Work Text:
The dressing room is empty when Jingjing arrives.
It's a nice one; spacious, well-lit, mirrors everywhere. The kind of room that makes you feel like someone important, even if you're just killing time before call. She drops her bag on the nearest chair and pulls out her phone.
Nothing from Jan yet.
Jingjing turns to the mirror. The lighting is flattering, warm but not too warm, and she looks good today. She knows she looks good. The boots hit just right on her calves, the white zip-up hoodie is simple but fits like it was made for her, and the cropped tee underneath bares her stomach completely—toned, smooth skin on full display above the waist of her jean shorts.
She angles her phone, takes a few shots. Tilts her chin. Pouts. Smirks.
Bored, but confident. The two have always coexisted easily in her.
Her phone buzzes.
Jan: Almost there. Five minutes.
Jingjing types back a quick thumbs-up and tosses her phone onto the table. She eyes the long table attached to the wall. Before she can think twice about whether it's inappropriate to sit on the furniture in a dressing room that isn't technically hers, she's already hoisted herself up onto it.
She settles in sideways, lounging across the surface, weight propped on one hand. The mirror gives her a full view of herself, and of the door behind her. She takes another selfie. This one she likes: the casualness of it, the slightly parted lips, the way her shorts ride up just a little, the bare strip of her midriff catching the warm light.
She's still admiring the shot when the door opens behind her.
She sees Jan in the mirror before Jan even speaks. Framed in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder, freezing mid-step as she takes in the sight of Jingjing sprawled across the table like she owns it.
"Well," Jan's voice, warm and amused. "I'm surprised. But also not surprised at all."
Jingjing twists to look over her shoulder. Jan's expression is caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness.
"The lighting's good in here," Jingjing says by way of explanation, gesturing vaguely at the mirrors. "And I look good today."
"You do," Jan agrees, and there's no teasing in her voice when she says it. Just simple, honest appreciation.
Jingjing shifts on the table, turning to face Jan properly. Seated now, legs dangling off the edge. The movement makes her hoodie slide off one shoulder. She doesn't fix it.
"Only good?" She pouts.
Jan laughs, a soft, knowing sound. She steps closer, setting her bag down. "What, you want me to praise you?"
"Yes."
The answer comes fast, unabashed. Jan's smile deepens, and she closes the remaining distance between them until she's standing right in front of Jingjing.
"Alright," Jan murmurs. Her eyes trace down Jingjing's body, slow and deliberate. "These boots." Her fingertips brush the top of Jingjing's calf, just above the leather. "They make your legs look incredible."
Jingjing's breath catches, just barely.
"This jacket." Jan's hand moves up, fingers trailing along the collar, the line of the shoulder. "Simple. But it fits you perfectly." Her knuckles graze Jingjing's exposed stomach, bare and warm. "And this. I like that you didn't leave anything to the imagination at all."
Jingjing swallows.
"And these shorts." Jan's eyes drop, and her hand follows, not quite touching, just hovering over Jingjing's thigh. "Quite short, don't you think?"
"They're comfortable," Jingjing manages.
"I'm sure they are." Jan's gaze lifts back to Jingjing's face. Her fingers come up to trace the line of Jingjing's jaw, feather-light. "Satisfied?"
Jingjing shakes her head. "You're missing something."
"Am I?"
Jingjing purses her lips; an exaggerated pout, impossible to misinterpret. Jan laughs again, softer this time.
"Say it."
"Phi." Jingjing's voice tips into a whine. "Kiss me."
Jan grins, soft and fond, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You're so spoiled," she murmurs, the words dripping with affection. Then she leans in, and the kiss is slow at first; a press of lips, a shared breath.
Then Jan's hand slides into Jingjing's hair, cradling the back of her head, and the kiss deepens. Jingjing's mouth opens under hers, warm and yielding. There's no rush. Jan kisses like she has all the time in the world, like Jingjing is something to be savored.
When they finally separate, it's only far enough to breathe. Their foreheads stay pressed together, lips still brushing.
"I missed you," Jingjing whispers.
"We saw each other yesterday."
"I still missed you." The pout is back in her voice. "Don't you miss me?"
Jan pulls back just enough to look at her. Then she kisses her again, softer this time, a murmur against her lips. "I missed you too."
Jingjing melts into it. The kiss goes slower, deeper, and by the time Jan pulls back, Jingjing feels a little drunk, a little floaty, her thoughts gone syrupy at the edges.
"I don't believe you," she says, but there's no weight behind it. She's not even trying to be convincing. If anything, she's daring Jan to prove her wrong.
