A cover as an employee of the Smithsonian Institution allowed Annie to upgrade to business class on some of the ridiculously long international flights she took, but it didn't help with the stress of driving for two hours from an airport in Baltimore to the middle of Washington, through traffic, in the middle of rush hour, when all she wanted was to just get home already. She had a killer headache, and she was tired.
And then she was - not home home, quite, but something that felt deciedly homeish. It was a hotel room. That was a little embarrassing, but it was a hotel that had shielded the affairs of Eliot Spitzer and even Bill Clinton before him. Thank God she wasn't the one paying for it, though.
As she slid her keycard into the doorknob slot and watched the little green light go on, she checked her watch. By some miracle, she still had fifteen minutes. Annie stalked over to the little sink a little petulantly and began to fumble in her purse. "Come on, Advil..."
Then she heard the snort.
"Off your game today, Annie?"
Annie squared her shoulders carefully, leaving her purse on the counter, and lowered her head. She could just see the woman's black, sensibly low heels. "Sorry, ma'am."
"Long flight?" asked Joan.
"Longer drive," Annie said. Joan liked that she had some lip. Annie liked that Joan let her keep it.
She watched Joan walk over toward her, stop right next to her, and turn toward the sink, but she was broken in; she didn't look up. She didn't look up when Joan reached over to take Annie's purse, rifled through it, and retrieved the little bottle of Advil, or when Joan took a glass from the cabinet by the mirror and filled it three-fingers high with water from the tap. She could tell, though. Joan always moved with such efficiency and precision.
"Look up," Joan commanded, and Annie did. "Mouth open," Joan commanded, and Annie did that too.
Joan's deft fingers brushed, not accidentally, against her lips when she poured the two little caplets into Annie's mouth, and again when she followed it with a single swallow's worth of water from the glass. Annie closed her mouth to swallow, then lowered her eyes again.
"Good," said Joan. She gave Annie a once-over, studying first the stiletto black heels, then the knee-length black pencil skirt, then the ruffled white blouse. "I like the getup," she said. "When you picked it out, were you thinking how you'd be here at the end of the day?"
"Yes, ma'am," Annie said.
"Take the blouse off. Leave everything else."
Annie nodded. Her fingers shook a little when she reached for the buttons. It was just this damned headache, hopefully soon to fade. Her hands never shook otherwise. As she pulled it off her shoulders, she could feel Joan's eyes on her breasts, supported by a lacy white bra that did hardly any supporting or, in fact, concealing. But she reveled in those eyes. That was why she had a bra like that, really.
"We're going to make a quiet night of it. Go run me a bath."
So Annie did that, leaving her skirt and her bra just the way they were.
"By the way," Joan called from the other room, "You're supposed to be a secret agent. We're going to have to work on your awareness."
Annie blushed, though Joan couldn't see.
When, a few minutes later, the older woman entered the bathroom, she was completely nude. The breath went out of Annie all at once. Joan smiled. She was carrying a file folder - one Annie recognized.
When she got her voice back, Annie said, "I don't think you're supposed to take that out of Langley, ma'am."
Joan reached out one arm to balance against Annie. Annie was looking at the floor again, so she couldn't see the way she was sure her mistress's eyebrows had risen, but she caught the amusement in her voice. "You'll just have to report me, won't you?"
Joan hissed pleasantly as she lowered one foot and then the other into the scalding water, and then began to gingerly sit herself in the tub. When the process was finished, she said, "Bring the mat over here and kneel. I want to talk to you."
As Annie obeyed, Joan flipped open the file folder and began to read.
"Operation Haystack," she said.
Annie stayed kneeling on the mat.
"As long as you're there, you might as well make yourself useful," Joan said. She nodded at the rack on the side of the tub. "Soap's over there."
And, well, Annie was hardly one to turn down a chance to run her hands over her mistress's body.
"Anyway," Joan said, as the soap is run over her shoulders. "Operation Haystack. Arthur does have such a way with words, doesn't he?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Annie, running the soap down to Joan's breasts.
Joan closed her eyes, leaning back in the tub. "Do that again," she directed. It wasn't a hard order to follow, and she liked the approving growl Joan made afterward too. Then Joan opened her eyes and went back to reading the file. "I'm getting tired of Arthur poaching you for all his little projects."
"It's not my fault he likes me, ma'am."
"It's your fault you keep impressing him so much," Joan contradicted.
Annie felt herself blush uncomfortably at that praise, and Joan reached over abruptly and pulled her in for a demanding kiss. Annie melted into it automatically as Joan conquered her mouth. When it was finally over, only long practice permitted her to ignore the feeling between her thighs and resume washing her mistress's body.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," the older woman told her. "But I'm going to need to have a talk with Arthur. It was more than a week this time."
