Sometimes Michaela thinks she spends her life in a constant state of irritation and sexual frustration.
One, obviously, is exacerbated by the other.
She’s having a bit of a dry streak. Okay – not a bit. A hell of a dry streak. As dry as the fucking Sahara, while dry is the exact opposite of what she seems to be at all hours of the day. She hasn’t had sex since Christmas, when Aiden had postponed the wedding and they’d sort of kind of ended things.
It’s March. She’s about ready to crawl out of her skin.
Between work, classes, and homework, she barely has time to sleep, let along go out and meet guys at bars to take home. Even if she did, they’d probably be drunk and sloppy, and – like most college guys – last all of 0.5 seconds before finishing and then falling asleep on top of her. She does have the time to get herself off, but no matter how many times she does, this weird, pent-up pressure inside her just keeps building, building, building, like a steam pipe that’s about to burst but never can.
She’s borderline desperate at this point. And Michaela Pratt is not desperate, and she is not the shooting star and she sure as hell is not wound too tight.
“She’s wound too tight. One of us needs to get that girl laid, and fast.”
Everyone’s heads snap up to look at Connor in surprise. Wes frowns. Laurel’s mouth drops open. Asher is the only one who doesn’t look perturbed.
Noticing the strange looks they’re giving him, Connor continues, “What? She just got done screaming at us for like fifteen minutes for not writing up the prep questions fast enough. That’s the kind of stuff only people who aren’t getting any do.”
They’re sitting in the living room, in their customary circle with case files in their laps. Michaela had stormed out a minute ago after the aforementioned rant – which, according to Connor’s running tally, had been her sixth this week. Laurel had long ago learned to take Michaela’s crazy in stride, but even she has to admit that it seems to be getting exponentially worse as of late.
Not that she thinks this is a valid solution, though.
“I really don’t think that’s any of our business,” Laurel mutters dismissively.
“Yeah,” Wes pipes up in agreement. “It isn’t.”
Connor raises an eyebrow. “Well I, for one, don’t wanna take it anymore. So. Volunteers?”
“Volunteers for what?” Laurel hisses in disbelief. “To get her laid?”
Connor shrugs. “As much as I would like to get laid for a good cause, I can’t. Dick is the only thing that does it for me.”
He looks to Asher, who shakes his head. “Woah, man, no way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s hot, but I’m not dipping my stick in crazy. That didn’t end well for Asher Jr. last time.”
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation,” Laurel sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking back to her work.
Connor and Asher turn to Wes, who blinks. “Wha – me? I-I can’t cheat on Rebecca, you guys know that.”
“True dat,” Asher agrees with a mouthful of chips. “She’s almost as crazy. Might end up like that guy whose wife cut off his ween. And that shit doesn’t reattach.”
There’s a long pause. Laurel, whose face is still buried in her paperwork, is grateful, assuming they’ve let it go – until she looks up, and finds all three of them staring at her. Even Wes.
“What?” she demands. “What are you looking at me for? I can’t do it; I’m a girl-”
“Please,” Connor jokes. “You went to Brown. Every girl from Brown experiments at least once.”
“I didn’t!” Laurel spits, although it’s a lie, and a bad one at that.
She’d experimented with girls more than once at Brown, and she’d liked it – a lot – but she’s sure as hell not admitting that to Connor. She’ll never hear the end of it, from him or Asher.
Connor, for his part, doesn’t look like he believes her for a second.
Baffled, she looks to Wes. “I mean, seriously? You think this is a good idea too?”
Wes shrugs, withering underneath her gaze. “I mean… she has been acting really crazy lately.”
Laurel gapes at him. She can feel the blush practically sizzling her cheeks.
“I can’t believe you guys. A-and even if I wanted to-” Asher’s eyes double in size as if he’s just won the lottery, and so she quickly adds, “-which I don’t, she had a fiancé! A guy fiancé. She’d never go for it.”
“Oh my God,” Asher leans in, crunching his chips obnoxiously. “This is too good to be true.”
They ignore him.
“When people are horny and desperate like she is, they’ll go for just about anything,” Connor informs her nonchalantly. “Both guys and girls. Trust me. Look, I’ll give you copies of all my outlines for the exam.”
“You’re trying to bribe me?”
Connor rolls his eyes. “If I have to listen to another of her half an hour-long rants about the trophy, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. You want me to throw in a dollar amount too?”