Jan sees right through her. She always does.
"No?" Jan's lips curve. Then she's kissing Jingjing's forehead, her temple, the bridge of her nose. "I missed you." A kiss to her cheek. "I missed this." The other cheek. "Missed the way you pout at me." The corner of her mouth. "Missed the way you say my name."
Jingjing giggles, helpless against the onslaught, and Jan keeps going, peppering kisses across her face until Jingjing is breathless from laughing, until her hands come up to grip Jan's shoulders just to have something to hold onto.
And then Jan kisses her properly again, deep and sure, and murmurs against her lips: "I missed you, Jing. Really."
When they break apart this time, something has shifted.
The kissing has left Jan unmoored, her usual composure slipping. She's not thinking anymore, just feeling. The warmth of Jingjing's skin under her palms. The soft sound Jingjing makes when Jan's lips find the corner of her jaw. The way Jingjing's pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
Jan follows that pulse. Lips trailing down, jaw, neck, the sensitive spot behind Jingjing's ear.
Jingjing lets her head fall back, baring her throat. Her fingers come up to thread through Jan's hair, nails scratching lightly against her scalp. A breath shudders out of her.
Jan settles into the crook of Jingjing's neck. Kisses. Nips. Breathes her in, the faint trace of perfume, the warmth of her skin. Jingjing's fingers tighten in her hair, and a soft sound of pleasure escapes her lips.
"Phi," Jingjing breathes.
Jan hums against her neck.
"We have some time. Before call."
Jan stills. She pulls back just enough to meet Jingjing's eyes. "In here?"
Jingjing scoffs, a sound caught between disbelief and amusement. "Like that's stopped you before."
It hasn't. Jan has a history, one that involves pulling Jingjing into empty rooms, dropping to her knees, and leaving them both breathless and late. The memory flickers between them, unspoken but fully present.
Jan's lips twitch. She tilts her head, studying Jingjing with slow, deliberate amusement. "You really missed me, didn't you?"
Jingjing blinks. "What?"
"You heard me." Jan's voice drops, warm and teasing. "Five minutes alone in a dressing room and you're already trying to get me out of my clothes. Someone was counting the minutes."
"Phi—"
"Admit it." Jan's smile curves, fond and sharp all at once. "You've been thinking about this all day."
Jingjing's flush deepens, but she doesn't look away. Instead, she leans in close, her face inches from Jan's, her eyes sharp and serious despite the heat in her cheeks.
"Look me straight in the eye," Jingjing says, voice low and steady, "and tell me you don't want this as badly as I do."
The teasing smile that had been playing at the corner of Jan’s lips falters. She'd expected Jingjing to whine, to pout, to melt the way she always does when Jan pushes just right. But Jingjing's gaze doesn't waver.
And Jingjing sees it, sees the exact moment Jan's composure cracks—and something flickers in those steady eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. Hunger, definitely.
Jan doesn't answer with words. She couldn't if she tried.
She kisses her instead.
The gentleness from earlier is gone. This kiss is heat and hunger, Jan's tongue sliding into Jingjing's mouth, swallowing the small whimper that escapes her. Jingjing's hands fist in Jan's sweater, pulling her closer, and Jan's hands find Jingjing's hips, gripping hard enough to anchor them both.
When they finally break apart, gasping, there's a string of spit between them. Jan presses a softer kiss to Jingjing's swollen lips, then pulls back.
"Safe word?"
"Red," Jingjing says, breathless.
"Good girl."
Jingjing shivers.
The hoodie comes off first.
Jan's hands slide it from Jingjing's shoulders, letting it drop onto the table. Jingjing stays seated on the table, Jan standing between her thighs. Jan's fingers trace the hem of Jingjing’s tee, teasing the exposed skin of Jingjing's stomach, but she doesn't lift it. Not yet.
Instead, she kisses Jingjing again. Slower this time. Deeper. Her hands explore, palms sliding up Jingjing's bare stomach, tracing the curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist. Jingjing shudders at every touch, her breath coming in sharp little gasps between kisses. Jan's fingers map the landscape of her body like she's memorizing it all over again, the soft skin just above the waistband of her shorts, the ridge of each rib, the firm plane of her abdomen, the sensitive spot just below her sternum that makes Jingjing's stomach clench.
"Phi," Jingjing breathes, and Jan swallows the sound with another kiss.
Jan's hands slide higher. Her thumbs brush the underside of Jingjing's breasts through the fabric of the tee, and Jingjing arches into the touch. Jan pulls back just enough to watch her face—the way Jingjing's eyes flutter, the way her lips part—as she slowly, deliberately pushes the hem of the shirt upward, baring more skin inch by inch.
