Flash and Flesh

"Marcus, you're staring again, and it's starting to look less like professional curiosity and more like you're trying to undress me with your eyes."

I didn't look away. Why should I? Lena was leaning against the office kitchen counter, a glass of cheap champagne dangling from her fingers, wearing a red dress that clung to every curve like it had been painted on. The party hummed around us—colleagues laughing, the clink of glasses, someone's terrible playlist bleeding through the speakers.

"You wore that for me," I said, taking a slow sip of my whiskey. "Don't pretend you didn't."

"Maybe I wore it because I look fucking phenomenal in it." She grinned, sharp and knowing. "The shoot last week was just business. This is... something else."

Something else. Right. Last week I'd photographed her in a silk robe that kept slipping off one shoulder, and I'd had to adjust my own lighting rig just to hide the bulge in my jeans. She knew. She absolutely knew—she'd caught me staring at her collarbone and laughed, low and throaty, telling me to focus on her eyes.

Now her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide despite the dim office lighting. She set her glass down and walked toward me, hips swaying, and the crowd seemed to part for her like she was walking through water.

"Your office is unlocked," she murmured, stopping close enough that I could smell her perfume—something floral and warm, mixed with the faint scent of sweat. "I checked earlier."

I grabbed her wrist, pulled her through the crowd, and shut the door behind us.

The office was dark except for the glow of a computer screen. I pushed her against the desk, my hands sliding up her thighs, finding the hem of that red dress and bunching it higher. She gasped when my fingers brushed her bare skin.

"No panties," I breathed. "You planned this."

"Marcus." She grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've been thinking about your hands on me since you made me arch my back for that fifth shot. Now shut up and fuck me."

I didn't need to be told twice. My mouth found hers, hungry and demanding, and she moaned against my lips, her legs wrapping around my waist. I could feel the heat of her through my trousers, and I ground against her, making her whimper.

"Please," she breathed. "I need you inside me."

I fumbled with my belt, her impatient hands helping, and then my cock was free, thick and aching. She looked down, biting her lip, and I saw her eyes widen with anticipation.

"God, Marcus," she whispered. "That's..."

I didn't let her finish. I thrust into her in one smooth motion, and she cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders. She was so wet, so hot, her pussy clenching around me like she was trying to pull me deeper.

"Fuck," I groaned, burying myself to the hilt. "You feel incredible."

"So do you." She rocked her hips, meeting my thrusts. "Harder. Don't be gentle."

I wasn't. I gripped her hips, pounding into her with a rhythm that made the desk slam against the wall. She threw her head back, moaning loud enough that I had to cover her mouth with my hand.

"Quiet," I growled. "Unless you want the whole office to know."

Her eyes sparkled over my hand, and she licked my palm, slow and deliberate. I pulled my hand away and kissed her again, swallowing her moans as I drove into her deeper.

"Fuck, Marcus," she gasped, breaking the kiss. "I'm close. Don't stop."

I didn't. I angled my hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars, and she came with a shuddering cry, her inner walls milking my cock. The feeling pushed me over the edge, and I came inside her with a guttural groan, my body shaking with the force of it.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, tangled together on the desk. Then she laughed, soft and breathless.

"That was..."

"Unprofessional?" I suggested.

"Perfect." She kissed me again, gentle this time. "Now take me to breakfast."

---

The next morning, we sat in a tiny corner café, sunlight streaming through the windows. Lena wore one of my old T-shirts, her hair messy, no makeup. She looked beautiful.

"I have a shoot next week," she said, stirring her coffee. "A lingerie campaign."

"Oh?"

"Mm." She looked up at me, a playful smile on her lips. "I might need some... personal coaching. Before the real thing."

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing hers. "I'm free Thursday."

"Thursday works." She squeezed my hand, her eyes full of promise. "I'll wear the red dress again. Just for you."

I watched her over my coffee cup, the ghost of last night still burning on my skin, and I knew—this was just the beginning.

CATEGORIES: [Photographer, Office, Model, Just the Two of Us, Lingerie]