If you check out starskeeper on tumblr you will see that this is totally her fault.
There are tangled fingers in her hair and she arches her back as they slide down her spine, press into the slight depressions at the base of her back. His mouth at her throat breathes hot and wet against her skin.
"K…" she bites off his name, changes it to a exhalation of breath but he lets out a dark laugh, slides both hands into her hair and pulls her head down, his mouth harsh against hers.
"Say it," he says and pushes his hips up. She tangles her own fingers in his hair and he grunts, "say it," demanding, ordering and she bites down on her own lip to stop herself from saying his name. The fingers in her hair soften, his mouth on hers no quite as hard and she relaxes enough to let her guard down.
"Kyle," she feels his smirk against her mouth as the fingers tighten again. The world tilts, spins, and the mattress suddenly presses into her back. Kyle's fingers still in her hair, but the tips are almost gentle against her scalp, contrasting the way his hips move, the way he moves inside her.
His mouth is back on hers, lips sliding across lips as one hand leaves her hair, slides down her side, across her stomach and between her legs.
"Rach…" she hates that, hates the way it sounds from his mouth, but he only ever calls her that when they're like this so she can excuse it, she loses herself like this sometimes so why can't he. He shifts, pushes in deeper and her fingers slide across his sweat slick shoulders. "Come on."
She grits her teeth, his mouth hot and wet against the thudding pulse in her neck and comes, fingernails digging into his skin and it gives her a sick thrill to know his shirt will chafe against the ten small half moons and maybe next time she might even press her lips to them, pretend to be gentle, pretend to care even when they both know they can't.
He grunts again, the slight edge of pain sending him spinning, hips pushing, thumb pressing in just the right place to make her shudder against him again and he comes too, mouth against her pulse still, teeth dragging over the skin and she knows there'll be a mark there later, one she'll press her fingers to and pretend to be disgusted with herself.
His breathing is evening out, still slightly harsh, slightly ragged and she pushes at him, closes her eyes as he slides out of her and she's sitting, dressing, his fingers, slick, slip across the skin of her back. She looks at him and he smiles briefly, dimples flashing and she feels the slow build of warmth in her stomach, squashes it down as she stands and pulls her skirt up her hips.
She doesn't need the complication of feelings involved with this.
She doesn't date from the office, but this isn't dating.
This is relief, mutually beneficial relief from the stresses of work and life.
He's asleep by the time she finds her shoes and she lets herself smile at him before she slips out. Tomorrow they'll dance around each other again, pretend it never happened, or pretend this was the last time but she knows, as he does, they'll be back here soon.
