to manage it, to breathe through her nose and keep moving.

Her hair, perfectly styled when she walked in, now spilled around her shoulders in loose strands, brushing against his thighs as she worked. She looked—without realizing it—like the businesswoman in those videos she had studied in secret, the women who “solved” negotiations the same way she was now.

Clarence groaned louder, his hand tightening briefly in her hair before releasing, letting her set the pace. “Mm, that’s a good girl. Not rushing, not whining. Just doing what you gotta do, huh?”

She hummed low in her throat, the vibration making him twitch, though her sound was more acknowledgment than pleasure. She wasn’t there to be cockhungry, wasn’t there to beg for more. She was there to satisfy just enough, to keep his mouth shut and his leverage contained.

She drew back once more, lips glossy and wet, spit connecting in a thin string before she let it break, then leaned forward again, taking him smoothly between her lips, her hand pumping in counter-rhythm. The office filled with the obscene wet sound of her efforts, the only soundtrack to Clarence’s husky breaths and his muttered asides.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, voice hushed but smug. “Knows when to talk her way out, knows when to suck her way out. That’s how you survive, Kiara.”

Her eyes flicked up, just once, lashes heavy, expression unreadable as she looked at him while his cock filled her mouth. Then she looked down again, returning to her work in silence, every motion deliberate, every gesture saying what her lips never would: This is the deal. Nothing more.

The bitter taste of sweat and skin already coated Kiara’s tongue, but she pressed on, her lips wrapped around Clarence’s cock in slow, deliberate rhythm. Her jaw ached faintly from holding steady, yet her face gave away nothing—no wrinkle of her nose, no wince in her brow. She had learned long ago that disgust was weakness when displayed, and weakness wasn’t allowed. Not here. Not anywhere.

Her hand continued its measured pumping at the base, her spit-slick fingers sliding over his shaft as she sucked with a steady, unhurried pace. It was competent, not enthusiastic—serviceable enough to please him without ever venturing into eagerness. Each bob of her head was mechanical, like ticking through a list of motions she’d memorized from too many nights of research. This wasn’t desire, this was work.

Clarence leaned back further on the couch, his thick thighs spreading wider, a satisfied groan escaping him. “That’s it, darling,” he drawled, his voice gravel over velvet. “Not your first rodeo, huh? You suck like a girl who knows her place.”

Kiara’s lashes lowered, eyes flicking down at his lap instead of up at him. She wanted to flinch at the word, wanted to snap back, but instead she pressed her tongue tighter along the underside of his shaft, swallowing around the gag that threatened to betray her. Her body knew how to stay still, how to seem unbothered—Celeste had trained her too well for her composure to falter.

Her lipstick was nearly gone now, smeared faintly against the mottled head that kept sliding in and out of her mouth. She pulled back just far enough to stroke him again, wet and slick, before lowering her lips once more. A strand of saliva stretched from her mouth to his cock as she dipped forward, the obscene sound of her mouth working him filling the otherwise quiet office.

Clarence chuckled low in his chest, watching her head bob between his thighs. “Look at you… prim little heiress on her knees, swallowing down an old man’s cock. Jean would roll in his grave if he knew what his daughter was doing for this company.”

The words hit like a slap, but she didn’t break rhythm. She kept her mouth sliding, sucking, stroking, making the performance seamless. Her stomach coiled tighter at every crude reminder, every subtle degradation, but outwardly she was still—the image of poise, a woman handling business as though this was just another deal to finalize.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the faint scent of Clarence’s aftershave mingling with the musk of his cock. She swallowed down another wave of revulsion and shifted her grip slightly, twisting her wrist on the upstroke the way she’d seen in those videos, just enough to keep him from growing impatient.

“Not bad,” he muttered with a smirk, his hand brushing lazily against her hair but never forcing her. “You don’t love it, but you’re not fighting it either. That’s what makes you dangerous, Kiara. You’ll do anything to win, won’t you?”

Her nails dug lightly into his thigh at that, unintentional, but she immediately softened her touch, hoping he didn’t notice. Her head dipped deeper, her throat flexing as he slid further into her mouth, and she fought not to gag. She wasn’t here to enjoy, wasn’t here to make him believe she was a slut on her knees—she was here to keep his mouth shut, to make sure he left that boardroom with nothing but compliance.

Clarence’s breathing grew heavier, his hips twitching beneath her control. “Fuck… keep it steady like that. Don’t stop. Show me what an expensive education and a tight little mouth can buy.”

She wanted to close her eyes and vanish. Instead, she kept her lashes low, her lips sealed tight around him, spit glistening down his shaft. She adjusted her angle, her knees pressing into the carpet as she quickened just slightly, enough to push him where he clearly wanted to go.

Then it happened without warning—Clarence groaned sharply, hips jerking forward as hot, bitter cum flooded her mouth in sudden, overwhelming pulses. Kiara’s eyes widened. She hadn’t braced for it, hadn’t been ready, and instinct screamed at her to pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She **** herself to swallow, throat working convulsively around the thick, salty mess, her body trembling with suppressed disgust as she gulped down every drop.

The taste coated her tongue, rancid and clinging. She swallowed again, forcing it down, but the bile rose anyway. Her stomach twisted violently. She jerked back from his lap, coughing, wiping the back of her hand across her slick lips as her breath hitched. The aftertaste sat like poison in her throat.

She reached blindly for the nearest thing—the small trash bin tucked beside the couch—and dragged it close. Dropping to her elbows, she heaved into it, her body convulsing as she spat and vomited, the harsh sound breaking through the heavy silence of the office. Her eyes watered, mascara threatening to smudge, but she didn’t care. She had to get it out.

Clarence’s laugh rumbled, low and amused, cutting through her misery. “Christ, princess. You’ve got the boardroom composure down, but your stomach’s weak as hell. Maybe you’re not as polished as you think.”

The words burned hotter than the bile in her throat. She spat one last time into the bin, then wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand, glaring up at him through watery eyes. Her voice was raw but sharp, cutting through the haze of disgust.

“Next time,” she hissed, her tone venomous, “we do it in my office then, asshole.”

The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, sharp enough to sting even in his smug haze. And with that, the balance shifted, just slightly, even as Kiara sat on the floor, chest still heaving.

Author's Note: Woah! Kiara realllllly misunderstood what her mother was saying!

Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far, and I'm sorry about the delays between chapters. Life is being...life, so I've got a lot on my plate, but I haven't forgot about this story! Just takes me a while to find the time to keep writing.

Thanks for reading folks!