She rucks it up high on Jingjing's chest, the bunched fabric framing her breasts. Then Jan dips her head and presses a kiss to the swell of Jingjing's breast, right above the lace of her bra. Jingjing's fingers twist in Jan's hair.
Jan's mouth moves; slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing across the tops of Jingjing's breasts, her tongue tracing the edge of the fabric. Jingjing is trembling now, her thighs tightening around Jan's hips.
Then Jan's fingers hook under the cups of Jingjing's bra and push them up, baring her completely. The cool air hits Jingjing's skin for only a second before Jan's mouth is on her, warm and wet, lips closing around one nipple, tongue circling. Jingjing cries out, a broken sound that she barely manages to stifle by biting her lip.
Jan takes her time. Licks. Sucks. Swirls her tongue until Jingjing is gasping, her back arching, one hand braced on the table behind her. Jan's free hand cups her other breast, thumb stroking in counterpoint to the rhythm of her mouth. When she switches sides, Jingjing's head falls back, a moan escaping before she can catch it.
"You need to stay quiet," Jan murmurs against her skin. The dressing room walls aren't thick. There are people outside. "Can you do that for me?"
Jingjing bites her lip and nods.
Jan's mouth returns to her breast, sucking harder now, and her hand slides down—past Jingjing's stomach, fingers finding the button of her shorts. She pops it open. The zipper follows, a slow metallic whisper that makes Jingjing's hips twitch.
"These," Jan murmurs against Jingjing's skin, "are very, very short."
"I thought you liked them on me." Jingjing's voice is breathy but teasing.
"I do." Jan's fingers trace the loosened waistband, dipping just beneath the fabric but not further. "I like them even more like this."
Her hand slips past the open zipper, fingers sliding beneath the elastic of Jingjing's panties. Jingjing's breath hitches, her hips tilting forward, seeking more contact.
What follows is slow and deliberate and devastating. Two fingers press inside and curl just right, and the wet, obscene sound of Jingjing opening around them fills the small space between their bodies.
Jan's mouth is on Jingjing's breast, tongue circling a stiff peak, teeth grazing just enough to make Jingjing's hips jerk. Every stroke is measured, every pull of Jan's lips calculated to unravel her piece by piece. The slick glide of knuckles against soaked heat, the way Jingjing's inner walls flutter and clench—Jan feels it all, catalogues it, uses it. She knows exactly how shallow to thrust to make Jingjing's breath hitch, exactly when to sink deep and grind the heel of her palm against her clit until Jingjing's thighs shake uncontrollably.
"I said, you need to be quiet," Jan reminds her, voice low and steady against Jingjing's ear. "You know how thin these walls are. If someone walks past and hears you falling apart on my fingers—" Her thumb circles Jingjing's clit, slow and deliberate. "—I'm not going to stop. Do you want that?"
Jingjing bites her lip, shakes her head frantically, a broken whimper trapped in her throat.
Jan's fingers curl inside her, and Jingjing's back arches, her body bowing backward, weight braced on both palms behind her. A moan builds in her throat, and she chokes it back, biting down harder.
"That's it." Jan's voice is rough. "Good girl. But I need you quieter."
She gathers the bunched fabric of Jingjing's tee—still rucked up, still framing her breasts—and guides it to Jingjing's mouth. "Bite down on this. Keep it there. If I hear a single sound from you, I'll stop. Understood?"
Jingjing's teeth sink into the fabric. The sight is devastating: her breasts exposed, the shirt stuffed between her lips, her body arched and trembling. Jan's mouth returns to her breast, sucking hard, and her fingers keep moving, a steady, relentless rhythm that has Jingjing shaking, thighs quaking, muffled whimpers escaping around the shirt.
The mirrors are everywhere.
Jingjing's head rolls to the side. She's melting, body flinching and thrashing under Jan's relentless pace, and suddenly she catches her own reflection.
She freezes. Stares.
The image is obscene: her mouth stuffed with fabric, breasts bared, Jan’s head bent over her chest, Jan's arm working between her thighs. Her own eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the iris. Her skin is flushed pink from cheeks to chest.
She can't look away.
Something about seeing herself like this, so completely undone, so thoroughly taken apart, ignites a fresh wave of heat low in her belly. Her hips buck against Jan's hand. The muffled sound she makes around the shirt is desperate, hungry.
