Girl Fever (20 page)

Before she can make a sound, there's a metallic thump, like someone walked into one of the filing cabinets. She abandons the endless yellow paper, ducks around the units to check on whoever it is—and halts abruptly.

No one walked into the cabinet—she was pushed into it, or backed into it, maybe, because that's Jill, the junior chemist in lab three, being pinned against the cabinet by
Sam, the new lab tech. Lucy's got a perfect view of both their profiles. Neither of them looks like they're in need of any assistance she could provide. They're too wrapped up in each other, kissing frantically, clutching at each other's clothes, and Lucy can hear their harsh breathing.

She should leave before this goes any further toward its obvious conclusion. She could clear her throat, apologize, even though it's not her fault they didn't check to see whether the closet was empty before going at each other….

Then Jill spreads her legs, tugs Sam closer with a hand on her ass and Sam jerks her hips into it with a low moan that's really criminally hot. Like something out of really good porn, and in the fight between the director's memo and the live-action porn in front of her, Lucy's not rooting for the memos.

She really needs to start going out again. Then she could be the one getting shoved into walls and groped by attractive women.

“Fuck, come on,” Jill says, pulling her mouth away from Sam, who takes advantage by relocating to Jill's neck, her short hair pale against the flush of Jill's skin. Lucy tucks herself a little farther behind the storage units, just in case, but Jill doesn't look her way, just says, “Seriously, if Mellows notices I'm gone—”

“Didn't anyone ever teach you patience?” Sam asks. “Christ.”

Jill snakes her hand between their bodies, does something that makes Sam jerk and moan again. That
moan—Lucy's going to be hearing it in her fantasies for weeks, if the way she's getting wet is any indication.

“You were saying?” Jill asks.

“I forgot,” Sam says. She grabs Jill's face in both hands, kisses her again, sloppy and fast.

When Jill hitches up Sam's skirt, Lucy bites her lip not to groan, and then Sam yanks open Jill's pants, pushing them down with her underwear. Jill pulls Sam closer, between her spread legs, and Lucy has to press a hand to her own crotch, fingers tight against the seam of her suit pants.

She's not going to get off on two of her coworkers having fast, hard, needy, hot sex; to their hands on each other's arms, their mouths crushed together, their hips rocking into each other, the flashes of skin…

She blinks, comes back to herself just enough to realize that she's rocking her own hips in time with their thrusts, fucking herself through her pants with her own hand. She forces herself to stop, clutches at the side of the shelving unit instead.

“Wish I could fuck you,” Sam says. Her voice is hoarse. “Push you up against the wall and just stick my cock into your hot, sweet pussy.”

“Not here,” Jill gasps. She sounds totally breathless and tips her head to rest her forehead on Sam's shoulder. “Fuck, don't stop.”

“Not gonna,” Sam says. “You close? I want you to come on my fingers.”

Lucy closes her eyes for a moment, but that doesn't
help, because the image has been burned on the backs of her eyelids, and all she can hear is the slide of skin against skin, their panting breaths, and she wants to come so bad it hurts. She presses against the shelving unit, but can't quite stop the tiny jerks of her hips.

“God, I need…” Jill shoves one hand between them, wraps it around Sam's wrist and angles Sam's fingers, her other hand clutching at Sam's shoulder. “Oh, fuck…”

“I got you,” Sam says, and Jill moans, hips jerking frantically, obviously coming. “That's it,” Sam says. “That's it, God, you're so hot.”

“Fuck,” Jill says succinctly, her body melting back against the cabinet like all her bones have gone liquid.

Sam stills, and Lucy thinks she's going to get herself off. Instead, she manhandles Jill around to face the cabinet, takes her hands and positions them against the edges, then drapes herself up against Jill and… For a crazy moment, Lucy thinks she's actually wearing a strap-on and is going to fuck Jill; then Sam angles her body slightly differently, and Lucy can see that she's rubbing herself off against Jill's hip.

