How To Deal

Emma drops her purse inside the door. Light falls across the carpet. Steve’s office smells like paper and aftershave. He asks her to lie on the couch. She’s been here a dozen times, but today her shorts feel too tight and the clock seems slow. He presses his thumb into the muscle beside her hip, working down the thigh. She breathes through her teeth. Her legs drift open. He notices, doesn’t stop. She hears the zipper of his slacks. Warm skin meets her mouth, clean but heavy, and she takes him in without asking. Spit slides over her chin. He pulls out, turns her onto her knees, pushes the denim down. One hand spreads her cheeks. He licks, then presses in, slow at first. She reaches back and guides him where she wants him. When he leaves her ass and slides between her lips again, she tastes herself on him. The rhythm tightens. He sets the pace with his palm flat on her lower back. She stays open, eyes half shut, fingers curled in the cushion. He finishes across her mouth and cheeks. She swallows what she can, wipes the rest with two fingers, and licks them clean. Breathing evens. Steve sits down, pen in hand again. Emma tugs her shorts up, already wondering how soon she can book the next session.