Jan feels the change in her and lifts her head. Follows Jingjing's gaze to the mirror. A slow smile curves her lips, dark and knowing.
"Like what you see?"
Jingjing can only whimper in response.
But she's close now, so close it's almost unbearable. The shirt falls from her teeth as her jaw goes slack. She grabs Jan's shoulder, pulling her in, and presses her lips to Jan's ear.
"I'm close," she whimpers, breathless, wrecked. "Phi—I'm—"
"I know." Jan's voice is rough velvet. "I've got you. Let go. I've got you, Jing."
Her fingers curl again, hitting that perfect spot, and Jingjing's whole body tenses. She buries her face in the curve of Jan's neck, and when the wave finally crashes over her, she muffles her cry by sucking hard at the place where Jan's neck meets her shoulder; teeth sinking in, mouth sealed tight against the skin.
Jan hisses at the sharp bloom of pain but doesn't stop, fingers working Jingjing through it, softer now, slower, drawing out every last pulse, until Jingjing collapses against her, chest heaving, forehead dropping to Jan's shoulder.
Jan pulls her fingers out slowly. They glisten. She brings them to her mouth, maintaining eye contact with Jingjing, and sucks them clean. Slow, deliberate, a performance.
Jingjing watches, dazed, breathing still uneven. The moment Jan’s fingers leave her lips, she grabs Jan's wrist and pulls those same fingers to her own mouth. Her tongue traces the taste of herself from Jan's skin, and Jan's breath catches.
Jingjing releases her fingers with a soft pop and pulls Jan down into a kiss. The taste of her own release is on both their tongues now, shared and strange and intimate.
But Jingjing isn't done. Even after the orgasm, her body is still humming, still hungry. The heat between her thighs hasn't subsided. If anything, it's sharper now, more demanding.
Her legs wrap around Jan's waist and pull her impossibly close, like she wants to fuse their bodies together. Her mouth finds Jan's ear; bites, sucks, tongues at the lobe. Jan shudders, hands bracing on the table on either side of Jingjing's body.
One of Jingjing's hands slides up under Jan's sweater, palm pressed flat against her stomach, moving higher. Jan lets her. Surrenders to it. Her head drops forward, forehead against Jingjing's shoulder, as Jingjing's fingers trace higher—
Jan's phone rings.
They both freeze.
"Fuck," Jan breathes.
"Don't answer it." Jingjing's voice is wrecked, half-pleading. "Call them back later." She kisses Jan's neck. Jan's hips twitch involuntarily. "Phi—"
"I have to." Jan's voice is strained. She pulls back, and the look on her face is genuinely pained. "I'm sorry. It might be important. It's about the brand."
Jingjing whines—actually whines—and tries to pull her back in. "I want to make you feel good."
Jan kisses her, soft and apologetic. "You do make me feel good. You always do." Another kiss, lingering. "We can continue after the call. I promise."
Jingjing searches her face for a long moment. Then she unwraps her legs. Jan presses one last kiss to her forehead and steps away, grabbing her phone from her bag and sinking into the swivel chair in the corner.
"Hello? Yes, I'm here. Go ahead."
Jingjing stays on the table for a moment, catching her breath. She composes herself and tugs her bra back into place, pulls her shirt back down over her chest. Her body is still humming, still aching. She can feel the wetness between her thighs, the ghost of Jan's mouth on her skin.
She looks at Jan, sitting composed in the swivel chair, phone pressed to her ear, voice calm and professional as she discusses production timelines and fabric sourcing. Like she hadn't just been knuckle-deep inside Jingjing three minutes ago.
The contrast does something to Jingjing. Ignites something.
She slides off the table. Jan glances up at the movement, and Jingjing meets her eyes as she crosses the room. Jan's expression is a warning, a question, but she doesn't stop talking.
Jingjing doesn't stop walking.
She circles behind the chair. Her hands come to rest on Jan's shoulders, sliding down over her chest from behind, palms brushing the curve of her breasts through the soft knit of the light blue sweater.
Jan's voice doesn't waver. "No, the cotton blend. Yes, that one."
Jingjing leans in from the side. Her lips find Jan's neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin below her ear. Her fingers trace Jan's jaw, tilting her head slightly for better access. One hand slips past the collar of Jan's sweater, fingertips grazing the warm skin beneath, tracing the edge of her collarbone.
"Yes, I understand. Can you confirm the delivery timeline?"
Jan's free hand comes up and tangles in Jingjing's hair. Not pulling her away. Holding her there.
