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Chapter Seven
Anya marched straight over to the semi-open door I was hiding behind and threw it open.
I must’ve been quite a sight. My shirt was off, my pajama pants were around my ankles, and I was semi-buckled over on the ground recovering with pink cheeks post-orgasm.
“When did you realize I was there?” I asked.
“As soon as you stomped up to the door with the beads,” she said, “Your footsteps are not the light, twinkling footsteps of a ballerina, you know.”
She looked me up and down while I tried to steady my breathing. I couldn’t come up with any possible way to talk myself out of this. I was doomed.
“It made it better,” she said, starting to massage her own crotch again, “To know you were staring. That there could be nothing more wrong in the world than you continuing to stare, but you did it.”
She got down to the floor, on all fours, her perfect breasts dangling cutely. She looked at me directly in my eyes without blinking.
I could see the pert curve of her ass poking up behind her.
I gulped.
She continued, practically purring, “I never thought you were anything but a goodie-two-shoes. Until I listened to you orgasm on the plane ride here. I wanted you, then.”
She crawled her way in between my legs. I spread them, trying not to touch her, but inadvertently opening myself up in the process.
She smiled. It was dazzling, like a perfect, antique chandelier.
“I respect you, very much, Amelia. You’re the best work partner anyone could ask for,” she said with sincerity, “But there was something about your perfect veneer I always wanted to smack off your pretty little face. Would you like to be bad, Amelia? Filthy?”
“I always thought you were perfect,” I said, past my frayed nerves and confusion, “You seemed like an Ice Queen.”
She laughed. She quickly crawled forward and grabbed one of my hands. She got up off all fours and onto her knees.
She pulled my hand into her, so my finger was inside of her. It was wet, gaping. The warmest thing I’ve ever touched.
She moaned softly, then asked, “Does that seem like ice to you?”
It didn’t. I could feel my own gaping, wet hole start to pulse.
“Do you want me, Amelia? Even though it’s wrong?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. There wasn’t anything else to say. It was too late to lie.
“Then I’m going to have you,” she said with her perfect, no airbrush needed smile.
I was trembling again. This was really too much for my body to handle. The soft closeness of her body was slowly on top of me.
I laid down underneath her. Her breasts laid against mine. Our sensitive nipples brushed against us, and it felt so good it hurt, and I winced.
I was sore from rubbing my own nipples, but when she saw me wincing, her smile only increased in its brilliance. She took my breast in her soft hands and began to lick.
She did not start at the nipple. She licked all around the least sensitive part, first. Giving my nipples time to wake back up and start begging for attention again.
As she moved around my breast, she started taking mouthfuls of it in her small, gentle mouth. I felt waves of soft pleasure intersect with the burning heat of how wrong this was, and how much we’d passed an unretrievable line.
I didn’t want her to ever stop.
As she moved closer and closer to my nipples, licking and sucking on my breast, she started gently grazing her hands around my thighs.
I was shaking like every touch from her was electroshock therapy. When her cheek grazed my nipple, I sat up and screamed.
