调色板与肌肤

“You’re staring again.”

I didn’t bother to look away. “You’re the one who decided to wear that dress to a company party, Lyra. What did you expect?”

Lyra tilted her head, her silver hair catching the cheap office lights like liquid mercury. Her ears — those impossibly elegant, pointed ears — peeked through the strands, and I’d spent the last three months drawing every inch of her. Every curve. Every shadow. And still, tonight, in that deep green slip of a dress that barely covered her thighs, she looked like something I’d invented in my horniest fever dream.

She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the champagne on her breath and something else — something floral and warm, like night-blooming jasmine.

“I expected you to be professional, Mira.”

“I am professional.” I let my eyes drop to her collarbone, then lower, where the dress dipped. “I’m just also observant.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that did things to my spine. “You’re also drunk.”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t. But I wanted her to think I had an excuse.

The party hummed around us — colleagues laughing, someone’s terrible playlist bleeding through the speakers. Nobody was looking at us. That was the thing about office parties: everyone was too busy pretending to have fun to notice two women standing too close, talking too low.

Lyra’s hand found my wrist. Her fingers were cool, elegant, with nails painted a deep, glossy burgundy.

“跟我来。”

She didn’t ask. She just pulled, and I followed, because I’d been following this woman’s lead since the first day she walked into my studio and draped herself over a velvet chaise like she owned the place.

The storage room was small, cramped, full of boxes and old office furniture. The door clicked shut behind us, and the noise of the party became a distant hum, like a radio in another room.

“Lock it,” Lyra said.

I did.

She was already pressing me against the door, her body warm and impossibly soft against mine. Her mouth found my neck, and I gasped — actually gasped, like a fucking virgin — when her teeth grazed my skin.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she murmured against my throat. “Watching you watch me. Knowing exactly what you were picturing.”

“Yeah?” My voice came out rough. “What was I picturing?”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her violet eyes half-lidded and wicked. “You were picturing me on my knees.”

Fuck.

I grabbed her hips, pulled her flush against me. “You’re not wrong.”

She smiled — that slow, knowing smile I’d painted a dozen times but never quite captured. Then she sank down, her hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher.

“I want to feel you,” she said, her breath hot against my panties. “I want to taste you.”

I threaded my fingers through her silver hair, so soft, so impossibly fine. “Then do it.”

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down. I stepped out of them, and she pressed her face against me, inhaling deep, and the sound she made — this little desperate whimper — nearly undid me.

Her tongue was hot, flat, dragging through my wetness from bottom to top, and I bucked against her mouth.

“Fuck, Lyra.”

She laughed against my pussy, the vibration making my knees weak. “Shhh. Someone might hear.”

I bit my lip hard, but she didn’t give me a chance to stay quiet. Her tongue found my clit, flicking fast, then slow, then fast again, like she was teasing a melody out of me. I gripped the door handle for support, my other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer.

“Yes,” I hissed. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She ate me like I was the last meal she’d ever have, her tongue dipping inside me, then sliding up to circle my clit, then pressing flat and sucking. My hips rolled against her face, chasing the feeling, and I could feel the orgasm building, hot and tight in my belly.

“I’m close,” I warned.

She looked up at me, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with hunger. “I know. Cum for me, Mira. I want to taste it.”

That did it. I shattered, crying out her name, my body shaking against the door as she lapped me up, gentle now, soothing, until I was trembling and spent.

I pulled her up and kissed her, tasting myself on her lips. She moaned into my mouth, pressing her body against mine.

“My turn,” I said.

I turned her around, bent her over a dusty desk. Her dress rode up, revealing her perfect ass, the curve of her spine, the tips of her ears flushing pink.

“No panties?” I teased.

“I told you,” she said, looking back at me over her shoulder. “I was expecting this.”

I slid my hand between her legs. She was soaked, her pussy slick and hot, and I groaned at the feel of her.

“你湿透了。”

“那是你的错。”

I circled her clit with my thumb, and she whimpered, pressing her ass back against my hand.

“Please, Mira.”

“求什么？”

“Fuck me.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I positioned myself behind her, ran my cock — I didn’t have a cock, but in that moment, with the heat and the want and the way she was arching for me, I would’ve given anything to fill her — no. I used my fingers instead, sliding two inside her, feeling her tight, warm, clenching around me.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Like that.”

I pumped into her, fast and deep, my other hand gripping her hip. The desk creaked beneath us. The party hummed on, oblivious.

“Harder,” she demanded.

I gave her harder. I curled my fingers inside her, hitting that spot that made her cry out, and I pressed my thumb against her clit, rubbing in circles.

She came with a sharp, bitten-off scream, her body convulsing around my hand, and I held her through it, feeling every pulse.

We collapsed together, her leaning back against me, both of us breathing hard.

“Well,” she said, her voice hoarse. “That was unprofessional.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Extremely.”

She turned in my arms, her eyes soft now, her smile genuine. “Same time next week? I have a new pose in mind.”

“I have a new canvas in mind.”

She kissed me, slow and sweet, and then we smoothed our clothes, composed ourselves, and walked back into the party like nothing had happened.

No one noticed. No one knew.

But in the morning, over coffee, she looked at me across the table with those violet eyes and a smirk that said everything.

“You know,” she said, “you never did finish that painting of me.”

“I’ll finish it tonight.”

“Promises, promises.”

CATEGORIES: [Elf girl, Office, Fingering, Lesbians, Artist]