Laurel just stares at Connor. She can’t believe this. She can’t believe him.
And she especially can’t believe herself, because part of her is actually considering it.
“So uh,” Asher breaks in. “If this goes down, like for realz, is it cool if I maybe come by and catch the show?”
Laurel slams down the folder in her lap onto the coffee table and stalks out of the room, ignoring Connor’s call of “Come on! Take one for the team!” after her.
It’s past midnight, and Michaela is still at the fucking office.
She is running on fumes at this point, the caffeine in her system having dried up hours ago. She’s been sorting through case files for what feels like forever, and at this point the words are all blurring together into an unintelligible mess of black and white squiggles. Her mascara, which she’s had on all day, feels crusty on her eyelashes.
A headache has burrowed itself into her skull from focusing on the tiny print for so long. Almost everyone else has gone home for the night – except Laurel, who disappeared into the kitchen a few minutes ago to make her umpteenth visit to the coffee pot.
Suddenly, something in her snaps. She’s had enough; enough of being unpaid slave labor for a woman who never troubles herself to give them so much as a ‘thank you,’ enough of reading until her eyes burn and her brain physically aches. She’s done.
She shoots to her feet and makes for her purse, only to promptly knock over a mountain of files in the process. They scatter all over the floor, and she gives an irritated half-shriek, half-growl, throwing down the papers in her hands as well.
Perfect. Fucking perfect.
She hears footsteps approach her from behind and stop. “You okay?”
Michaela’s head snaps up, and she finds Laurel standing there, with a mug of coffee in her hands and a frown on her face.
“Do I look okay?” she snaps. “I dropped these files all over the floor. My head is pounding, and I have a test tomorrow I haven’t had any time to study for, because I’ve been holed up here, working for zero cents an hour doing grunt work for a woman who doesn’t give two shits about the fact that we have lives outside of this office! I – ugh! I can’t take this anymore!”
Much to her surprise, Laurel sets down her coffee and helps her collect the papers. “Here. I got it.”
With a sigh, Michaela hauls herself to her feet and plods over to the couch, sinking down onto it like a lead weight and massaging her temples. After organizing the files and setting them aside, Laurel approaches her hesitantly, like she’s a bomb that might explode at any moment.
“Is something going on?” she asks softly. Michaela narrows her eyes.
“I mean, you just seem really stressed,” Laurel continues, folding her arms. “All the time. And you’ve been yelling at everyone all week.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have to yell if everyone here wasn’t such a dumbass.”
Laurel raises her eyebrows and backs away. “O…kay.”
“Fine. Do you wanna know the truth?”
Laurel nods. “I guess so.”
“I need to have sex. So. Bad.” She exhales sharply, and gets to her feet to locate her purse. “I can’t even remember the last time I had an orgasm. Like, a real, good, quality orgasm! I’m going crazy! I feel so… pathetic.”
“So that’s all it would take to get you to stop yelling at all of us?” Laurel clarifies. “If someone got you off?”
There’s a look of contemplation on Laurel’s face that Michaela can’t quite place. She chooses to ignore it.
“Well, I wouldn’t completely stop, but it would definitely help.”
“Why not just go out? Meet someone at a bar?”
Michaela rolls her eyes. “The bars around here are full to the brim of drunk frat boys who only want to stick it in you a few times before passing out. I can do better myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s anyone around here who could…”
Michaela drifts off. Laurel just raises her eyebrows without a word. There’s a knowing look in her eyes, and… and…
“What-” Michaela’s brow furrows in confusion. “What are you…? What, you mean… you?”
For a moment, Laurel doesn’t answer. Then, she sighs. “If it’ll get you to stop screaming at everyone, then yes. I’ll… take one for the team.”
Holy hell. She did not see that coming.
If she actually manages to pull this off, she should so get the trophy.
Even in Laurel’s wildest dreams, she never would’ve imagined doing this. Offering herself up to Michaela Pratt to… what? Be her sex slave?
What the hell is she doing?
She has no clue. Pragmatically speaking, this makes sense: if Michaela gets laid, the quality of hers and everyone else’s lives will improve drastically. She isn’t really doing this because of Connor, even though he had been the one to plant the idea in her head, where it had stewed for days.
