{AN: The Red Dress was originally posted in my T-rated One Shot collection entitled, Back to You, but due to popular demand, I have continued the story with a bit of M-rated flavour.}
The Red Dress
Dressed in a tailored, three-piece suit, Cal Lightman pushed on the heavy entrance doors to The Lightman Group. He held a door aside and waited for Gillian Foster to enter behind him. She was dressed in a low-cut, red dress, hitting her just at the knees. The outfit was complimented perfectly with a pair of patent leather, pointed toe, Louboutin pumps and matching handbag.
Her hips swinging, Cal let Gillian walk in front of him; his eyes set on the length of her legs, the way her calf muscles tightened with each step.
Gillian looked over her shoulder and turned slowly to face him. She expertly continued her pace backward, ignoring his gaze as he slowly traced the lines of her dress.
"Cal?" She began as she edged around a corner. She held up her hand and stopped him in his tracks. "Your office is that way."
Cal looked up at her, hunger in his eyes. "Aren't we needed in The Cube together?"
Gillian opened her purse and searched blindly for her lip gloss. "Five minutes. I need to get changed."
"What?" Cal said astonished. "You're changing?"
Applying the gloss to her lips, Gillian looked down at her dress and immediately looked up at Cal whose eyes had found her plunging neckline. "And what? You think I should go in there dressed like this?" She reached forward, hit him on the shoulder, breaking his focus. "This is not exactly what you'd consider office attire, Cal. Don't you think I'm a tad overdressed."
"More like under-dressed." Cal took a step back playfully, raised his hands out to the side. "You could be quite persuasive dressed like this." He leaned forward, swayed toward her. "Know what I'm saying?"
Gillian reached out again, pushed him backward. "Five minutes. I'll meet you in there."
Cal entered his library and removed his coat. He flung it absentmindedly on a nearby chaise and kicked off his dress shoes. He sat in a heap on the chaise, lifted his legs and sprawled, stretching out. He loosened his tie, released a heavy breath and closed his eyes.
Five minutes was all he needed.
He heard Gillian's familiar steps approach him but refrained from opening his eyes; not quite ready for the attack they were planning on their unsuspecting 'Cubed' witness.
"Oh good," she said and he heard the sound of the door sliding to the room. "You're here."
Cal let his head roll to the side and opened his eyes.
Still dressed in her red dress, she turned her back on him and pointed to the seam that ran down the middle of her back. "Aye, aye." He exclaimed and stood slowly. "What's this?"
"My zipper, Cal." She sighed. "It's stuck."
He edged toward her and waited silently. He flicked his finger; itching to touch her.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "A little help," she said, frustrated.
He reached forward to touch the seam of her dress and her head bowed instantly. He ran a hand across her shoulders, pushed aside her hair, letting it pass softly between his fingers. He watched as goose bumps formed on her freckled skin and he smiled to himself, satisfactorily.
He watched as her shoulders surrendered to his touch and he slipped his fingers into her dress and pulled gently at the fabric caught within the zipper. It gave way easily in his careful motions and he lowered the zipper slowly revealing more soft skin. He trailed gentle fingertips behind in its wake; let them trace a line down the center her back. Transfixed by the steady motion of her breathing, he paused at the small of her back and lifted his eyes to see her head still bowed low.
Blushed, bare skin revealed to him; she burned hot. He fought back the urge to run his hands over her body; to push aside the dress' red silky fabric; to pull her into him; to place kisses down the lines of her neck; to claim her as his own.
She felt his hesitation; lifted her head collecting the front of her dress. "Thank you," she whispered, as she turned to him.
Cal smiled at her and licked his lips. "Anything else?" he asked.
She looked up at him; eyes wide in the darkness, voice thready. "I think I can manage."
"Five minutes?"
"Mmm hmm," she choked.
He took a few steps toward the door and turned to her again. "No help? Whatsoever?"
Gillian tapped a foot and shifted her weight. "Cal..."
"Because I can be of more help than that."
He took another step toward the door and pivoted back, turning directly into an expertly thrown pillow.
"Out!" she commanded, pointing toward the door with an outstretched finger.
He lifted his hands in his defence, stealing another opportunity to run his eyes over her tight curves. He grabbed the edge of the door and pushed it aside. "One more thing," he said vacating the room.
"What's that?" she called after him, clearly not amused with his stalling techniques.
He poked his head back through the door. "Never pegged you for a laced thong kind of girl, Foster." Her face flushed. Lines formed at the corners of her mouth. "I'd be happy to help with those, too."
He was quick to avoid the attack; firmly sliding the door shut before the heavy book could make contact with his head.
The book made a thud as it fell to the floor and the library door slid open slightly. Cal carefully poked his head through the small opening.
"Just sayin'."
The Red Dress: Reprise
Their interrogation now complete, Cal sat back in his chair and lifted his feet onto his desk. He twirled his drink in his glass, delighted with the sound of the ice cubes hitting the side of the tumbler. Something drew his attention toward his office door.
"What's this now?" Cal asked watching Gillian enter.
Re-dressed in her red dress from earlier, she slipped through the slit in the door and immediately pressed her backside against it, closing it behind her.
"Aye. Aye." Cal greeted as she approached his desk gracefully; a shawl in one hand, black clutch in the other.
"You have a date, Foster?" he asked as she walked around the desk to stand in front of him. "Or do you need more help with that zipper of yours?"
"As a matter of fact," she smiled widely. "I do... have a date, that is."
