The charity ball went late; the band was pumping music and everyone danced well past two. It was almost three when they got home.
She walked in ahead of him, stopped in the foyer as he let the door close behind him. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he flicked the lock.
Dusky light from the library washed the hall like candlelight.
She reached back, unzipped her dress. She shifted her left shoulder, then the right, let the dress fall down in a puddle around her feet. She took two steps toward him wearing nothing but three-inch stilettos.
He was instantly hard, rubbed a hand against his cock.
A breath apart, she pressed her hand against his. “Don’t. Let me do that.”
He dropped his hand, but she didn’t replace it. Instead, she dropped to her knees, helped him with his shoes. She unzipped his pants, nudged them down.
“Mmmmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his cock. “You went commando, too.”
She cupped his balls as he stepped out of his pants, swirled her tongue over the head of his cock, relished the fat bead of pre-cum that clung to him. She took him in her mouth, just the head, sucking him as she massaged his sack.
He wanted to take his time, enjoy fucking her mouth, but she felt so god dammed good.
He undid his cuffs, loosened his tie, unbuttoned the collar.
She pulled back with a loud pop. “You can take the shirt off, but leave the tie on.”
He grinned down at her. “If you keep the shoes on.”
She nodded. “Deal.”
She took him in, as far as she could take him, gagged a little. He let his shirt fall to the floor, his head drop back against the wall.
She reached up with one hand to stroke his tie, matching each thrust of his cock into her mouth. She yanked on it hard, as if she were cumming herself, when he moaned her name and shot down her throat.