Page 23 of They All Own Me

"Alright Tatum, I see you," I whisper smugly.

Dom had mentioned that during their meet up that Tatum wasn't sure how she was going to get in Thomas' office and plant the shit. But from this side of the screen. She figured it out, and so far, so fucking good.

I should probably call Dom and Isaac. Tell them the feed is live. I know that. But I don’t. I’m too intrigued, and hell, a little too entertained by the scene unfolding on the screen.

Tatum saunters over to Thomas. She’s all curves and confidence in that lingerie. Damn, she knows how to work it. He has to be a fucking moron to not see what's right in front of him.

Camera is in perfect position; all she likes now is the mic and we're in the clear.

Suddenly, she drops to her knees and disappears under the desk.

"Oh fuck." I feel the familiar tingle at my spine.

My eyes are glued to the screen when the notification for the mic shines green. Her brilliant ass, and very nice ass I might add, has planted the mic right under his desk while she's going to give him head. Smart move, Mrs. Cope.

Thomas’s expression shifts from irritation to something else—reluctant acceptance? I guess even an asshole like him can’t resist.

I lean back in my chair, shaking my head slightly. “Well played,” I mutter under my breath.

The screen’s flickering light casts shadows on the walls, making the scene even more surreal. I can’t tear my eyes away from Tatum, who’s now busy with Thomas under his desk. All I can see is the crown of her head, but her movements are deliberate, and damn if it doesn’t stir something deep inside me.

I roll myself out into the hall, making sure Dom or Isaac aren't lingering around somewhere. The coast is clear. I roll back into the surveillance room and lean back in my chair, my hand slipping under the waistband of my jeans.

This isn’t something I’d usually do, but there’s something about her—something that makes me lose control. My fingers find their way around my length, and I start stroking slowly, imagining it’s me she’s on her knees for instead of that tool bag.

The sight of her auburn hair spilling over his lap is intoxicating. I find myself picking up the pace as I imagine the feel of her lips around me, the warmth and wetness.

On screen, Thomas’s head tilts back, a look of smug satisfaction plastered on his face. It pisses me off that he gets to enjoy this while treating her like crap.

It also kind of pisses me off that Thomas seemed to have come in like 2.5 seconds. Pathetic. Tatum probably didn't get off at all. If it were me she had her lips wrapped around, I'd make sure it was worth her while, lasting longer than a Netflix ad.

The thought fuels my arousal even more.

My breath catches as she looks up at him, her eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and resignation.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, my hand working faster now. The tension in the room builds, every detail heightened—the flickering screen, the faint hum of the surveillance equipment, my own labored breathing.

My grip tightens as I picture Tatum looking up at me instead, those green eyes filled with something other than duty. She deserves someone who sees her fire, not someone who snuffs it out. The thought sends a jolt through me, and I bite back a groan.

I have to smother the groan, the sensation of Tatum’s imagined lips and tongue pushing me to the brink.

“Tatum,” I grate out through clenched teeth, “such a good girl.”

I close my eyes, picturing her taking me all the way down her throat. The image is vivid—those eyes looking up at me, full of a mix of defiance and submission that sends a shiver down my spine.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I stroke, matching the rhythm of her imagined movements. The tension coils tight in my gut, ready to snap.

I swear I can almost feel her warmth, her tongue swirling around me, taking me deeper until there’s no space left between us. The thought pushes me over the edge, and I come with a strangled groan, my hand slick and messy. I slump back in the chair, chest heaving as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

I grab a tissue from the desk and clean myself up quickly. This isn't the time to get lost in fantasies, no matter how enticing they are. I need to stay focused.

"Connor," Dom’s voice crackles over the comms. "Status update."

"Shit," I clear my throat, reaching for the mic. "We’re live. She did it."

"Atta girl," Dom replies. "Keep monitoring. We need every bit of intel we can get on this asshole."

"Roger that." I lean forward, eyes glued to the screen again. My mind still reels from what just happened but there's no room for distraction now.

---