Jingjing takes that as permission. She moves around the chair, positioning herself between Jan's knees. Her hands push Jan's sweater up, and she presses a kiss to Jan's stomach, soft and reverent. Jan's abdominal muscles tense under her lips.
"That sounds fine. What about the—" Jan's voice catches, just barely, as Jingjing's mouth moves higher. "What about the packaging?"
Jingjing pushes Jan's bra up, bares her breasts, and closes her mouth around one nipple.
Jan's hand tightens in her hair. Her teeth sink into her lower lip, hard, forcing her mouth shut, the phone hand occupied, the other tangled in Jingjing's hair. She bites down and prays the sound she almost made didn't travel through the line.
On the phone, the caller keeps talking, oblivious.
Jingjing works her way across Jan's chest with her mouth; licks, kisses, gentle scrapes of teeth. Jan's breathing has gone ragged, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. She's still responding to the caller in clipped, professional sentences, but her eyes are glassy, unfocused.
Jingjing sinks to her knees.
She looks up at Jan as her fingers find the buckle of Jan's belt. Jan's eyes widen, and her free hand catches Jingjing's wrist, topping her.
The room goes still. The only sound is the tinny murmur of the voice on the phone.
Jingjing looks up at Jan from her knees. Doesn't move. Doesn't push.
Mouths a single word: Red?
Jan stares down at her. Jingjing on her knees, hair a mess, lips still swollen, waiting. Obedient. The sight of it, the trust in it, hits Jan somewhere deep. Her stomach tightens. The heat between her legs pulses.
She's even more turned on now than she was before.
Jan reaches up with her hand and pulls the hair tie from her wrist—gripping it with her teeth, sliding it off. She holds Jingjing's gaze the whole time.
Then she holds it out with her hand.
Jingjing's eyes darken. She takes the hair tie with her teeth, never breaking eye contact. Her hands come up to gather her hair, slow and deliberate, and she pulls the tie from her mouth, secures the ponytail. The motion is practiced but somehow obscene in its slowness.
She tilts her head. Mouths: Green?
Jan nods. Mouths back: Green.
Jingjing works Jan's pants down her hips. Her fingers hook onto Jan’s underwear and pull the fabric aside, revealing the evidence of how wet Jan already is, how much she's been wanting this since the moment she walked in. Jingjing's breath ghosts over the exposed skin, and Jan's thighs tremble.
And then her mouth is on Jan, and Jan has to bite down on the back of her hand to keep from crying out.
"—and we'll need the samples by Friday. Is that doable?"
"Mm." Jan's response is barely a sound. She bites her hand harder, teeth sinking into the flesh. Her other hand clutches the phone like a lifeline.
Jingjing's tongue works her in slow, practiced strokes. She knows Jan's body better than she knows her own. Knows exactly how much pressure, exactly where to linger, exactly when to pull back and make Jan chase her mouth.
Jan is trembling. Her thighs are shaking around Jingjing's head. The voice on the phone keeps droning, something about shipment schedules, about lead times, and Jan's answers have devolved to single syllables, hums of acknowledgment that she prays sound like agreement.
Jingjing's tongue flattens, then points. Circles. She moans softly against Jan's cunt, the vibration traveling straight up Jan's spine, and Jan's teeth sink deeper into the back of her hand.
"—so I'll send over the updated invoice by end of day. Anything else?"
"No." Jan's voice comes out hoarse. She clears her throat. "No, that's all. Thank you."
"Great. We'll talk soon."
The call ends.
Jan throws the phone onto the nearest pile of clothes and lets out a sound that's half-curse, half-moan. Her hips roll up into Jingjing's mouth, her free hand finally coming up to fist tight in the ponytail.
"Fuck, Jing—"
Jingjing growls against her. The vibration ripples through Jan's core, and Jingjing's nails dig into Jan's thigh in warning.
She pulls back just enough to speak, her breath hot against wet skin. "Shut up."
Jan clamps her mouth shut. Her bitten hand flies back to her lips, teeth sinking into the already-bruising flesh, and Jingjing doubles her efforts: tongue relentless, lips sealed around Jan's clit, sucking hard.
The pressure builds low in Jan's belly, coiling tighter and tighter. Her thighs clamp around Jingjing's ears. Her hips buck. The hand in Jingjing's hair pulls, and Jingjing moans at the sting, and the sound of it—the wet, desperate sound of Jingjing moaning into her cunt—is what finally breaks Jan apart.
She comes with a strangled cry, muffled by her own hand, her body arching off the chair. Jingjing works her through it—softer now, slower, drawing out every last pulse—until Jan collapses back against the seat, chest heaving, limbs gone liquid.
