I set my glass down. Closed the distance between us. Her breath was whiskey and something desperate.
"I can help with that," I said.
She blinked, but didn’t step back. "You’re not going to make me ask, are you?"
"No," I said, and kissed her.
It was not gentle. There was nothing tentative in the way her hands grabbed my shirt, or how my grip found her waist, pulled her closer, bent her back. She opened her mouth, hungry, the collision of teeth and tongue unfiltered.
I pressed her against the glass, feeling the heat of her body and the cold press of the window. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and she laughed against my mouth.
"Take off your tie," she said. "It’s giving me corporate trauma."
I obliged, tossing it aside. She seized my wrist, spun me around so my back met the glass now, and raked her gaze down my chest.
"Been thinking about this since you torpedoed my chance to get even with Whitman," she said, her hands on my buttons.
"You still won in the end."
"Fuck you."
I laughed.
She pulled my shirt off, tossing it over a chair. Her hands were decisive, clever, a little rough. I let her lead, let her decide how fast, how far.
She stepped out of her skirt, stripped to black lace, and for a second just stood there, letting me look.
"You’re staring," she said.
"I’m learning," I replied.
She grinned, then pounced.
We collapsed onto the couch, limbs tangling, breathless. I slid my hand down her thigh, found her soaked through, every inch of her thrumming. She bit my neck, hard enough to mark.
"Don’t hold back," she said, panting.
"Wouldn’t dream of it."
She straddled me, fingers in my hair, grinding until we both lost the ability to think. Her skin was fire under my palms, all sleek muscle and defiant pulse. I pulled her bra off, ran my tongue over her breasts, and she hissed, nails digging into my back.
She shifted, lined me up, and sank down slow, her head tipped back. I groaned, gripping her hips, grounding myself in the rhythm of her.
She rode me hard, relentless, as if she could fuck away every problem. I let her, let her use me, because I wanted this as much as she did.
When she came, she clenched her jaw, eyes blazing, and shook apart in my hands.
After, she collapsed against me, shuddering. We sat there, sweat-slicked, breathing in tandem.
"You’re not a safe choice," she said, voice muffled in my neck.
"I’m not looking for safe."
She kissed me again, slower this time. We moved to the bedroom, and I made love to her with every ounce of control I possessed, memorizing the way her body responded to every touch. The second time was softer, almost reverent.
Afterward, she lay beside me, tracing patterns on my chest.
"Don’t fuck me over," she said.