Lucy bites her lip so hard it's painful and even then barely manages to choke off the moan that wants to make itself heard. Her fingers are white-knuckled on the shelving, keeping her from just giving in and getting herself off. Then Sam clutches at Jill's bare hips, ruts against her frantically for a few moments and stiffens, obviously coming, even though Lucy can't see.

The noises are more than enough.

The two of them stand unmoving for a long moment, their breathing quieting. Then Jill, sounding amused, says, “I can't believe I let you talk me into that.”

“Yeah, I can see how much you hated it,” Sam says. She steps away, pulls an honest-to-god handkerchief from her shirt pocket and wipes them both down, then helps Jill refasten her pants and straightens her own skirt.

Lucy's pretty much reduced to chanting,
Leave, leave, leave
, in her head, but the next moment stops her. Sam cups Jill's cheek gently, then leans in and kisses her softly. The obvious affection makes Lucy feel kind of guilty for watching them, for getting off on it.

Though not guilty enough that, when they finally leave, looking mostly put together, she feels too bad about shoving her suit pants open and, oh, god, yes, getting her hand to her own aching cunt.

She closes her eyes, pictures Sam fucking Jill and Jill taking it, moaning with it, and it only takes a handful of strokes before Lucy's coming on her own hand, clutching at the shelving to keep herself upright when her knees turn to water with the best orgasm she's had in months.

 

She's been back at her desk for an hour, trying to ignore the discomfort of her sticky underwear, when her email alert pings.

It's from Sam:
Hope you found what you were looking for earlier. Give me a call if you didn't—maybe we can give you a hand.

 

 

 

 

 

T
ess had a response to her ad in less than five minutes.

Perfect, because her soon-to-be-ex-husband would be there soon to pick up the last of his belongings. The ad she'd posted had been eye catching, and she figured that was likely to happen when you posted your cheating husband's favorite possession on Craigslist in a fit of rage:

BikerBroad's response read:
Best ad ever! Address? I've got no interest in a bigger penis anyway.
Tess's mouth crooked up; whoever BikerBroad was, she'd
made Tess smile. Tess couldn't remember the last time that'd happened.

Twenty-five minutes later BikerBroad knelt in Tess's garage examining the bike. Thank god she didn't live far. Tess's husband was coming to finalize the dividing of their lives, and she wanted the bike gone before he got there. No matter how mad his face would look when he found out what she'd done, it wouldn't nearly be enough.

Tess gazed down at BikerBroad's strong, tan shoulders; the tank top looked good on her. The woman looked up, eyes narrowed. Her tousled and cropped dark hair created a strong contrast to her piercing blue eyes. Her jawline was strong for a woman.

Tess had been attracted to women before but never acted on it. Married at eighteen, she'd only ever had sex with her husband. He hadn't honored the same vows.

“D'ya know what this is?” the woman asked, and Tess shrugged. “It's a Harley Softail.” BikerBroad gave Tess a quizzical look, then added, “It's worth a lot more than five hundred dollars.”

“You want it?” Tess didn't give a shit if it were made of gold, as long as it was off her property in—she checked her watch—twenty-nine minutes.

The biker stood up, searching Tess's eyes. She asked softly, “Did he ever take you riding?”

Tess shook her head. “He said I wouldn't like it.”

BikerBroad held out her hand. “I'm Carly, and I'm
going to show you what you've been missing.” Five minutes later Tess's arms were wrapped tightly around Carly, her thighs pressing against the woman's hips as she drove the bike up the long gravel drive. She wondered if Carly could feel her heart pounding as she pulled herself tightly against her.

It was exhilarating! To have the open air licking against your face felt like flying. Tess closed her eyes and her mind expanded into the wide-open space all around her.

By the time Carly parked the bike and Tess hopped off, she was blushing. The combination of the fast ride, the powerful engine between her legs, and her closeness to Carly's hard body had worked magic on Tess. The flesh between her legs had blossomed into an arousal she hadn't felt in years. She checked her watch: seventeen minutes.

“I can't believe I never did that!” Tess shook out her long chestnut hair, her heart pounding. Carly was still straddling the now-idling bike. Tess watched Carly's eyes travel to her chest, and looked down, following them.