The room is quiet. Just breathing. Just the distant hum of the air conditioning and the blood roaring in Jan's ears.
Jingjing sits back on her heels. Her chin glistens. Her lips are swollen and pink. Her ponytail is a mess but she makes no move to fix it.
She's looking at Jan's hand.
Jan follows her gaze. There are indents on the back of her hand—deep crescents where her teeth broke skin. Not quite bleeding, but close.
Jingjing reaches up and takes Jan's hand in both of hers. Gentle. Reverent. She lifts it to her mouth and presses a kiss to the marks—soft, almost apologetic. Then her tongue traces the indentations, slow and deliberate, and Jan watches, hypnotized.
She then turns Jan's hand over and kisses the palm, a benediction, a thank you, a promise. Then she places Jan's hand back in Jan's lap and waits.
Jan's fingers are still tangled in her ponytail. She hadn't realized she never let go.
She tightens her grip. Leans forward from her slouched position on the chair, bringing her face closer to Jingjing's.
"Look at you," Jan murmurs. Her voice is wrecked, raw. She turns Jingjing's head—not harsh, but firm—toward the low mirror on the wall beside them. "Look."
Jingjing sees herself.
On her knees. Between Jan's spread thighs. Hair a disaster, mouth still wet, pupils blown so wide. Jan's hand gripping her ponytail like a leash. The image is obscene. Degrading. The kind of thing that should make her look away.
She doesn't look away.
"My good girl," Jan says, softer now. The degradation bleeds into praise, and Jingjing shudders. "So pretty on your knees for me."
Jingjing lets out a small whine, high and thin.
Jan's other hand comes up to cup her chin. Her thumb traces Jingjing's lower lip, smearing the wetness there.
"So good for me," Jan breathes. "Always so good."
Jingjing's eyes flutter shut. Her forehead drops to Jan's thigh, not in defeat, but in surrender. She rests there, breathing hard, and Jan releases her ponytail, fingers coming up to stroke through the loose strands instead.
They stay like that for a long moment. Breathing. Coming down.
Then Jingjing lifts her head. Pushes herself up. She leans over Jan, bracing her hands on the armrests of the chair, and kisses her, slow and thorough. Jan can taste herself on Jingjing's tongue. She licks into Jingjing's mouth, savoring it, and Jingjing responds in kind.
When Jingjing finally pulls back, she searches Jan's face. "You okay?"
Jan nods, still catching her breath. "Yeah. I'm okay."
Jingjing presses a kiss to her forehead. Her temple. The bridge of her nose, an echo of what Jan did to her earlier.
She drops back down to her knees.
Jan watches as Jingjing pulls her panties back into place. Then her pants, working them up Jan's legs with the same focused attention she gives everything. Jan's hand comes up to stroke through Jingjing's hair, loosening the ponytail, letting the dark strands spill through her fingers.
"Good girl," Jan murmurs.
Jingjing pauses. Tilts her head into Jan's touch, nuzzles into it, just for a second, eyes closing. The corner of her mouth curves.
Then she finishes pulling Jan's pants up and fastens them. Stands.
Jan stays seated in the chair, still catching her breath, while Jingjing hops up to sit on the edge of the table. For a moment they just exist in that configuration, with Jan slouched in the swivel chair and Jingjing perched on the table.
"So," Jingjing says. She unzips one boot, pulls it off. Lets it drop. Then the other. The soft thuds punctuate the silence. "That call sounded important."
Jan groans, covering her face with both hands. "Don't. I have no idea what I agreed to. I think I might have approved a fifty percent markup."
Jingjing laughs, the sound filling the room. Then her grin sharpens into something more dangerous.
"Must have been hard," she says, voice dropping, "sitting there talking about fabric sourcing while my mouth was on you."
Jan's hands drop from her face. She stares at Jingjing. "You're proud of yourself."
"A little." Jingjing's bare foot comes up, resting lightly between Jan's legs. Not pressing. Just… present. "You were so wet, phi. Before I even touched you. Was that from earlier? From making me come?"
Jan's breath catches. Her thighs tense around Jingjing's foot. "Jing."
"Hm?"
"What are you doing?"
Jingjing tilts her head, faux-innocent. "Nothing." Her foot presses, just slightly. Jan's hips jerk.
"I just think," Jingjing continues, "that it's fascinating how easily you come undone. You're so composed on the phone. So professional. And all I had to do was get on my knees." Her foot moves, a slow, circular pressure. Jan's teeth sink into her lip. "Maybe next time I should make it harder for you. See how long you can last before you crack."