Or maybe, it had been there all along. Maybe… she’d wanted Michaela all along. Michaela, with her long legs and gentle vanilla perfume and beautiful skin that looks so soft that she’d wanted to kiss it almost the first time she’d ever seen her. Michaela, with her sharp tongue and ambition, and that blazing fire in her eyes that’s terrifying in an arousing kind of way.
Laurel stands there in silence, trying to gauge Michaela’s reaction. She half-expects to be screamed at, insulted – hell, maybe even slapped, but Michaela does none of those things. She can see the wheels in her mind turning, and that’s when Laurel realizes what’s going on.
She’s considering it. Actually, honest-to-God considering it.
“I…” Michaela clears her throat. “I didn’t know you were… a lesbian.”
Laurel shrugs, somehow managing to maintain a façade of casualness about this totally non-casual situation. “I’m not.”
“Then what are you?”
“I don’t know. I never really put myself in a box.”
“So have you ever… you know. With a girl?”
Michaela looks flustered. Not disgusted or appalled, just flustered – and not really in a bad way, either. She’s fidgeting, shifting her weight from leg to leg, and Laurel is becoming increasingly sure it isn’t out of discomfort.
“A few times,” she says, her voice small and breathy. “In college.”
Oh? Just oh? What the hell is she supposed to deduce from oh?
“Oh?” Laurel echoes, unsure.
Michaela takes one step toward her. Then two. Three. Four – until she’s right in front of her, only inches away. Laurel’s pulse quickens more and more with each one. She can feel color rising in her cheeks.
She doesn’t move away. She couldn’t, now, even if she wanted to.
“Oh,” Michaela repeats.
Before Laurel has time to blink, the other girl has reached out, grabbed her, and kissed her on the mouth, so hard she squeaks in surprise. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and coffee, a combination Laurel never thought would be so delectable. Unsurprisingly, Michaela is a demanding kisser, her tongue pressing up against Laurel’s lips forcefully and requesting entry in a way that makes it clear it is not to be denied. Shocked but pleased, Laurel complies without a second thought.
Well, she thinks. At least Michaela makes no secret of what she wants.
“Oh,” Michaela breathes again once she pulls away. Laurel can see the saliva glistening on her lips, feels it cooling on her own. “Oh yeah.”
They’re out the front door in a matter of seconds, darting out to Laurel’s car as fast as Michaela’s four-inch heels will allow. Laurel knows they could probably just bang in the backseat and be done with it, but she isn’t Frank, and that isn’t her style.
If her job tonight is to get Michaela off, then she’s doing it right.
Her whole body is thrumming with electricity as Laurel jams the key in the ignition and watches Michaela settle herself into the passenger seat. Even in the darkness, she can see that the other girl’s pupils are dialated with hunger, her breathing erratic.
Forcing herself to look ahead, she guides the car out onto the road at a speed that is definitely far from legal, in the direction of her apartment. It’s at least a ten minute drive from her place to the office, and they’re hitting what must be every fucking red light in Philadelphia, one right after another.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Michaela is getting impatient.
It happens in stages: first, she starts crossing and uncrossing her legs, much more than she would need to for her own comfort. Then, she notices her clenching her thighs together tightly, in an effort to gain whatever friction she can. She starts to squirm after that – but what finally does it for Laurel is when she hears her actually whimper, softly and urgently, a silent plea to be touched.
Under normal circumstances, Laurel would consider herself a very responsible driver, but these circumstances are far from normal, and she just knows that Michaela is sopping wet underneath that too-short skirt, aching for her. Her heart thudding loudly in her ears, she reaches over, urges her legs apart, pushes her skirt and lace panties out of the way, and finds her cunt easily with two fingers. She’s almost ridiculously wet, and Laurel had been expecting her to be wet, of course, but holy shit, not this wet.
Michaela gasps at the sudden assault, her body jerking as if trying to simultaneously get closer and escape.
In under a second, Laurel’s fingers are already completely coated in her wetness, so slick that they slide inside with no effort at all. Her walls stretch deliciously to accommodate them, the delicate ring of muscle at her entrance fluttering.
“God, Michaela,” she murmurs, astonished. “It’s really this bad?”
“Please. Please – oh, i-it’s been so long.”
The choked plea escapes Michaela’s lips feverishly. When the streetlights flicker across her face, Laurel can see that her forehead is covered with a thin sheen of sweat, her lips parted and her chest heaving.
Laurel never thought she’d live to see the day Michaela begged, but here she is, mewling and panting, for her. Michaela Pratt does not beg, but she’s begging her. She needs her.
