Whispers
"I have dreamed every word you whisper." His lips quirked slightly as he rubbed his thumb over the inscription on the back of the watch. "You dream about trade deficits and foreign relations too?"
"More like domestic relations." She closed his office blinds.
"Here, CJ?" His question and dour tone had become part of their routine.
"It's our last night in this building." She stepped out of her shoes next to his desk and smiled that little smile he knew too well. "And we really should go out with a bang."
"The door locked?" He removed the phone receiver from its cradle. Nothing was going to interrupt this performance.
"Of course." Pushing his chair back just enough, she hiked up her skirt and sat on his desk, placing her feet on the chair arms.
He watched her eyes close as he stroked his hands up her inner thighs, sheer material followed by bare skin and...just her. "You been like this all day?" he groaned, shifting in his seat as his pants shrank another size.
"Wouldn't you like to know." She shut her knees, trapping his hands, and leaned forward to unzip him.
He glanced down to check it hadn't turned blue. And back up as her hair brushed across his face.
"Whisper to me," she breathed against his lips.