"Did you put anything else in my head to go along with... the other?" She asked, feeling a small rush of blood, pulse quickening as she awaited his answer, knowing it already.
"Maybe, but answer a question for me first. And be honest." He said.
"What is it?" She asked, already knowing, blushing, equal parts shame and exhilaration in her heart, dueling. Her answer danced on her lips, awaiting freedom.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" He asked. He sat, looking at her, waiting. Expectant. Eyes, greedy for her reaction, the minutiae, searched her face.
Her shame diminished; heart racing, skin prickling, she nodded slowly. A spark went off inside her, warmth spreading between her legs, up her spine as she admitted her pleasure to her subordinate. Doubt became certainty, certainty became resolve. Even now, vulnerable to him, the control would be hers. A cold snap, frowning, the slightest pause before speaking again, assuming her previous posture of distant, cold, superior. She wrote her address on a notepad, tore it off, and handed it to him.
"We need to discuss our strategy, but I'm too busy for the rest of the afternoon. Eight tonight." Joyce said. Her heart pounded, nerves jangled, excitement raced in her blood, pushed it faster, gripping, but she remained outwardly impassive, stolid. It was Greg's turn to blush slightly as he took the slip of paper. He paused, measuring, a question on his face, but he left, unasked. He would come, of that she was certain. She would demonstrate her control, even as her knees shook under her desk now. To anyone outside looking in, she was engrossed, lost in concentration, and she was, even as she slid her hand slowly up her thigh, delicately between her legs, slowly applying pressure to her clit, exhaling.
Greg showed up early, but waited. Joyce watched him at the window, waiting for him as he waited. Inscrutable at this distance, in his car across the street, Joyce imagined his thoughts. She knew he had a girlfriend, serious or not? Was he feeling guilt? Was it outweighed by his curiosity? Desire? Watching him, her hands drifted, fingers teasing her nipples, searched for the warmth within her, let it out, kneading her clit slowly as it washed over her, building. Is he thinking, imagining me right now? Her thoughts continued, weighing the likely scenarios playing out in his mind, her hands busy, exploring. She could feel her heartbeat, hear it, as he exited his vehicle, standing, smoothing his clothes. Were his hands shaking? His knees weak? Is his stomach tied in knots, anticipation and expectation? Joyce left the window, a small burst of heat washing her. She walked to the door, waiting.
Greg approached, reaching for the bell as the door opened. He took her in, standing there in the doorway. A near silhouette, naked, she stood facing him, frank, unabashed as he appraised her. Chin up, defiant, her nostrils flared, breasts rising, falling, with her breathing, ragged and uneven.
"Joyce, I-" He started to speak, stepping forward, crossing the threshold, eyes wide. She slapped him then, her open hand across his cheek, his lips, cutting him off, stinging. He stumbled, tasted blood, raised a hand to his face, surprise and confusion on his face, anger slow to follow, muted by understanding. She bunched his shirtfront in her hands, pulling him to her. She kissed him; angry, crushing her lips to his, keeping him off balance, shirt threads tearing, popping as she pushed him against the wall. Greg fought to keep up, ears ringing, arms encircling her as she writhed, twisted against him. She ground herself into him, tearing at his shirt. The buttons fell, plastic chiming against the tiles as she pulled his shirt off of his shoulders, fingernails on his chest now, searing, tearing his skin. Greg regained his footing, searching her body with his hands, pressing his hips into her, finding her breasts, nipples, trying to hold her.
She disengaged then, breaking the kiss, her hand rising to his face, pushing his head to the side roughly. Her other hand at his belt now, jerking, undoing. She felt his hardness pressed against her, he had caught up to her, lust guiding his hands. He glared at her as she held him away, her hand over his mouth, crushing, sinews standing out on her arm, distorting his features. He dropped his hand between her legs, finding her wetness, pushing his fingers into her, immediately finding the place inside that quickened her blood. She shifted her stance, allowing him in, her breath catching as he pressed harder and pinched her nipple sharply. She shoved his pants down his thighs now, his cock in her hand, working. She squeezed, jerked roughly, drawing close to him as she moved her other hand to his throat.
Greg tried to match her, almost equaled, with rough, knowing caresses. He squeezed her breast, first one, then the other, hard nipples caught between his fingers, teasing, pinching. He tried to free himself, twisting, but she fought him, restraining. Her hand tightened on his throat. She felt his pulse in her fingertips, moving with him, ahead of him as he leaned forward. Joyce moved away, held him back while still working her hand on his cock with short, hard strokes. He reached for her, straining now for breath as his fingers slid out of her, moving to break her hold on his throat. She let go of him, then, and slapped him. Harder than before this time, he stumbled, legs caught in his pants. He caught himself, falling sideways to the floor, sprawling, rolling onto his back. Joyce laughed, one sharp, high note before she stepped over him, straddled him.
