A rich August evening, the air potent with summer blooms shot through with occasional notes of autumn. A work-related event, held at some grand house. We are both attending, and have agreed for the occasion to act normal — to behave, so to speak — so as not to attract attention from the many guests who know us all too well.
We arrive separately; you are characteristically late, and find the house already crowded. You scan the faces down the hall as you greet our hosts in the entrance. You don’t see me yet, but I’ve seen you — looking magnificent in a classic black dress that hugs your curves gracefully, a neckline that plunges just slightly lower than might be considered decent, and black heels to match; wavy hair, red lips, bright eyes… I have to force myself not to stare, heart thumping and palms sweaty, my lower belly already beginning to burn… I look away, smile to my interlocutor, knowing you’ll catch sight of me any second. I’m wearing a short charcoal dress that fastens at the neck and cuts down across my collarbones, baring my shoulders and back. Of course, I’ve dressed only with you in mind, as I know you’ve done for me.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice you falter as your gaze finds me at last. You hesitate, then move toward a nearby gathering of colleagues. Already the tension is palpable — an inexorable pull toward you from across the room. I hear your laughter ring clearly over the buzz of conversation, and note the slightly manic edge to it. I can hardly focus on my conversation. I down my drink and excuse myself.
You notice me move toward the kitchen and shortly thereafter you slip away to follow. As my manager, it would be less than proper for you to be seen entertaining too close a friendship with me. You take your time weaving through the crowd, your cheeks growing hot as you observe my bare back, the cut of the dress directing your gaze down to my ass as I sway around the corner. You meet me at the counter and our eyes lock at last, fiery and fierce as we exchange devious smiles. We greet each other as we always do: a hug, a laugh — how are you, you look beautiful, what are you drinking — holding each other for just a little too long, pressing in just a little too intimately, our bodies aching for more.
You pour me a generous refill of rosé before doing the same for yourself, all the while letting your bare arm press lightly against mine, the crowded kitchen mercifully excusing the prolonged contact. The heat of your skin sends tingles down my spine and I suppress a shudder. As you hand me my drink I brush a finger lightly along the back of your hand, causing you to inhale sharply. Two people approach to join us. We maintain an appropriate distance from one another, all the while hyper-conscious of the other’s closeness — like an electric current humming between us. I’m already so wet.
In an attempt to stay true to our understanding, I shift my attention and join a different group, putting distance between us… a distance that only gives me a better vantage from which to admire the delicate lines of your bare arms, to envy the dress hugging your luscious body, to thirst after the sublime contours of your cleavage. Meanwhile I catch you stealing glances at me, at the bare skin exposed along my sides where the fabric sweeps down, at my long thighs meeting the hem of my fitted dress, and I know you’re thinking about hiking it up just a little more.
With a resolve you didn’t know you’d be able to muster, you head out to the deck — some fresh air to cool the flush in your cheeks and the fire between your legs. The setting sun has just begun to tinge the sky with pink. You lean over the railing and look out across the city as you let your desire wash over you… and though you’ve come away to steady yourself, you can’t help but hope that my eyes are on you, taking you in, in the golden glow. Which, of course, they are — transfixed by your phenomenal figure as you lean forward, following the curve of your slender waist down to your divine ass. Not being allowed to have you and wanting you ever so much more for it.
You look over your shoulder and meet my gaze — thrilled at the discovery of my voyeurism, knowing I’m undressing you in my mind. I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether to go to you. But a group is heading out and I join them, and stand at your side against the railing. Your nearness again overwhelms me, but I remain firm and coolly manage the small talk. Though I’m desperate to bend the rules, I behave — as you know I will unless and until you give me a reason not to. As the sky darkens, I feel your fingers trail along the back of my thigh…
You feel me tense up beside you, my posture shifting just slightly, my pleasant smile faltering for a moment. You run a finger just beneath the back hem of my dress, feeling goosebumps on my skin, then slowly, carefully, up and over the fabric to trace along the curve of my ass… You can barely suppress the trembles in your body, knowing you’re giving me permission to cross the line and knowing I’m going crazy with anticipation.
Without saying a word, I take your nearly empty glass and head back inside to refill our drinks. Feigning interest in some guy’s latest anecdote, you watch me go, full of hunger, following my movements as I head into the kitchen, and then turn, not back toward the deck, but down the hallway, and up the stairs. You feel your belly jolt at the sway of my hips as I climb the steps, two full glasses of wine in hand. I pause and look back over my shoulder, and though I can’t make you out in the twilight I know you can see my devious smile. You look around, your heartbeat wild; the party is in full swing — people laughing, booze flowing, music thumping — and though you know you aren’t quite safe, you gauge the risk… and realize this was always how it was going to go.
You find me on the upstairs landing, leaning coquettishly against the wall, eyes bright and full of mischief. You immediately notice a door slightly ajar that leads to a dim bedroom a few feet away. My knowing smile tells you I’ve already had the same idea. Two people are chatting further down the hall, in line for the restroom. I hand you your glass of wine as you come over to me, and we settle in patiently to await the moment when we might slip into that darkness together. We chat about the party, the people, debate quietly about whether we’ve been too obvious, whether anyone has noticed, all the while gleeful despite ourselves and hyper aware of the last person waiting down the hall. I lean in to brush a strand a hair from your face, relishing the casual intimacy of the gesture; my lips part slightly with the unbearable urge to kiss you. Your mouth mirrors mine, deep red shining like irresistible candy, your tongue sumptuously licking your bottom lip, driving me wild. You notice the outlines of my nipples through the fabric of my dress, eager for your touch. The last person passes us on their way downstairs, is barely out of sight as we tumble desperately into the bedroom nearby.
We struggle to shut the door quietly, and within seconds you have me pinned up against it, kissing me fiercely, deeply, biting my lips and sucking my tongue as I reach down to grab your phenomenal ass to pull you into me. You take my breasts in both hands, feeling their soft warmth under your fingers, nipples firm in your palms. You moan through our kiss as we simultaneously hike each other’s dress up, giving way to wild abandon. I brace myself against the door, needing so badly to feel the damp heat of your underwear on my thigh. You gasp and grind into me, then arch back as I kiss you down that dangerous neckline, cupping your perfect breasts from below to make those glorious mounds surge up to my lips and tongue.
In our frenzy we’ve shifted away from the door, and I back you onto a dresser. You spread your legs instantly as I move my fingers down to your soaking cunt, pushing aside the fabric of your underwear to play in that slick wetness before slipping inside you, slow, deliberate, and deep. You cry out and I press my mouth onto yours to muffle your pleasure as you bear down. I feel my own clit throbbing, my cunt burning, my underwear flooding… as a noise in the hall makes us both freeze.
Thinking quickly, you turn on the lights and begin speaking normally, casual but concerned. I catch on and follow suit, inventing some dramatic confidence as we adjust our dresses and wipe lipstick smears from each other’s face. We move to open the door just as the handle turns and our host — our boss — walks in. Amazingly, you manage to keep your face impassive as you explain that we’d taken a quiet moment to talk about personal issues. Behind our host’s back, I deftly reposition some stray items on the dresser and right a fallen picture frame. That done, I turn to you again, grinning and devious. You can barely keep up the charade as you watch me lift my fingers to my mouth to lick and suck, eyes closing briefly in the ecstasy of your taste…
Our host uses the opportunity to launch into her own confidence with you, and though I’d love to save you I see no way around her request for privacy. I leave the room, feeling the heat of your gaze on my back, my head reeling with desire and my heart hammering from the close call. You, meanwhile, handle the conversation with tact, offering support, all the while desperate to seek me out once more, knowing I’m waiting, and thirsty.
