The Spill

The office party was a sea of cheap wine and luke-warm chatter, but all I could see was her. She was pinned against the far wall, laughing at something her boss said, and the red bikini top under her sheer white shirt was doing things to my composure. I didn't even know her name, but I knew I had to.

I grabbed two glasses of champagne, my eyes never leaving her. As I navigated the crowd, a clumsy intern bumped my elbow, and the entire flute of bubbly went cascading down the front of her shirt. She gasped, the white fabric turning instantly translucent, clinging to the curves of her breasts and the bright crimson of the bikini beneath.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry," I stammered, grabbing a handful of napkins.

She looked down at herself, then back at me, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips. "Well, that's one way to get my attention." Her voice was low, smoky. "I'm Lena. And you owe me a drink."

"I'm Mark. And I owe you a new shirt."

"Maybe you can help me clean up," she said, her eyes never leaving mine. She tilted her head toward a hallway leading to the private restrooms.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I followed her. The door clicked shut behind us, the sounds of the party muffled to a dull roar. The small room was lit by a single, warm bulb, and the air was thick with the scent of her perfume and spilled alcohol.

She turned to face me, her back against the sink. "So, Mark. How are you going to fix this?" She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, letting it fall open. The red bikini top was a flimsy scrap of fabric, her nipples clearly visible, hard peaks pressing against the thin material. Her skin was damp and glistening.

"I can think of a few ways," I breathed, stepping closer. I reached out, my fingers tracing the edge of the wet fabric. She shivered, her breath catching.

"Show me," she whispered.

I didn't need a second invitation. I pulled her to me, my mouth crashing onto hers. It was hungry, desperate. She tasted of champagne and something sweeter. My hands roamed her back, finding the clasp of the bikini top. With a deft flick, it came loose, and I pulled the soaked fabric away, revealing her breasts. They were perfect, full and heavy, her nipples dark and erect.

"Jesus, Lena," I groaned, burying my face in her neck, licking the sweet, salty trail of champagne from her skin. She moaned, arching her back, pushing her tits into my chest.

"Mark," she gasped, her hands fumbling with my belt. "I need you inside me. Now."

I yanked her skirt down, and she stepped out of it, standing in just her red lace panties, the crotch already dark with her wetness. I hooked my fingers under the elastic and pulled them down her thighs. She was shaved, her pussy glistening and swollen.

I dropped to my knees, my hands gripping her ass, and buried my face between her legs. I licked her from her tight hole to her slick clit, tasting her for the first time. She cried out, her fingers tangling in my hair, grinding her hips against my mouth. I sucked her clit hard, and she came with a shuddering gasp, her juices flooding my tongue.

I stood up, my cock aching, straining against my trousers. I freed it, the thick head slick with pre-cum. I lifted her onto the edge of the sink, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy was dripping, open and inviting.

"Look at me," I commanded. Her eyes met mine, dark and full of lust. I lined myself up and thrust into her in one smooth, brutal motion. She was so tight, so wet, a perfect, searing heat that made me see stars.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" she screamed, her nails digging into my shoulders.

I fucked her hard, pounding into her against the porcelain, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the small room. Her tits bounced with every thrust, and I couldn't resist leaning down to suck one into my mouth, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. She was so close again, her inner walls fluttering around my cock.

"Mark, I'm gonna cum again," she panted, her head thrown back.

"Cum for me, baby," I growled, driving into her even deeper. She shattered around me, her body convulsing, a guttural moan tearing from her throat. The feeling of her climax triggered my own. I pulled out just in time, my release spilling hot and thick across her stomach and the red fabric of the bikini top lying discarded on the floor.

We stood there, panting, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. I reached for some paper towels, gently wiping the mess from her skin.

"So," she said, her voice soft and breathless. "That was... a hell of a way to fix a spill."

I laughed, pulling her close. "I'm glad I bumped into you."

"Me too," she murmured against my chest. "Though I think I'm gonna need a new bikini."