"You're enjoying this," Jan manages, voice strained.
"I'm always enjoying you." Jingjing's smile is slow and wicked. "That's the whole point."
Then she reaches for her phone on the table beside her. Unlocks it. Opens the camera.
"Jingjing—"
"I just think," Jingjing says, angling the phone to capture the scene—Jan flushed and disheveled in the chair, Jingjing's bare foot planted between her thighs, "that this is a good look for you, phi. I want to remember it."
Jan covers her face with both hands. But she doesn't move. Doesn't tell Jingjing to stop.
The humiliation should be unbearable. It isn't. It's setting her on fire.
"You like this," Jingjing observes. Her voice isn't mocking. It's almost curious. Wonderstruck. "You really like this."
Jan doesn't answer. Can't.
Jingjing's foot moves again, slow, deliberate pressure that makes Jan's breath hitch and her thighs clench around it. The phone is still angled toward them.
"Look at you." Jingjing's voice drops, takes on an edge. "My P’Jan. So composed. So in control. And here you are—" The pressure increases. Jan moans into her palms. "—falling apart from just my foot. What would people think?"
Something in Jan snaps.
Her hands drop from her face. She grabs Jingjing's ankle and pushes her foot away. Stands up. In one motion, she plucks the phone from Jingjing's hand, tosses it onto the pile of discarded clothes, and grabs Jingjing by the hips.
Jingjing gasps—half surprise, half arousal—as Jan drags her off the table and turns her around. Her palms hit the surface. Jan's body presses against her back.
The mirror shows them both. Jingjing bent over, chest heaving. Jan behind her, one hand already fisting in Jingjing's hair, pulling her head up.
"Look," Jan commands, voice rough in her ear.
Jingjing meets her own eyes in the mirror. Sees Jan's face over her shoulder; jaw set, eyes blazing.
"You think it's funny," Jan murmurs, lips brushing Jingjing's ear, "humiliating me like that? Putting your foot on me like I'm something to play with?"
"I think," Jingjing breathes, voice trembling with arousal, "that you got riled up awfully fast, phi. It's cute."
"Cute." Jan's laugh is dark, humorless. Her grip tightens in Jingjing's hair. "You're calling me cute while you're bent over a table with my hand in your hair?"
"I'm calling you cute because you're easy." Jingjing's eyes meet Jan's in the mirror, challenging. "One little touch and you're already—"
"Easy?" Jan presses her hips forward, pinning Jingjing against the table. Jingjing's breath catches audibly. "Say that again."
"Easy." The word is more moan than speech now. "You're so easy for me, phi."
Jan leans in closer. Her breath is hot against Jingjing's neck. In the mirror, their eyes lock.
"You're being rough, phi," Jingjing breathes. But her voice is pure invitation.
"Didn't you tell me," Jan murmurs, lips brushing Jingjing's ear, "that you liked it rough?"
She pulls Jingjing's hips back. Jingjing's ass presses flush against Jan's front, and Jingjing whimpers—a broken, desperate sound.
"Look me straight in the eye," Jan says—slow, deliberate, each word a mirror of Jingjing's own from earlier—"and tell me you don't want this as badly as I do."
Jingjing twists in her grip. For a second, Jan thinks she's pulling away. Then Jingjing's hand comes up and swats Jan's arm.
Jan releases her hair, surprised.
Jingjing turns, leaning back against the table, breathing hard. Her face is flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with want. She doesn't say anything.
She doesn't have to.
Jan moves. Pushes Jingjing back against the table, hands on her waist, mouth descending toward hers—
Knock. Knock.
They both freeze.
"Fifteen minutes!" calls a voice from outside. "Fifteen minutes to call!"
Jingjing closes her eyes. Swallows. "Got it!" she calls back, and her voice is remarkably steady for someone who was about to be kissed senseless. "Thank you!"
Footsteps retreat.
Jan slumps forward, burying her face in the crook of Jingjing's neck. A sound escapes her, something between a groan and a sigh, petulant and disappointed.
Jingjing laughs softly. Her hand comes up to brush the hair from Jan's face. "Hey."
"I wanted to make you feel good," Jan mumbles against her skin. "More. I wanted—"
"I know." Jingjing presses a kiss to Jan's hair. "We have later. We have home."
Jan doesn't lift her head. Jingjing keeps stroking her hair, and then her fingers still.
"Phi."
"Hm?"
"You have a mark." Jingjing's fingers trace the curve of Jan's shoulder—the spot where she'd bitten down during her own orgasm. There's a bruise blooming there, purple and unmistakable. "I did that."
