“Bridget!” Mark exclaimed as he swung the heavy mahogany door of his office open.
The last person he had expected to see on the other side was his wife. Giles had just left a few moments before to grab a file they needed for a case they were working on, and the polite knock had only registered to Mark as Giles returning. Instead of the portly, curly-haired man, Mark was staring into the bright blue eyes of Bridget.
Still gobsmacked, Mark allowed his eyes to drop down the front of her, and his suspicions piqued when he saw that she was wearing a calf-length trench coat, despite it being a beautifully sunny day outside. Her hair was long and loose around her shoulders, and she definitely had more make-up on than she normally did on her days off.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered, looking down the hallway in both directions before securing his hand on her hip to pull her into his office. “How did you get past the front desk?”
“Mark, they know me by now,” Bridget said with an eye roll. “You don’t work for MI5, for crying out loud.” She took a few more steps into Mark’s office, her hands tugging a bit tighter on the belt around her waist.
Behind her, Mark closed the door to his office and locked it. He turned around to where Bridget now stood in the middle of his office and gave her a smile.
“Fair enough. Why are you here, though? Who has the children?”
It was now Bridget’s turn to smile at him. “Shazzer has them. She said she’d watch them for a few hours while we... celebrated your birthday.”
Bridget now quirked an eyebrow in his direction, and for the first time, Mark noticed the vermillion Manolo Blahniks on her feet. He had bought them for her in Italy on their honeymoon, although part of the purchase was self indulgent. She only wore them on special occasions, or when she was trying to utterly destroy him.
Mark swallowed heavily, stuffing his hands in his pockets to avoid having them develop a mind of their own and doing something rash.
“I thought we were celebrating when I got home,” he said thickly.
“Oh, we are. There’s a roast and potatoes and mushy peas, all cooking away nicely. I even bought a bottle of red that I figured we could pop open once the kids are asleep. But Mark, your birthday will only fall on a Saturday every seven years.” Bridget took a step towards Mark, her hands no longer tightening the belt, but rather loosening it. “Since you refused to stay home, I figured I’d give you a proper birthday present since the kids aren’t here.”
“Bridget,” he said sternly, trying to hold onto what little resolve he had. “We can’t do this here.”
“Do what?” she asked innocently. She was now standing directly in front of him, her chin tilted up in his direction. Damn those eyes, Mark thought to himself as they sparkled up at him. Bridget was now smiling at him, making her eyes dance and her dimples deep, and Mark shoved his hands further into his pockets.
“You know what,” he hissed, trying to take a step back. “This is my place of employment. If...if someone were to walk in, I--”
Mark’s speech was cut short when the trench coat fell from Bridget’s shoulders. He choked on his words as his eyes bulged out of his head, and despite his best efforts, his hands sprung from his pockets and raked through his perfectly coiffed hair.
“ Bridget,” he hissed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She now stood in the middle of his office, wearing nothing but a beautiful red lace bra with matching panties and garter belt. The bralette had wide, silken straps that offered little to no support, meaning Bridget’s magnificent breasts were the sole purpose for the lace cups to be defying gravity. The satin of the garter belt shimmered in the lowlight of his office, and he swallowed thickly upon seeing the straps holding up a pair of sheer, thigh high stockings.
Somewhere between being utterly furious at her and practically drooling on himself, Mark’s traitorous hands defied his will and somehow ended up holding her waist. He was absentmindedly running his thumb along the soft skin of her hip, just above the belt, while his mouth worked in the opposite direction.
“You’re going to get me bloody well fired.”
“Mark, you’ve been here since the dawn of time. A little romp in your office with your wife isn’t going to get you fired.”
“I should have you arrested for public indecency.”
At this Bridget laughed, low and sultry. Unbidden, Mark felt his grip tighten on her waist.
“You’re a barrister, Mark, not sodding Sherlock Holmes.”
At this, she leaned forward and claimed his mouth. He let out a moan at the contact, and the erection he had been fighting against since her trench coat fell from her body sprang forth. He felt Bridget smile against his mouth as she undulated her hips against his hardening cock.
“It seems like other members of court aren’t as displeased as you are,” she said, letting her eyes dip down to Mark’s fly.
Mark took a steadying breath, letting go of Bridget’s hip to run his hand once more through his hair.
“C’mon, Mark...I’m not asking for much. I saw you lock the door, so some part of you must want to.”
Mark looked down at her where she was now smiling coyly up at him. He’d be lying if he said that part of him didn’t find the idea appealing. Not one to admit such frivolities, he had daydreamed on a number of occasions of taking Bridget over his desk, or fucking her up against the walls of his office from behind, his hand covering her mouth to keep her volume at bay. He cleared his throat.
“I want to, very much,” he murmured, his hands once again finding purchase on her waist. He pulled her a bit closer to him, and she went willingly, sliding her hands up and down the lapels of his suit jacket. “But I will not get undressed. If someone were to find us, I do not want to be found in an even more compromising position than the one I’m currently imagining.”