“I’m so wet, I can’t, I…” A moan cuts Michaela off, and she whines like a needy child. “I need it so bad. Please, please.”
Laurel is so horny that she can hardly stand it. Her head is swimming. She’s probably soaked through the crotch of her own panties by this point, and her nipples are as hard as pebbles beneath her sweater, pining for attention.
She steps on the gas harder.
They climb the stairs to Laurel’s floor in a flurry of clicking heels, groping hands, and giggles.
Michaela’s body is burning, the situation between her legs growing more dire by the second. They had pulled up in front of Laurel’s building just as she was about to come, and now she’s so close that she could die; she really could.
Finally, they reach her door at the end of the hallway, but she attacks Laurel’s mouth again before the other girl can even reach into her bag for her keys, and presses her up against the wall.
Is she a lesbian? Does this make her one? She doesn’t know. Right now, it’s the furthest thing from her mind. All she can see is Laurel, her dark hair mussed and her cheeks glowing red from the cold, and she knows that needs her to kiss her like she needs the air in her lungs.
“Slow down,” Laurel chuckles. “I need to get my-”
“No,” she hisses. “Here.”
“We can’t! I have neighbors, you know.”
Laurel moves away, turns her back to her, and reaches into her purse, rummaging around for her keys. Not content to give in so easily, Michaela brushes her hair over her shoulder, leaving the pale nape of her neck exposed, and kisses it. She nips at the tender flesh there teasingly, surprising even herself with her lack of inhibitions, and as soon as she does, she hears Laurel’s breath hitch in her throat.
Her keys clatter to the floor.
All at once, Laurel turns and reverses their positions, leaving Michaela pinned against the door instead. There’re too many layers of coats and clothing in the way for Michaela’s liking, but the thought leaves her entirely when Laurel takes one of her legs and brings it up to hold it at her hip, leaving her wide open. Then, her lithe little hand slips underneath her skirt, and when she feels her fingers brush the insides of her thighs, she’s infinitely grateful that she elected not to wear tights this morning.
Her fingers graze her clit, which is still swollen and pulsating with want. A shuddering moan escapes her, and Laurel is quick to cover her mouth with her own, swallowing each noise she makes into a kiss.
Laurel knows how to do this; that much is clear. And not only does she know what to do, but she’s really fucking good at doing it. She slips two fingers inside and then brings her thumb up to her clit, moving in circles, then varying it to figure-eights and other shapes her foggy brain can’t discern. Michaela’s knees go so weak that she would’ve fallen to the floor had Laurel not been there to hold her up.
“Faster…” she mumbles against her lips. “Faster, faster. Christ, Laurel, make me come.”
Laurel obliges, quickening her pace, until the pressure between her legs is so great that her vision whites out. Laurel’s manicured thumbnail catches her clit, and the little prick of pain amongst all the pleasure finally sends her spiraling out of orbit.
“I’m coming,” she gasps. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Laurel purrs lowly against her neck, and Lord her voice like that is the hottest thing Michaela has ever heard in her life. “Believe me, I know.”
Michaela has always been more of a screamer than a moaner, and so she’s grateful that Laurel has the foresight to reach up and clamp a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries before they can echo down the hallway. As the waves of her orgasm ebb and gradually fade, her body goes weak against Laurel’s. It takes a moment for her to stop seeing double, and when she does, she reaches down for the fallen set of keys.
Still somewhat dazed and shaky, she holds them out to the other girl expectantly. “Come on. Which one is it?”
With a wicked twinkle in her eye, Laurel takes them and opens the door, leading Michaela inside. Her apartment is relatively small, with only one bedroom and a little kitchenette, but it’s newer and nicer than Michaela’s is, and there’s a ton of posh-looking leather furniture in it as well.
“Nice furniture,” she remarks on it somewhat awkwardly as she hangs up her coat. “Expensive.”
“My parents are rich,” Laurel shrugs, removing her coat as well. Then, she smiles. “Is that why you’re here? To appraise my furniture?”
Michaela rolls her eyes, and Laurel kisses her again, walking them backwards until they reach the bedroom. Their sweaters and skirts all vanish in short order, her normally dry-cleaned and immaculately pressed clothes lying in a heap on the carpet. Laurel urges her down into a sitting position on the queen-sized bed, and she obeys, letting her slide off her dampened panties and unclasp her bra. Michaela is buck naked now, and it surprises her how unashamed she feels, how much she doesn’t care if Laurel sees her.