Jan finally lifts her head. Glances at it. Looks back at Jingjing.
"Sorry," Jingjing says, not sounding sorry at all. She tugs Jan's sweater collar up, trying to cover it. "Makeup?"
Jan is still sulky, lower lip pushed out slightly, eyes soft with unsatisfied want. Jingjing looks at her and feels her heart squeeze.
"You're cute when you pout," she says.
"I'm not pouting."
"You're absolutely pouting."
Jingjing leans back against the table. She hooks two fingers into the collar of her shirt and pulls it to the side, baring her shoulder, unmarked and smooth.
"Go on," she says.
Jan blinks. "What?"
"Make it fair." Jingjing's voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are serious. "You leave a mark on me. We're even."
Jan stares at her for a long moment. Then something shifts in her expression, the sulkiness giving way to something darker, hungrier. She steps forward. Brackets Jingjing's body with her arms against the table.
"You're sure?"
"I'm offering, aren't I?"
Jan leans in. But instead of biting, she kisses her, soft and slow, a complete departure from the heat of moments ago. Jingjing melts into it, her free hand coming up to cup Jan's jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. The kiss deepens, then gentles, then breaks into something achingly tender.
Jan's lips trail from the corner of Jingjing's mouth, along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Slow, open-mouthed kisses that leave a trail of heat. Jingjing's head falls back, her breath shallowing, her fingers still hooked in her collar, keeping her shoulder bare.
Jan's mouth follows the line of her collarbone, then dips to the exposed curve of her shoulder. She presses one last kiss there; reverent, almost apologetic.
Then her mouth opens, and she bites down. Hard.
Jingjing's hand flies to her own mouth, stifling the moan that tears out of her. The pain blooms sharp and sweet, a bright flare that melts into heat, spreading down her chest, pooling low in her belly. Jan holds the bite for a long moment, tongue pressing against the trapped skin, before releasing it.
Jingjing looks down. There's a deep red mark, darker than the one she left on Jan, already threatening to bruise.
"You—" Her voice is shaky. She clears her throat. "Phi, you did too much."
But her eyes say the opposite. Her eyes say more.
Jan's lips curve. "That's what the jacket is for."
Jingjing stares at her. Then, without warning, she slaps Jan across the cheek.
An open palm, a sharp crack, and Jan's head turns with the force of it. The sound echoes in the quiet room.
Jan stares back at her, eyes wide. Surprise flickers across her face. And then something else. Something hot. Her pupils dilate visibly. Her lips part. Her breath catches in her throat.
Jingjing's palm is still raised. Her expression is unreadable. Then her lips curl into a slow smile.
"That," she says, voice low and pleased, "is what the makeup is for."
She leans in and presses a kiss to the cheek she just slapped, a counterpoint to the sting. Then her hands find Jan's shoulders and push her down into the chair.
Jan goes willingly. Sinks into the seat, looking up at Jingjing with naked want. Her eyes track Jingjing's body as she crosses the room, and Jingjing can feel the weight of that gaze like a physical touch.
She crouches by Jan's bag. Unzips it. Finds the makeup pouch.
When she stands and turns back, Jan is still staring. Her eyes are dark, hooded, raking over Jingjing's bare legs, the swell of her hips, the mark on her shoulder.
Jingjing smirks. Doesn't acknowledge it. Just walks back and settles herself in front of Jan's chair, makeup pouch in hand.
"Stay still," she murmurs.
She opens the concealer. Dabs it onto the bruise on Jan's shoulder—the one Jingjing left. Blends it in with careful, gentle fingers. The motion is intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with it.
When she's done, she caps the concealer. But she doesn't move away. She uncaps the foundation next, squeezing a small amount onto her fingertip, and tilts Jan's chin up.
"Now your face," she says, eyes flicking to the reddening mark on Jan's cheek. "Unless you want everyone asking who slapped you."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Jan murmurs, and there's something almost proud in her voice.
Jingjing's lips twitch. She works the foundation into Jan's cheek with gentle dabs, blending until the redness fades. Her touch is tender; a stark contrast to the palm that left the mark. Jan's eyes never leave her face.
When she's done, Jingjing caps the foundation. Her gaze drifts to the mirror beside them.
She catches Jan's eyes in the reflection. Jan is still looking at her—eye-fucking her, really, hunger barely concealed beneath the surface calm. Jingjing holds her eyes in the mirror for one long, charged moment.
Then she smiles—a private, knowing thing, just for herself.
And puts the makeup away.