Lena slid the last file into the folder and let the lid fall shut. The slap echoed through the otherwise empty open-plan office. She stretched her arms over her head, her shoulder joints cracking softly. She had been hunched over quarterly figures for hours, while the September dusk bathed the windowsill in orange. Her blouse strained over her breasts, her bra was pressing, and she felt the moisture between her thighs slowly growing—a familiar tension that had accompanied her all day whenever she thought of Johanna. Involuntarily, she slid a hand between her legs, pressed briefly against the fabric of her skirt, felt the heat pooling there. A soft moan escaped her before she pulled her hand back.
“Still here?”
The voice was soft, but with a mocking undertone Lena had come to know. She spun around in her office chair. Johanna leaned in the doorway to the break room, arms crossed, head tilted. Her blazer hung loosely over her shoulder, the top buttons of her blouse were undone, and Lena could see the start of her breasts, firm in a black lace bra. She had long since taken off her heels; her bare feet stood on the gray carpet, and Lena imagined those feet rubbing against her legs.
“You too?” Lena snapped her laptop shut. “I thought you’d clocked out ages ago.”
“That was the plan. But then I saw your light. And I knew: there’s someone else slaving away to outdo me.”
Lena snorted. “You pulled in three million more than me this week. I guess I need to catch up.” She felt her heart beat faster, the heat swelling in her lap. The sight of Johanna—the casual posture, the open blouse—made her pussy wet.
Johanna laughed softly and came closer. Her steps were soundless on the carpet. She stopped right in front of Lena’s desk, picked up a pen, and let it slide through her fingers. “Three million is nothing. That old mill in the south was a sure thing.”
“Still. You’re ahead.” Lena leaned back, studying Johanna. In the pale light of the ceiling fixtures, her features looked softer than during the day. The sharp line of her usual eyeliner was smudged. She looked tired. And somehow vulnerable—and fucking hot. Lena’s fingers twitched; she wanted to touch Johanna, feel her skin.
“So what,” Johanna said. “It’s just work. In the end, it’s about who can celebrate the most.” She put the pen down, slid her hip onto the edge of the desk. “Got anything to drink?”
Lena pointed to the bottom drawer. “Emergency stash. A red from Tuscany.” She leaned forward to get the bottle and felt her skirt tighten, the fabric between her legs damp. She hoped Johanna wouldn’t notice.
Johanna raised an eyebrow. “A red from Tuscany scores points with me.” She pulled out the bottle, uncorked it with practiced ease, and poured two glasses that Lena had gotten from the kitchen. The first liquid sparkled dark into the crystal.
They toasted, drinking in silence. The wine warmed, loosening the tension in Lena’s neck, but the tension between her legs only grew stronger. She watched Johanna’s throat move as she swallowed, the slender line of her neck fading into the twilight. Lena imagined kissing that neck, running her tongue over the skin and feeling the pulse beneath.
“You know,” Johanna began, setting down her glass, “I always underestimated you. So quiet, so driven. But this morning, when you sealed the deal with the Italians—that was impressive.” She leaned in, and Lena could smell her perfume—heavy, sensual, with a hint of musk.
Lena felt warmth rise to her cheeks. “Thanks. I thought you saw me as a brown-noser.” She took another sip of wine to calm her nerves, but it didn’t help. Her pussy throbbed, and she pressed her thighs together to feel the friction.
“I do. But one who’s damn good at her job.” Johanna slid off the desk edge, standing in front of Lena’s chair. They were only a step apart now. “You know what I actually had planned for tonight?”
Lena shook her head. Her mouth was dry, her hands trembling slightly.
“I was going to the opera. Alone. Already had the ticket. But I stayed here instead. Because I knew you’d still be here.”
Lena’s heart raced. The moisture between her legs became almost unbearable. She tried to sound casual: “And you did that because of me?”
“Yes.” Johanna’s voice was suddenly rough. She leaned in, propping one hand on the chair’s armrest, the other on the desk. Her face was close, her breath warm and wine-sour. “I wanted to see you. Here. Without all the people.”
Lena looked up. Johanna’s eyes were dark, pupils dilated. She licked her lips, and Lena felt a pull in the pit of her stomach, but it wasn’t fear—it was a joyful excitement that surprised her. Her pussy grew even wetter, and she felt the juice slowly leaking out, soaking her panties.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Lena whispered. Her voice trembled with desire.
That was all Johanna needed. She lowered her head and kissed Lena. The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if Johanna wanted to make sure it was allowed. But when Lena’s hand slid to her neck and pulled her closer, the kiss became more demanding. Johanna’s tongue traced Lena’s lower lip, entered her mouth. She tasted of wine and heat, and Lena returned the kiss greedily, their tongues entwining in a wet, uninhibited dance.
Lena let her hands wander over Johanna’s back, under the blazer, over the thin fabric of her blouse. She felt the warmth of her skin, the slight ridge of her spine. Johanna moaned softly and pressed closer, pushing Lena’s chair back a bit. Lena’s fingers found the bra clasp, opened it with a practiced click, and the fabric fell away.
“Wait,” Johanna murmured against Lena’s lips. “Here?” Her hand slid over Lena’s thigh, and Lena felt the touch like an electric shock.
“Why not?” Lena was breathless. “No one’s here. I want to feel you. Now.”
Johanna laughed softly and straightened up. With a quick motion, she undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, letting it slip from her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a black lace bra, which
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
