When I get home from teaching my Thursday class at State, Danny is still sitting at the computer coding a program for work. I sneak up behind his leather reclining chair in his office. I reach over and lay my hands over his chest and my chin on his shoulder. He removes his thin rimless glasses, rubs his eyes, light, light green, and then, latches my wrist to pull me down for a kiss.
He swivels his chair around and draws me into his embrace. He rests his head against my belly, while I run my fingers through his wooly brown hair. He has broad shoulders, but he's not heavyset. Muscular from working out regularly but not brawny, taller than me but not very tall. And handsome in an adorable geeky way. Today, he's wearing his Google-branded "I'm feeling lucky" tee and blue faded denims.
"I missed you," he says.
"You mean you're horny."
"Hell yeah," he says. "Eight hours straight writing code after awhile I feel like doodling boobies out of algorithms with brackets and ellipses. Come on, baby, let's have wild kinky sex."
"We could go to Google and do it in the fountain."
"Or that new resistance swimming machine at the pool. We can pump and fuck in place."
I laugh.
He rubs his hands up my legs until he reaches my ass. Then, he starts cupping my ass and digging his fingers into my jeans so he can feel what kind of panties I'm wearing.
"Fuck, you're wearing a thong."
I know how much he likes it when I dress skimpy underneath my clothes. He also likes my short tomboy haircut, my petite figure, and what he calls my pouty lips.
"You didn't come to bed last night," I tell him. "I don't like it when you work late. I missed you too."
He runs his hands up my back, under my hoodie, and then, under my camisole. He sucks in his breath when he doesn't feel a bra strap. He moves his hands around my waist and up my ribcage, slides his palms under and curls his fingers over my tits. He plays with my tits, thumbs my nipples erect, while I run my fingers through his hair restlessly.
He unzips my hoodie and tosses it on the couch. He lifts me slightly as he swivels the chair back around to face the desk. He unzips my jeans, tugs my jeans down, mutters something about how they're too tight, sexy but inconvenient, and then, he stops to look at the dark pubic hair curling at the edges of the front flap of my pink lacy thong.
He moves the keyboard aside and presses my ass against the edge of the desk. He raises my feet onto the armrests of his chair. I lean back a little, plant my hands on the desk. All I'm wearing is my camisole and panties. I shiver a little from the November draft and the excitement curling in my toes, twitching in my pussy, and tingling my nipples.
He spreads my thighs a little more and slides his chair closer. He breathes on my crotch, hooks his finger on the string of my panties. I raise my hips. But he doesn't take off my panties. He glides his finger along the string, and edges the front flap of my panties to the side. He brings his other hand to my crotch so he can peel open my clitoral lips and expose the thin tissue between and the bead at the top.
