I pulled my mouth off of him, my hand taking up the slack as I stroked his rigid shaft and looked up into his face. “I’d do anything you told me to do.” I rose up on my knees, my cleavage close enough that if he came right now, it’d splatter across my breasts.

He groaned, his eyes heavy with arousal. “What if I had an important client? Would you bend over my desk and let him lift up your skirt? Would you let him taste you?” His hand took over the work, relieving the strain on my triceps as he jerked his cock faster, the movements becoming rougher and rougher as he strained beneath me. “Put your mouth back on it,” he gritted out. “I’m about to—”

I closed my mouth on his head just before he came, sucking it hard as he trembled, tensed, then broke, his hand gripping the back of my head and pulling it tighter and deeper down on him as he filled my mouth—right in the middle of the loud and busy office floor.


As if to laugh at our minor success, eight hours later, we were struggling with crap. Crap that wasn’t going away, no matter how many times I held down the handle.

“So this is the one we need?” I stared down at the round container that didn’t seem nearly big enough. It was also $24, which was alarmingly cheap.

“Maybe?” Easton glanced at the employee to our right, who folded his arms over his orange-aproned chest with a bored sigh. “Is this what we need?”

“As I TOLD you”—he gave us both a warning look—“it depends on the size of the blockage. We got the lightweight, auto-feeding drain cleaner like the Rigid K-30, but if it’s a root blockage then you’ll need something more powerful, like the Cobra.” He nodded toward the shelf and I searched for anything on it that resembled his words.

“The Cobra includes a manual thermal overload protector switch,” he added, pointing at a box the size of a refrigerator, with a price tag of over sixteen hundred dollars. I shot him a look, unsure what about the two of us indicated that we had the breadth of plumbing knowledge to even get it out of the box. I pivoted away from the expensive behemoth and referred back to the one in Easton’s hand.

“And what’s the difference between this and this?” I pointed to an identical-looking snake that was three times as much.

“Well, that’s got the bulb augers, C and spade cutters.” He scratched at a dark bloody scab on the side of his arm and I think God sent him down just to kill off any lingering handyman fantasies I had left.

“We literally have NO idea what you’re talking about.” Easton glanced at me for confirmation and I nodded. “We just need our toilet to flush.”

“We tried Drano-O already,” I added helpfully.

He looked at me as if I was an idiot. “Drano-O’s not for toilets. It contains caustic chemicals that’ll crack porcelain and soften your pipes.”

“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows at Easton, who’d come home from Walmart with four jugs of the stuff.

“Have you considered calling a plumber? Most people like you just call someone.”

People like us? This guy needed to decide if we were sixteen-hundred-dollar-pump-your-own-septic-system people or call-the-plumber people. I tucked a side piece of hair under the edge of my baseball cap and fought the urge to ask for someone else.

“All we need to know is if this is what we should buy.” Easton held up the twenty-four-dollar plumber’s snake. “Or this one.” He lifted the more expensive but still manageable option in the other hand. “Do we need the bulb agers and cutters?”

“Bulb AUGERS,” the man corrected, hooking his thumbs in the straps of his apron. “And I’m going to say no, unless you have someone to show you how to use them.”

“Okay, thanks!” I smiled brightly and grabbed the more expensive option out of Easton’s hand and thrust it back on the shelf. “Have a great night.”

The man watched me warily, and if he thought I was going to pen this experience into a yelp review, he was probably right. I looped my arm through E’s and pulled him down the aisle, away from the man.

“It just seems cheap,” E said dubiously. “And little. Maybe we should call Aaron.”

“I don’t want to call Aaron and need something. That’s like the start of every porno. Calling up the guy next door and asking him to come over and fix something at ten o’clock at night.”

“It’s our toilet,” Easton pointed out, pausing beside a row of power tools, as if he was going to purchase one. “No one is going to try to seduce anyone with a toilet repair. It’s the shittiest excuse in the world.”

I rolled my eyes at the pun. “Stop.”

Source: www.StudyNovels.com