At this, Bridget smirked. “Oh, I don’t want you to undress.” She grabbed a bit more tightly at his jacket lapels, pulling him in to kiss him. Mark went willingly, allowing the tip of his tongue to explore her lips. Bridget pulled back a fraction, her breath tickling the end of his nose. “You know this suit does things to me.”
Bridget had voiced to him on several occasions how attractive she found the suit he was currently wearing. It was a dark charcoal color with a darker contrast of lines running horizontally and vertically, created a wide-checked plaid. It was far out of his comfort zone. He had purchased it after some coddling from Bridget, and he hadn’t been disappointed by it yet. Whether he wore it to work or dinner, it somehow always ended up crumpled on the floor of their bedroom by nightfall.
Taking his massive hand in her smaller one, Bridget led Mark over to the leather sofa he kept in his office for clients. Rounding his back to the couch, she gently pushed him against it, and Mark felt himself willingly sink onto the leather. He unbuttoned the front his suit jacket and let it hang open. Placing his hands on either side of his thighs, he shifted uncomfortably at the thought of what was about to take place.
Bridget stood in front of him, a smirk on her face as her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders. She leaned forward to loosen the tie around his neck, sliding it up and over his head before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Mark audibly swallowed, his fingers now drumming against the leather of the couch nervously. Bridget slotted one of her legs between Mark’s knees, willing them to open wider. Mark looked up at her and swallowed again.
Standing between his thighs, Bridget bent forward again to undo the button of his trousers and unzip the fly. His erection was hardly concealable at this point, and it proudly tented his boxers straight out of his trousers. Mark’s eyes glanced down at it, a blush rising on his cheeks at the sight of it, then glanced back up to where Bridget stood. He could see a flush blooming across her chest as she noticed his arousal, and he shifted once more to try and ease some of the strain of his cock.
Bridget lifted one leg and placed her knee next to Mark’s thigh before placing the other knee on the opposite side. Mark’s hands now flew to her waist, his grip on her tight enough to be bruising. Without a word, Bridget dipped down to capture Mark’s mouth with her own, her own hands coming up to cup his jaw and bury themselves into his hair. Mark kissed her back enthusiastically, his hands pushing her hips down towards his erection. The tip of his cock was now pushing out of the opening of his boxers, threatening to escape completely if he moved in any direction.
Bridget allowed her hips to pivot towards him, and Mark felt the satin of her knickers brush against his tip. He gasped into her mouth at the sensation, his head falling back a fraction of an inch onto the couch. Bridget was grinning above him, her hips still teasing sweet little noises out of him. She pitched forward, burying her face into the warm skin of his neck. She licked and nibbled her way slowly from behind his ear, down to his pulsepoint. With a gasp, she pulled back and ground down onto his lap, her nails raking along his scalp.
“Shuck off your trousers,” she breathed.
“Shuck? Really? That’s the word you use?”
“Shut up and do it,” she breathed, sliding her hands up underneath his shirt to hook her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. She was kissing him again--probably to shut him up--but he welcomed the distraction. Without breaking from her mouth, Mark lifted his hips and pulled his trousers and boxers off in one motion, leaving them straining against the opening of his legs.
Mark’s erection now stood between them, harder than he’d been in weeks. He took himself into one hand and used the other to pull Bridget’s knickers to one side. She lowered herself down towards him, and Mark guided himself into her. Bridget let out a breathy, “Oh, Mark,” as she sank down onto him, and Mark couldn’t stop the strangled groan that escaped his mouth. He placed his hands on the back of her thighs, sliding his fingers underneath the strap of the garter belt and squeezing her arse appreciatively. She was kissing him again, hungry and hot against his teeth and lips. He kissed her back, his thumbs brushing the soft skin of her arse while his fingertips toyed with the top of her stockings.
Bridget started to roll her hips, and the sensation punched the breath from Mark’s lungs. He leaned his head back again, breaking away from her mouth to take a ragged gasp of air. Bridget’s hands were now running up and down the planes of his chest underneath the suit jacket, her nails raking lines against the cotton of his shirt. Mark squeezed one of her arse cheeks, the entirety of it fitting in the palm of his hand, while his other thumb found her clit through the soaked fabric of her panties. He rubbed a teasing circle against the sensitive spot, and Bridget arched into him, her hair tumbling behind her like a goddess.
“Fuck, Mark,” she breathed, her head rolling forward to look into his face. She had a beautiful pink flush across her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled more than he’d ever thought was possible. She continued to roll her hips against his, her hands coming up to cup his face as she looked down at him with warmth and affection. “You’re bloody incredible.”
