thank god fish aren't into cash...

It's a Friday - your day off. You're alone and bored in the apartment you share with Ryland, who is (much to your displeasure) stuck at work for a professional development day. The first part of the morning had slipped by quickly as you ran errands and tidied up the apartment, but as noon approaches you find yourself growing restless.

You glance at the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick steadily by. Ryland will be at work for at least another two hours. You're sure he'll be exhausted when he gets home, and will most definitely complain about the latest curriculum adjustments or whatever lackluster guest speaker the district had decided to hire this year.

A sinful idea pops into your head just then. It's almost lunchtime, which means Ryland will text you soon to check in on you. Maybe you can help lighten his mood a little before he has to slog through the rest of his afternoon.

You hurry into the bedroom and head for the closet, shedding your clothes as you go. You're left standing stark naked in front of your shared closet, flicking through Ryland's collection of button-up shirts.

You settle on your favorite one: a lovely cornflower blue with white buttons. It's slightly more form-fitting than the rest of the shirts Ryland wears, hence it being your favorite. Whenever he wears it you inevitably catch yourself staring at the way the material stretches over his shoulders and hugs his biceps. Once, he'd worn it with the sleeves rolled up and you'd been pretty sure you were going to pass out from how quickly your blood rushed south.

You slip into the shirt and button it up halfway, trying not to get terribly distracted by the scent of his cologne clinging to the collar. There's at least a two minute period in which you fight with the sleeves, trying to roll them up one-handed. Eventually you wrestle them into place and spare a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Only a few minutes left till Ryland's break. You hurry back into the living room and snatch up your phone, settling into the corner of the couch. Time to translate your idea into action.

You open the camera on your phone and snap a picture. When you open up the camera roll to assess your work you're pleased with the result: a view of you from the waist up, a cheeky smile on your face and just a hint of cleavage visible between the open buttons of his shirt.

All things considered it's fairly innocuous. Better to start off modest and work your way up to the main event once you've been assured he's alone. How mortifying it would be for the both of you if he were to open his phone around his coworkers only for them to get a full view of your tits. He'd definitely get fired and you'd have to live with the knowledge that you'd digitally flashed his middle-aged coworkers.

You pull up your text thread with Ryland and send him the picture. Miss you, you add after, tacking on a red heart.

Six minutes later (six minutes you most certainly were not counting) his reply comes.

Ryland: miss you too sweetheart ❤️

Ryland: you look so good in my shirt.

Ryland: how's your day been?

Ryland's not shy about how much he enjoys seeing you in his clothes. There have been numerous occasions where you've donned one of those nerdy science pun tees he's so fond of and stepped out into the living room while he's trying to grade papers just so you could see him look up once, do a double take, and watch any thoughts of work vanish from behind his eyes. It's flattering, knowing you can have that kind of effect on him.

You tap out an answer: good, managed to get lots done around the apartment.

You: it'll be a better day once you're home.

The message is marked as read immediately. A second later a little red heart react pops up on your last text.

You: you around anyone right now?

Three little dots appear on the bottom of the screen and you watch eagerly as Ryland types out his reply.

Ryland: just a few more hours, thank god. wanna watch a movie tonight?

Ryland: and no, i stepped outside for some fresh air.

Ryland: why? 🤨

Your mouth curls into a wicked grin as you flick open the next button on the shirt and open your phone's camera again. The selfie you take this time is more salacious than the last. Your lips are curved into a seductive smile, cleavage bared, breasts pressed together in a tantalizing display. There's a hint of areola peeking out, the rosy pink contrasting against the pale blue of the shirt. It's sure to draw his eye.

You send it to him before you can second guess yourself.

You: wanted to show you what's waiting for you when you get home, that's all 😇

It's a risky move you're pulling, teasing him while he's at work. You've sexted him before while he's away from home. Every time you do he comes home in a flurry, barely even grunting out a greeting before he has you pulled flush against him, lips sliding against yours, hands gripping at your waist and hips and breasts, hard cock pressed against your lower belly. Every time you let him take his pleasure and return it to you twofold, leaving you both sweaty and sated

The seconds seem to stretch, those three bouncing dots appearing and disappearing and then appearing again.

Ryland: oh my god

Ryland: baby please

Ryland: are you trying to kill me?

Ryland: jesus I'm getting hard at work

Ryland: you're a menace

His rapid-fire messages pause for a moment. Your phone dings when he adds:

you're probably laughing at me

He's right, you are, your face buried in the crook of your elbow as you snicker at his flustered response. He's supposed to be working on his professional development but his reaction to your image is very much not professional.

You: me, laugh at you? never.

Then, because you never know when to leave well enough alone, you take one last picture. This time the shirt is hanging off your shoulders, exposing the upper curve of your breasts and the subtle line of your collarbones. You angle the camera in such a way that he can see the bare expanse of your thighs. It's a shame the camera can't capture the slickness you feel gathering there, your skin prickling with excitement and arousal as you send the photo off.

Ryland: baby you can't do this to me while I'm at work, it's not fair.

Ryland: how the hell am I supposed to focus on team building exercises now?

You feel only a little bad for him. You're a little too focused on the heat gathered between your legs and the pleasant shiver that slithers along your back and down your limbs as you imagine what's in store for you when he gets home. Pressing your thighs together offers little relief. You're so, so tempted to slide your hand down and sate your growing arousal. But you don't. You're determined to delay your wandering hands, to suspend your pleasure for as long as possible. You know the wait will be worth it.

Your fingers tap across the keyboard: you're smart, you'll figure it out ;)

Holland's head was tipped back, chest heaving with every stroke of his cock. His tongue lathed over his lip, he'd been very careful not to bring his fist to high, lest he smudged the lipstick that had been applied to his tip.

He'd made a stupid joke hours before, that he'd put lipstick on it so you could kiss it. But the way you reacted to it? It wasn't a joke anymore.

He whimpered, fist pausing mid way through a stroke, hips jerking.

"You wanna kiss it? Huh?" Holland laughed softly as he shifted to sit better on the edge of his bed. He stared down at where you sat in front of him, you looked so desperate. It was fucking him up HARD, too.

"C'mon, c'mon. Kiss it... Go on," He breathed out harsh and quickly. He spread his thighs just a bit, his hands flying to the bed sheets just so he had something to grab at. You hummed softly, leaning forward, and gently grabbing him.

You pressed a testing, feather light kiss to his flushed tip, a sigh slipping past his lips as you did. Holland screwed his eyes shut before nudging his hips forward.

"You said you'd kiss it, not—" Before he could get his teasing complaint out, you licked a fat stripe across the head of his cock. He let out an airy noise as his thighs started quivering.

"I did kiss it, jackass..." You huffed softly, before pressing a soft kiss that lingered. When you pulled back, you ran your tongue over your bottom lip and felt it. Just the slightest bit of lipstick had transfered to your lips.

He glanced down at you with half lidded eyes and whimpered at the sight. A pretty shade against your lips, messy and spread against a little bit of your skin.

"Shit. Shit, oh fuck. That's... Ouhhh my god." Holland's cock twitched, before he leaned back against his bed. His breathing was ragged like just the sight of you like that had sent him close to an edge.

"we've barely started."

"It's HOT! H, how–how else am I supposed to react??"

"...By shutting up and letting me get my kisses in." You laughed softly, setting a hand on his thigh and pulling him forward slightly. He squeaked, almost making protest about how you should be NICE to him, but that was cut off by a sharp gasp as you pressed a kiss with more heat to his tip.