Hank frowned to himself and kept on walking. Suddenly he recalled having met that woman at the company's HQ in Chicago. Yes, she was Cleo Prentice of Wanderlust Security. She had a special sort of job that kept her flying. She tried to make friends with hostesses of a certain type. And then…

Hank frowned more deeply. His frown cleared when he realized that Carlotta had risen from her seat and was strolling after him as though going somewhere to freshen up. Fact was, she was probably going to get all sopped up with jisum.

A noble hard-on made Captain Hastings limp the rest of the way to the door of the conference room where the hour of blissful sucking was scheduled to take place.

Once Carlotta had slipped into the room to keep him company, Hank had removed his pants and his underpants and had seated himself in the big, inviting armchair that faced the window, its back to the door.

Carlotta had removed everything but her stockings.

He gave her soul kisses and a good all-around feel that reassured him as to the silken, exciting qualities of female skin.

He had on occasion fucked her, but when he had let her know he was simply dying for a good suck, she had readily agreed to take care of the matter.

She kneeled between his thighs and regarded what she saw with admiration. She took it into her hands and stroked it gently.

She turned the stroke to a rub up and down in a circle made of her thumb and forefinger, but did not carry this too far.

She patted it as though it were a puppy.

She licked it as though it were a candy stick.

She tickled it with her hair, smiling as Hank Hastings gasped and said, "Wow!"

She blew air on it to cool it.

She rubbed it again to heat it.

She took it in her hand and counted carefully as drops of precoital fluid appeared at the tiny slit in its business end. One, two, three, four five, in Portuguese.