She teases you about your work, her fingers trailing along your arm as she insists you need a break—her kind of break. The way she looks at you, all hunger and knowing smiles, makes it impossible to focus on anything but her. Her hands wander lower, coaxing out the hardness she knows she’s responsible for, and her voice drops to a whisper, daring you to resist. The second her lips brush your skin, all thoughts of deadlines vanish—there’s only her warmth, her touch, the way she takes control. She doesn’t ask twice before claiming what she wants, and you’re more than happy to give in.