As much fun as she'd had in Prague, Annie tended to agree. And she knew Joan knew that those little possessive flourishes could make her knees buckle.
Joan held out the file. "Put this somewhere the water won't ruin it." When Annie took it, Joan leaned back and dunked her hair into the water, exposing most of her legs in the process. Annie tried not to stare and didn't even come close to succeeding.
"Annie," Joan chided. "The file."
"Right." Annie shook her head to clear out the image. "I mean, yes ma'am."
Joan laughed. "And then get back to work. You haven't even gotten to the good parts yet."
Annie swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
For several more minutes, there were no sounds except Joan's (and, occasionally, Annie's) contented sighs. Finally, the water cooling, she shifted. "Help me up."
Annie offered her shoulder for Joan to balance against as she lifted heself up and out of the tub, and toweled her off afterward.
"One might think you have a thing for my breasts, Annie," Joan said after yet another pass of the towel over a long-dry part of her body.
"No need to apologize," Joan said. "In fact, I've decided not to wait until we get back to the bed."
"Uh-" said Annie, and then she got shoved back against the wall and it turned into more of an oomph. And then Joan was kissing her again, so she just let that happen. And then Joan put her hand right down Annie's skirt, and she felt Joan's laugh against her mouth.
"No panties," Joan said, teasing her slit. "You really were thinking of me. And so wet. I've barely touched you yet."
Annie tried to say something, but then Joan's fingers ghosted over her clit and she realized she was supposed to shut up now.
"Have you been wet all day, Annie?"
The very tip of Joan's finger slid just inside her, and then out again. Annie nodded.
"Poor baby. I bet you woke up this morning wet. You were thinking you were finally going to come back to me. Am I right?"
Annie nodded again against Joan's shoulder, where it still pressed her against the freezing wall.
"Mm-hmm," Joan hummed against her neck. Annie's head fell back and collided with the wall a little too hard, but she didn't mind. Her hands pressed back against it, seeking purchase. And then Joan finally put a finger inside her.
"Mine," said Joan. Annie nodded. She wanted to say it - yours - but she couldn't find her breath. And Joan slid another finger inside her, anyway, so it was a lost cause.
"And you've been waiting all week," Joan said, "Because you're a good girl and I told you not to come unless I said, right?"
The tip of Joan's wrist brushed her clit as Joan's fingers kept doing that pushing, pumping, good thing.
"Say it," Joan said.
"Yes, ma'am," Annie whispered.
Joan pressed her wrist back into her clit. Annie stared at Joan's face, totally in control, and her naked damp body, and then nothing at all really. Joan pressed again, and her fingers kept going.
"Yes," Annie said again. She felt herself tightening. "Yes, yes," she said, and she was cresting, and she felt something in her release that had been building for days. "Yes," she said.
"Good girl," Joan said. "Now-"
And then Joan's phone rang in the bedroom. Joan glanced toward the door - still open, because it was their hotel room and they could enjoy little things like leaving the doors open as they walked around in all their nakedness. Groaning, she lowered Annie to the floor. Annie realized she was incredibly tired. Had been since she got off the plane, really, but she had needed this to make it complete.
"I'll be right back," Joan said. Annie nodded, but it looked like Joan was already gone. The tile was cold, she thought idly. Also, she was so happy.
From the bedroom she heard Joan's nonspecific curse, and then the older woman came back in. She liked the lines of Joan's body, she thought. She wasn't twenty anymore, but she sure knew how to make her look work. "Come on, Annie. Let's get you into bed."
"Yes, ma'am," she said.
As they stumbled toward the this-is-why-we-do-this-at-a-four-star-hotel bed, Joan continued, "I'm sorry, Annie. That was work. I have to-"
"It's fine," Annie said.
Joan laid her down in the bed carefully, unzipped her skirt, and pulled the covers over her. Then she tried again. "I was going to ask you about Prague. I didn't want to-"
"It's fine," Annie insisted.
Her mistress gave her another kiss, but not a demanding one like before. This one was simple, and Annie could read the gratitude in it. "I want you to sleep here tonight. You don't have to come in to work until noon tomorrow. You listening?"
"Yes'm," slurred Annie.
"Good." There was a pause. "I'm going to lay some things out I want you to wear tomorrow. Don't wear anything else. You understand?"
Annie tried to respond, but she was already dozing. Nevertheless, she did feel those two lips being pressed mostly-chastely against her forehead just once before she slipped into total, rewarding blackness.