You got so upset when you thought I was working for him.
Because you work for me.
Well, I'm not working for him.
She gives him an insufferable smirk, scoots forward on the couch while reiterating that very important fact. "I do work for you."
He can see her swallow, feel her breath on his crotch and, well — fuck, yes, she does and she knows it.
So he fists her hair as she opens his pants and he not-so-gently shoves himself inside her welcoming mouth.
"Good girl." The words are growled on an exhale, primal and carnal as she works for him.
Her eyes meet his, shining with mirth and lustful longing, and it wipes all the air out of his lungs, this visual of Donna, lips around his cock, picturesque and blinding.
He loosens his grip on her scalp to tuck the mussed strands behind her ear. She slows, all traces of smugness gone. What's left is something neither of them have a name for, not yet, but it's something they've felt for a while now. It filters through the cracks, encapsulates them and suddenly his dick is left cold but her lips are on his, sucking on his tongue, guiding him back with her behind the bookcase so he can hike up her dress and have what they both really want.