How much she wants her to see her.
Laurel’s hands go for her own bra, but Michaela reaches out to stop her. “No.”
Laurel blinks, almost like she thinks Michaela is having second thoughts – which couldn’t be farther from the truth, actually. Instead, she shakes her head and sits up, reaching behind for the clasp to undo it herself.
“Let me,” she breathes, and then watches the garment tumble to the floor as well, forgotten.
Since Laurel is standing and she’s seated, she’s almost exactly at eye level with her breasts, round and pert, peaked with stiff, pink nipples. She doesn’t know what possesses her to reach out and massage them; she only knows that she wants to, that it feels… right. They fill the palms of her hands perfectly, and Laurel tips her head back when she brushes her finger across one of the hardened nipples.
Growing bolder, she leans in to take one into her mouth, moving her hands down Laurel’s sides until they reach her panties, and slipping them inside to caress the firm curve of her ass. That draws a quiet moan from the other girl, and Michaela would smile, if her mouth weren’t already otherwise occupied.
“A-are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Michaela pulls away and glances up at her with heavily lidded eyes. “Am I good?”
“Well,” she shrugs, making off with her own panties and then settling herself into her lap. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Laurel reaches out and pushes her down lightly. She lands on her back, with the other girl straddling her legs, and she can’t help but salivate at the sight of her. Her skin is milky-white and almost glows in the moonlight, her legs thin and nimble. There’s a light dusting of dark hair between her legs much like her own, and Michaela can’t help but feel herself tingle at the thought of what lies beneath.
And then suddenly Laurel is laying a path of kisses down her neck, to the valley between her breasts, and kneeling at the end of the bed, and enveloping her sex in a kiss like she’s still kissing her mouth – and she can’t remember why she ever liked guys so much in the first place.
Aiden would only ever go down on her twice a year: once on her birthday, and once on Valentine’s Day. She’d almost forgotten what it’s like, but when Laurel sucks her clit into her mouth and hums lowly against it, she remembers.
And holy shit is this better. So much better.
“I-I already… Shouldn’t I touch you?” Michaela asks breathlessly. “I wanna touch you.”
Laurel moves her mouth away briefly to reply. “The point of this is to help you relax. Let me take care of you first, okay?”
Let me take care of you first. Oh, wow. That’s really hot.
Michaela looks down and meets Laurel’s eyes. Her face is burrowed between her thighs, her nose brushing her engorged clit. She can see that Laurel’s lips are glistening with her wetness in the moonlight, and it sends a surge of arousal through her so powerful that she actually shivers. Her skin is covered in goosebumps too, and she’s ninety percent sure it isn’t because of the cold air in the drafty apartment.
Taking that as a sign of approval, Laurel goes back to work, her warm, wet mouth all over her cunt in all the right places. Her hips buck up almost of their own accord, trying to get closer, when she couldn’t possibly be any closer.
After a minute, Laurel’s soft voice drifts up from the end of the bed. “You taste so good. Like…”
“Mmm.” She stops to think and licks her lips. “Like chocolate.”
Michaela can’t help but giggle. “Is that because I’m black?”
Laurel shrugs. “First thing that came to mind.”
“So when I do this for you… should I say you taste like enchiladas?”
That’s stupid, but they share a laugh at it anyway, and Michaela rests back against the pillows, spreading her legs as wide as they will go, almost obscenely so. Laurel’s lips are soft, the zillion thread-count sheets beneath her even softer. Her tongue is heavenly, but for some reason it’s not enough to make her come, and after a few more minutes have passed, she groans in frustration. The pleasure has stopped building and has just kind of… plateaued.
“God, I just…” she exhales sharply. “I need to get fucked. Don’t you have one of those… things?”
Laurel gets up from the end of the bed and settles herself down next to her, eyebrow raised. “What things?”
“Those things that’re like a… you know.”
She gestures between her legs, and Laurel scoffs. “You’re naked, in my bed, having lesbian sex with me, and you can’t say the word dick?”
Michaela blushes. “You know what I mean though, right?”
“A strap-on? Yeah, I don’t have one. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Well, you’re not a very impressive lesbian, then.”
Laurel just looks at her, putting on her best pair of bedroom eyes. That sounds like a challenge.