Cal removed his feet from his desk and she leaned up against it. He turned in his chair, rolled it closer to rest in front of her.
"And who's the unlucky chap?"
"Ha. Ha." She gasped. "Actually, it's you."
"Me?"
"Yep." She pulled herself up onto his desk and crossed her legs carefully. "You know that French restaurant I keep mentioning?" She looked down at her pumps, flicked a toe toward him, drawing his attention. "We have reservations at seven."
Cal cocked his head and focused on her tiny feet. "There's one problem, love."
"What's that?"
He reached forward, trailed his fingertips from her ankle to wrap his palm around her muscular calf. "I don't speak French."
She stared at him as his eyes traveled her legs. He gently kneaded her calf with his fingertips and thumb.
"There's only one word you need to know," she whispered, heartbeat resounding in her ears.
He looked up at her. "What's that?"
"Merci."
His hands fell silent and he stood to lean into her. "Why's that?"
"So you speak French then?"
His eyes locked with hers. He watched her lick her lips. "And who am I thanking exactly?" His tone had turned sultry.
"Me." She released it as easily as breath.
"For what exactly?"
"Would you like me to make a list?"
His face inches from her own he breathed her in. She smelled like strawberries. He exhaled slowly, held her eyes and then dipped to follow her freckled neckline.
"I might know where to start."
"That so?" she hummed.
"This dress for starters."
His hands found her hips and he trailed fingertips up her backside; lingered over her bare back.
She pulled into him slightly, gently shook under his touch.
"You're not exactly giving my imagination enough of a challenge, Gill."
"You think you know?"
She inched forward and he gasped slightly. She uncrossed her legs and opened them around his middle. She kicked his office chair and it rolled into the wall behind making a thud.
His hands found her arms and he traced invisible lines up and down them leaving behind tracks of goose bumps.
"Do you want to find out if you're right?" she asked seductively, lifting her glossy eyes up to him.
He bowed his head low to her, held her lips at an close distance. "We'll never make that reservation."
Her breathing rapidly increased; her hot breath mingled with his. "Screw the reservation."
"Heaven help me," he gasped and took her lips hungrily.
Liquid fire flooded her veins; filled her with heated desire. His alluring taste merged with his familiar smell and her hands reached out to grab his torso and pull them closer together.
His hands found her face and he pulled back, gasping; forgetful in his passion to draw air into his lungs. He was lightheaded; the world around him darkening, his focus turning only to her, and her burning desire which was unrelenting.
She clawed his sides, played him perfectly, instructing him to run his hands through her hair. She reached behind her; thumbs fumbled with the zipper on her dress.
He pulled from her lips, brushed his hands down her side, attempting to draw her attention.
"Gill," he whispered, hot breath against her lobe.
She brushed her cheek flush against his. "Help me."
He exhaled slowly and reached behind her to take the fabric within his fingertips. He found her lips again, slowly lowered the zipper down her back. Careful to take his time, he kept his focus on her mouth; let their tongues play together before running his hands up her back again.
He placed a final kiss to her lips and watched as her eyes opened, held his own; pupils dilated, echoing the hunger he felt within.
He held her eyes as he drew back the strap of her dress on her left shoulder. He placed a kiss behind where it had rested, instantly slowing the pace of their give and take.
She breathed heavily, looked away from his gaze; turned back to watch as he slowly lowered the dress from her shoulders.
Her breathing increased rapidly as the fabric fell to pool around her middle. He trailed her collar bone, pushed on her gently to lean her back, holding her securely within his hands.
Warm hands explored her soft skin and she writhed lost in the prickling, the teasing. She attempted the move her body, fought for positioning with his touch.
He moved his focus from her neck, trailed kissed down the center of body, pushing her further into ecstasy. He wrapped his lips around her nipple as she rose to meet him. She moaned and he echoed her; tugged her pink flesh gently between his teeth. He repeated his motions, leaving no inch unexplored.
She moaned his name, wrapped her legs tightly around his torso and pulled him closer to her, knocking him off balance. He braced himself on either side of her as she leaned back, flush against his desk.
He pushed objects away and cleared a space for her body as he continued to leave trails over her skin with his tongue.
She tugged at the neck of his t-shirt, pulled it over his head. She clawed at his shoulders, lifted herself to meet him, found his lips hungrily.
"Gill..." Her name trailed on his lips as he met her eyes, saw the same passion which echoed within him.
"What?" she breathed; lips full and pouty.
He smiled, ready to devour her. "You're right. Screw the reservation."
Hands flew passionately tugging at flesh, ceasing their sticky flesh. They rocked against each other; hungrily exploring new territory. He wrapped himself in the scent of her, held onto her as if afraid she'd let him go.
She rocked against him until he rose to meet her; entering, lingering within her, pulling her into fits of ecstasy.
The desk rocked under their weight; under the steady pounding motion of his hips.
Hot liquid flooded his veins and he raised her hips diving further into her. She arched her back, tension ceasing her muscles as she climaxed.
He continued his steady rhythm.
Her head rolled. Her body surrendered to him. Again, she felt a wave of heat flood her skin, pricking her senses, causing her toes to cramp. Fire coursed through her veins.
He clutched to her, long enough to feel her muscles tighten around him once more.
The darkness of his passion overcame him and he fell forward, grasped her body for leverage.
Her arms heavy by her side, she struggled to raise them; held onto him by the back of his neck.
"Don't let go," he pleaded.
"I won't."