A/N: Thanks for the encouragement, y'all! (And also to this massive snowstorm, for giving me a couple days off work, and some serious cabin fever.) One more chapter is on the way!
She had a stack of papers on her desk, and back-to-back meetings lined up all afternoon. If she didn't review the proposed sanctions against Russia, in the wake of their latest stunt against Belarus, it was a safe bet she wouldn't be making it home for dinner.
The prospect exhausted her. ...Or maybe it was the lack of sleep. In any case, she needed to power through to make it home at a reasonable hour.
Still, she was frustrated with the way she and Henry left off this morning, and couldn't concentrate. If Jason hadn't taken it upon himself to try (and fail) to cook scrambled eggs in a wok, she could have gotten a quickie in; maybe even some steamy shower sex. God, she needed an orgasm. Then again, if Henry had bothered to check in last night, to let her know he wasn't going to make it, she'd have taken matters into her own hands to get the job done. Not the same, by any means—but still good.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing her legs, and trying keep her mind off the need blossoming in the pit of her belly.
Maybe just a quick check-in to let Henry know he'd been on her mind wouldn't be so bad.
She unfastened the top three buttons on her blouse, so that a whisper of black scalloped lace was exposed. Reaching for her phone, she opened it to the front-facing camera, angled the lens down her blouse, and snapped a photo. She thought better of it after a moment, deleted the picture, and dropped the phone back on her desk. She knew full-well the risk involved in just taking the photo, let alone sending it to Henry's unsecured cell phone. "I must be losing it," she mumbled under her breath.
Deciding she was much too tired to be thinking rationally, she stood up from her chair, refastened the top two buttons on her blouse, and adjusted her skirt.
"Blake?" She bellowed.
Her assistant dutifully poked his head in the door, and plucked earbud from his ear. "Yes, M'am?"
"I need you to hold my calls for the next 20 minutes. I have to close my eyes for a bit. ...Oh, and call Henry. Let him know it's gonna be another late night."
"Yes, M'am." He paused for a moment, clearing his throat.
She grabbed her phone, walked over to the couch, and collapsed into it, dropping the phone onto the floor next to her.
"Will there be anything else, M'am?"
"No. Thank you, Blake."
She closed her eyes, hoping to hear the door click shut. She waited a few moments, a silent plea on her lips, begging him to go, and stave off any further interruption. When he didn't leave, she raised a brow, not bothering to open her eyes.
"Blake?"
"Y-you... missed a button," he stammered, ducking out and pulling the door closed behind him.
She sat up quickly, and crossed her arms over her chest—a feeble and belated attempt to cover herself. A mixture of confusion and slight embarrassment playing over her face, she plunged headfirst into introspective thought. Was she really the type of woman who took suggestive selfies... at work?
Still, her pulse quickened when she thought about what her husband's reaction would have been. Perhaps he was thinking of her too. He was wearing those tight gray slacks when he left this morning—the ones that made his butt look irresistible. How would he have responded? He never checks his phone in class. Maybe he'd be sitting at his desk, grading papers, his pants growing uncomfortably tighter at the thought of that delicate black lace covering his wife's most intimate parts—his mouth covering his wife's most intimate parts. God, the things she would do for him on that desk, if given the opportunity.
She focused for a moment, on the desire pooling between her legs. She needed to stop thinking about her husband's thick fingers in her hair, his strong hands on her hips, his soft lips on her neck, and the gorgeous ache that swelled at the juncture of her thighs as his dark eyes searched for hers while they were making love.
She moaned out loud, and it caught her by surprise.
She needed a rest… and a change of panties. She stood up quickly; hitched her skirt up around her hips, and shimmied out of her lacy underthings, dropping them to the floor on top of her phone, and forgetting to set alarm. She made a mental note to fish a new pair out of the closet when she was feeling a little more rested. Sitting back down on the couch without readjusting her clothes, she closed her eyes, attempting to shut the world out in search of a few moments of peace. But there he was again—her handsome husband. His hands and mouth exploring her body as she wrapped her fingers around his strong arms, her breath hitching each time he buried himself inside her. He'd press her firmly into the mattress with each thrust, and she would wrap her legs around his waist, wanting—needing more of him.
"Henry," she breathed, her desire taking over. Her legs instinctively fell open as she began touching herself, a finger sliding lazily through her slick folds. She moaned softly at the contact, and sank a slender finger inside herself. "Mmmm…" She hummed her approval. Her free hand made short work of undoing the buttons on her blouse, and she tucked one of her bra cups under her breast, and brushed over her nipple, stopping to roll it between her fingers, as she eased another finger inside herself, imagining one of his thick digits in place of her two.
Her breath grew shaky, and for a moment, he was above her, around her, inside her. His lips closing over her nipple, his hands sliding up her thighs, touching, caressing her as their bodies intertwined, beading with sweat.
"Unhhh…" She groaned as she felt herself nearing release—images and snapshots of their intimate moments playing on a loop in her brain. She lost herself in the memories: kicking her heels off and slow dancing with him in the living room, kissing in the kitchen, drinking wine and making love on the staircase—unfastening the button on his pants, the agonizing white heat of him sliding slow, her white-knuckled grip on the bannister, his sweet words whispered into her hair, "I've got you; let go."
She was crashing, paralyzed by the ecstasy, holding her breath and feeling the waves of pleasure collide and wash over her, her legs and body beginning to shake as the air returned to her lungs. "Yesss… Fuck… Yes!" She wasn't quiet. She wasn't trying to be.
After she came down, she lay there silent for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to decipher whether or not she'd been loud enough to tip off her assistant. Remembering the earbuds he was wearing earlier, she felt decidedly okay about her chances. Letting out a relieved sigh, she stood up, pulled her skirt back down, and reached down to scoop up her panties. In doing so, she noticed her phone had been unlocked; two words illuminated, scrolling across the screen that stopped her dead in her tracks. "calling Henry…" She was unknowingly 8 minutes and 46 seconds into a phone call with her husband.
The color drained from her face as she put the phone to her ear.
She swallowed hard. "Hello?"
"Hey Babe," replied the voice on the other end. "Was it good for you?"
"Henry… I—did you?"
"Sure sounded like it."