Before Michaela can answer, she closes the gap between them with a kiss, before pulling away just as quickly and moving down to suck at her nipples. That draws a gasp from the other girl, and so she ventures further south, where she focuses on the pink, kissable little nub between her legs. It isn’t long before she has Michaela writhing and begging again, and as much as Laurel wants to tease her, she also wants to make her come her brains out.
That's what her job description entails, after all.
So she moves her mouth back to her breasts and thrusts three fingers into her as deep as they will go. Michaela tenses up so violently that Laurel stops, afraid for a moment that she’s hurt her.
But then Michaela just bucks her hips and pants urgently, “N-no, no, don’t stop!”
I need to get fucked, she’d said, and so Laurel sets a wild pace accordingly, her fingers almost pistoning in and out of her drenched folds. She moves her fingers into a kind of come-hither gesture, and it takes a minute, but eventually she finds that delicious spot just inside her she knows will have Michaela crumbling to bits in seconds.
Michaela’s reaction is just as she expected: she’s panting madly, her eyes closed and her lips forming the shape of an erotic ‘O.’
“Right there!” Michaela cries. “Oh, like that – d-don’t stop, right there, oh God, oh God.”
Laurel quickens her pace. It makes her hand cramp up a little, but she brings her thumb up to massage her clit regardless, and then dips her head to suckle at her breasts too, determined to stimulate her in every way she knows possible. It’s hard as hell to do three things at once, but the look of complete and utter bliss on Michaela’s face is enough to drive her on.
Michaela’s body might be present in the moment, but it’s clear her mind is light years away. She’s nothing but a moaning, sweaty mess of need now, and Laurel isn't going to lie: watching assertive and ruthless Michaela like this, letting go, coming undone because of her… It’s one of the most satisfying things she’s ever seen.
Laurel still hasn’t gotten off yet, even though her thighs are sticky with her own wetness. Oddly enough, she doesn’t even care.
“Close?” Laurel asks teasingly, her voice muffled by the pillow-like flesh of Michaela’s breast.
Judging by the first gentle spasms of Michaela’s cunt around her fingers, she’s pretty sure she already knows the answer. She’s going to come, and she’s going to come hard, and Laurel wants to enjoy every single solitary second of her sweet release.
“God yes!” Michaela sobs, then returns to her feverish babbling. “You’re gonna make me come – oh, it’s good, so good. Fuck I needed this, ah-”
With a high-pitched half-shriek, she comes. Her entire body seizes up when it hits her, but Laurel keeps going, fucking her through it and not easing up in the slightest.
And that’s when she feels it: a sudden gush of fluid on her fingers, soaking her hand, Michaela’s splayed thighs, even the sheets around them. She jumps, and blinks, and… holy shit, was that what she thinks it was?
That’s never happened before.
It takes Michaela a while to recover, and once she does and notices the shocked look on Laurel’s face, she furrows her brow. “What?”
“You…” Laurel shakes her head, stunned. “You… squirted, I think.”
“Oh, yeah,” the other girl pants, trying to catch her breath. “That happens sometimes. I should’ve warned you.”
“I-I’ve never been with a girl who did that.”
Michaela grins and props herself up on her elbows. “Then it’s a first time for you, too.”
“That was really hot. You’re like…” she searches for the right word, before finally blurting out, “a unicorn.”
Michaela giggles: freely and from deep in her chest, like Laurel’s never heard her laugh before. “Well, I am very horny.”
She pecks Michaela on the lips, settling herself in between her spread legs. “Lame.”
“Whatever. So, are you gonna make me come again or not?”
“Again?” Laurel scoffs. “Someone’s greedy tonight.”
But Laurel doesn’t need any more persuading. Already she’s kissing a trail down her stomach, towards that gentle mound between her legs, and dutifully returning to work.
On Monday, a glowing Michaela saunters into the office with a noticeable hop in her step. She doesn’t snap at anyone, not even Wes when he bumps into her and spills her coffee. She laughs at one of Asher’s stupid jokes, too, which seems to freak Asher out more than a bit.
The instant Laurel steps inside the living room, she notices Connor giving her a knowing look. She plops down into the armchair next to where he sits on the couch, prompting him to lean towards her and raise his eyebrows.
“Looks like I owe you my outlines.”
“Actually, uh…” Laurel drifts off, catching Michaela’s eye across the room and blushing. “Don't worry about it.”