Simon Kitty storms out of her office with a scowl you could slice bread on, papers flying behind her like confetti nobody asked for. Jimmy Bud watches from his desk, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "Boss lady," he calls out, "you don’t need more caffeine. You need hands on that knot in your shoulders." She stops. Turns. Looks him up and down like she’s deciding whether to promote him or fire him. "You offering?" she asks, eyebrow arched. "Only if you’re done pretending you’re made of stone," he shoots back, already rolling up his sleeves. She laughs, low and throaty, then pushes past him into the break room, kicking the door shut with the heel of her shoe. Jimmy follows, bold now. His fingers find the zipper at the back of her blouse and tug it down slow. Silk slides off her shoulders. Her bra straps snap free under his thumbs. Simon exhales like she’s been holding her breath since nine a.m. He palms the heat between her shoulder blades, then lower, thumbs pressing circles into the small of her back until the tension unspools in warm waves. Her skirt hikes up, panties down in one impatient tug. He bends her forward over the table, coffee cups rattling. Two fingers slip inside her easy, wet, tight, no small talk left. Simon pushes back onto his hand with a filthy little moan, hips rolling, hair falling across her face. Jimmy works her open, thumb rubbing lazy circles over her clit, other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave the ghost of fingerprints. She comes quick, sharp gasp, thighs trembling, slick dripping down his knuckles. He doesn’t give her a second to catch her breath before he’s unbuckling, cock nudging against her soaked entrance. One long thrust and he’s buried, her walls fluttering around him like applause. The break-room clock ticks. Somewhere a phone rings. Simon laughs into the laminate, voice hoarse, and tells him to hurry up before the afternoon meeting starts.
Simon Kitty storms out of her office with a scowl you could slice bread on, papers flying behind her like confetti nobody asked for. Jimmy Bud watches from his desk, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "Boss lady," he calls out, "you don’t need more caffeine. You need hands on that knot in your shoulders." She stops. Turns. Looks him up and down like she’s deciding whether to promote him or fire him. "You offering?" she asks, eyebrow arched. "Only if you’re done pretending you’re made of stone," he shoots back, already rolling up his sleeves. She laughs, low and throaty, then pushes past him into the break room, kicking the door shut with the heel of her shoe. Jimmy follows, bold now. His fingers find the zipper at the back of her blouse and tug it down slow. Silk slides off her shoulders. Her bra straps snap free under his thumbs. Simon exhales like she’s been holding her breath since nine a.m. He palms the heat between her shoulder blades, then lower, thumbs pressing circles into the small of her back until the tension unspools in warm waves. Her skirt hikes up, panties down in one impatient tug. He bends her forward over the table, coffee cups rattling. Two fingers slip inside her easy, wet, tight, no small talk left. Simon pushes back onto his hand with a filthy little moan, hips rolling, hair falling across her face. Jimmy works her open, thumb rubbing lazy circles over her clit, other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave the ghost of fingerprints. She comes quick, sharp gasp, thighs trembling, slick dripping down his knuckles. He doesn’t give her a second to catch her breath before he’s unbuckling, cock nudging against her soaked entrance. One long thrust and he’s buried, her walls fluttering around him like applause. The break-room clock ticks. Somewhere a phone rings. Simon laughs into the laminate, voice hoarse, and tells him to hurry up before the afternoon meeting starts.