Her nipples strained against her thin bra and thinner T-shirt. Carly was staring at her nipples. An unfamiliar pleasure coursed through her at the woman's attention.

Carly raised her eyes to Tess's. “You know, your ad was wrong.”

“It was?”

“The bike is, in fact, a five-hundred pound vibrator.”
Carly raised her eyebrows over her bright eyes, telegraphing a challenge to Tess. Tess's breath caught at Carly's provocative words. “When's the last time you had a ‘fuck-yeah' orgasm?”

Tess didn't recognize her own voice. “A long time.”

“Let me show you.” Carly patted the empty leather in front of her.

Tess looked at her watch: fifteen minutes. She didn't want her ex to catch her screwing around on the bike with Carly.

She thought of her wasted loyalty to him and the years she'd waited for it to feel right. It never had.

Fourteen minutes. She quickly straddled the bike to face Carly, “We've got less than fifteen minutes.”

“I won't even need ten.” Carly's voice was husky, and a spasm of desire crashed over Tess.

“Lean back.” Carly lifted Tess's legs over her own so that Tess was spread wide in front of her. Her short-shorts were loose at the legs, and Tess was sure her panties were visible…and wet.

Carly reached over her and revved the bike. The rumble vibrated through Tess and her pussy began a slow throb. “Good?”

“Not enough,” Tess panted, her eyes pleading. Tess wanted to come; she needed it. “We don't have much time.” Thirteen minutes.

“I'll get you there,” Carly assured her and lifted Tess's
shirt. She pushed up her bra and cupped her breasts, pinching her taut nipples. Tess gasped and arched toward Carly, who seized the invitation and sucked one pink nipple into her mouth. She teased it with her teeth while her other hand expertly worked Tess's other one.

Tess slitted her eyes and checked her watch. “Ten minutes,” she panted.

“Nearly there, pretty girl,” Carly's voice came breathily. She unfastened Tess's shorts and opened the zipper wide. Sliding her fingers under the band of Tess's panties, she angled her body so that she could bury her hand in Tess's shorts, cupping the woman's slick pussy. With the other hand, she revved the engine again. Tess yelped in delight at the sensations.

“That's it,” Carly coaxed. “Come for me, pretty girl.”

Carly found Tess's firm clit and pressed it with her thumb, plunging two other fingers into Tess's throbbing pussy. She hammered the throttle, causing a thundering vibration that traveled through Carly's fingers, pulsing them against Tess's clit and that perfect spot deep in her pussy.

Carly's tongue burned across the sensitive flesh at the base of Tess's neck. She revved the engine rhythmically, driving Tess to the edge.

Tess opened her eyes for only a moment, seeing the digital numbers on her watch read the exact time of her husband's promised arrival. She was out of time, but she didn't care. She was two seconds from what promised to
be the most powerful orgasm she'd ever had.

Carly growled right in her ear, “Come on my fingers, pretty girl.”

Tess did.

The orgasm crashed through her, boosted by the bike's vibrations, just as Carly had said. Tess cried out, overcome by the intense pleasure the woman gave her. She let her head fall back on the handlebars.

There was barely time to turn, stow the bike, and straighten Tess's clothes before they heard the sound of another vehicle crunching down the gravel drive. Carly grabbed Tess and pulled her close. “He's not divorcing you; he's setting you free.” She kissed Tess lightly on the cheek and added, “Let him have the bike, but leave the wet spot.” She winked, and Tess laughed out loud.

 

 

 

 

 

D
elores staggered to the kitchen to get herself a post-cock Coke.

“You want anything?” she called back to the butch in her bed, a real cowboy, this one; a real catch. Her words came out so hoarse and soft, though, she was sure he couldn't hear. She cleared her throat and ran a tongue over her teeth. Damn, it was hot. Sweat slithered down her back, under her breasts, off her forehead into her eyes. The can of Coke, the last one, was pushed way to the back of the fridge, just this side of frozen. She pulled it out and smeared it across her face—oh, that felt good.