“I could say the same for you,” he murmured before leaning forward to take one of her hardened nipples between his teeth. He teased it through the lace of her bra, taking pleasure in the sounds that came from Bridget as he did so. He continued his ministrations, feeling Bridget thrust against him as she made breathy little sounds into his ear. The sound drove him wild, and she knew it.
“‘M gonna...come,” she said in a strangled voice. Mark could feel his own crest rising as Bridget’s hips started to stutter against his, and it wasn’t long until she was shouting out his name as she took him completely. Mark grabbed onto her hips, holding her tightly as he continued to thrust into her, his own orgasm following just milliseconds after hers.
“For God’s sake, Bridget,” he panted into her hair, his grip loosening on her hips to wrap his arms around her waist. Bridget slumped against him, the warmth of her body pressing against his. “Think you...think you might’ve killed me.”
He felt Bridget laugh against his neck, her nose nuzzling into the soft spot behind his ear as her smile pressed against his neck. He hadn’t realized what a grip she had had on his lapels, and he could feel her loosening her hands on the fabric to come up and around his neck as she pulled herself up and off of him. Tugging her closer, he buried his head into the crook of her neck, not caring about the state of his jacket or the fact that his trousers were now pooled around his ankles.
They sat like that for several seconds, catching their breath and basking in the afterglow, when there was a sudden knock on the door. Bridget sat straight up, her eyes wide and panicked as she looked down at Mark. In a swift motion, he lifted his hand and pressed the palm against Bridget’s mouth, his other pointer finger coming up to his own lips in a silent shhh. Over the top of his hand, Bridget narrowed her eyes at him.
The person on the other side of the door knocked one more time, and they both held their breath, Mark’s hand still covering Bridget’s mouth. It wasn’t long after that they finally heard the person’s retreating footsteps, and Mark felt the tension bleed out of his body. Bridget sagged forward against him, her forehead pressing against his.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
“Agreed,” he whispered, lifting his lips to press them against her brow.
Beneath his hands, he felt goosebumps spring up across Bridget’s skin, and she let out a shiver against him. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms and back, his brow furrowed as he looked up at her.
“Alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine, just a bit chilly.” Bridget kissed him soundly one more time before standing up. She crossed the room to where her trench coat lay across the floor, and Mark couldn’t help the appreciative moan he let out when she bent down to pick it up. She was an absolute vision in red, her hair golden in the light of his office as she shook it out behind her. Her legs were long and shapely, the curve of her arse tempting him from across the room.
Within seconds, it all disappeared behind the tan fabric of her coat. He blinked stupidly, realizing that he was still sitting on the couch in his office with his shirt halfway unbuttoned, his suit jacket a mess, and his pants around his ankles. Seeing him, Bridget let out a laugh that sent a spark straight down Mark’s spine.
“You look absolutely wrecked,” she said with a tilt of her head.
Mark scowled at her as he stood up. He bent over to pull his pants up, saying, “You know what those shoes do to me…”
“Mmmm, I do,” Bridget replied. She walked over to the couch and picked up his tie. Turning around, she watched as he tucked his shirt back into his trousers and buttoned his fly. With deft fingers, Bridget flipped the collar of his shirt up to slide the silk tie back around his neck. She buttoned the top two buttons, the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrated, and Mark couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across his face as he watched her. Bridget tied his tie back into the half-Windsor he preferred, patted the front of it, and looked up at him fondly.
“All reassembled,” she said.
“Thank you,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her again. Bridget hummed happily into his mouth, her hands once again finding purchase on his lapels.
When Mark broke away, he looked down at her and smiled. It really was stupid to come into work on a Saturday, especially on his fifty-fifth birthday. He pulled her in a bit closer and dropped his mouth to her ear.
“So, there’s a roast, potatoes, and mushy peas waiting for me at home?”
Bridget giggled against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “And a bottle of red wine, and maybe even an ice cream cake,” she said.
“Well, this is all very tempting,” he hummed against her temple. “Perhaps I’ll call it early and come home.”
Bridget pulled back in surprise, her eyes searching his face for some trace of sarcasm or dishonesty.
“Mark, are you serious?”
“Very much so.”
Instead of responding, Bridget simply threw her arms around his neck, knocking the wind out of him with its force. He laughed against her, burying his face in her hair as he held her close.
“Oh, thank god,” she said. “It was awful riding here on the Tube like this.”
It was now Mark’s turn to pull back in surprise.
“You did what?!”
Bridget smiled at him sheepishly.
“Couldn’t find my keys,” she said with a shrug.
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, a steadying breath slowly letting out from his mouth.
“Right. We’ll talk about that later,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her again.
Bridget smirked at him.
“Happy birthday, Mark,” she said.
“Thank you, darling,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.” He walked past her to grab his briefcase and overcoat, only to feel Bridget pinch his arse cheek. He glared at her over his shoulder.
“Looks like there’s life in the old dog yet,” she quipped with a wink and a smirk.
All Mark could do was roll his eyes.