T-tell your boyfriend if he says he's got beef

You’d been obsessed with her since the first day of the semester.

It started innocent enough — or at least you told yourself it did. Just admiration, fascination, the kind of attention any student might give to a professor who walked into a room and owned it.

But then came the dreams. The nights where you’d press your thighs together, your breath catching, whispering her name into the dark as your fingers slid between your legs.

You’d grind into your hand, eyes squeezed shut, imagining her voice in your ear — low and amused and a little cruel — telling you how wet you were for her. How pathetic. How cute. You thought about her mouth most of all. How red her lipstick was. How her tongue might taste. And every time you came, hard and gasping, soaked and trembling, it was always to the image of her — eyes dark, voice wrecked, hips rocking against your face.

So when you saw the toy, it was like your thoughts had conjured it. A wine-colored bullet vibe tucked inside a black velvet-lined box, small and sleek, expensive as hell. You saw it in a boutique in SoHo, the kind of place with mood lighting and wall-to-wall glass shelving, where the packaging looked more like perfume than porn. You couldn’t stop staring.

The color was perfect — deep, rich red, like the lipstick she wore when she wanted to look extra dangerous. You imagined her fingers curling around it, pressing it against her clit, legs spread wide, head thrown back. The mental image alone made your panties damp.

You bought it without hesitation. The girl behind the counter gave you a look that said I know exactly what this is for, but you didn’t care.

Back home, you sat on your bed with the box in your lap for almost an hour. Just staring. Touching the velvet. Imagining what she’d do when she found it. What she’d say. The fantasies spiraled fast — her opening the drawer, smirking, licking her lips before sinking into that leather chair in her office and using it right there. The idea of her cumming in the space you saw her every week made your stomach flip.

The note was the hardest part. You wanted it to be suggestive, filthy, but not pathetic. After three failed versions and a few frustrated tears, you landed on it: Use this and think of me. Written in messy, girlish script on pale pink paper that still smelled faintly like your perfume.

You folded it, placed it in the box, and waited for your chance.

The next afternoon, after her Friday lecture, you hung back with some fake excuse about forgetting a folder. You knew her office would be unlocked. The door creaked as you slipped in, the air inside smelling like paper, expensive perfume, and faint citrus. Your heart thudded in your throat as you pulled the top drawer open and placed the box gently inside. When it clicked shut, you jumped.

You barely slept all weekend.

Now it was Monday. Office hours. The building was quiet, late-afternoon light spilling gold across the floor. You’d picked your outfit carefully: short black skirt, ribbed cream tank top, braless, nipples just barely visible through the fabric. You’d wanted her to look. Needed it. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you knocked on her door — amusement, maybe. Curiosity. But when she looked up at you, her expression gave nothing away. Just that unreadable calm she wore so well, the kind of calm that felt like the eye of a storm.

“Close the door.”

You did, heartbeat quickening.

Without a word, she reached into her desk, pulled out the box, and set it on the polished wood between you. She opened it slowly, deliberately, fingers brushing the edge of the velvet, lifting the note you’d written. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours as she read it aloud.

“Use this and think of me,” she murmured, her voice like smoke, eyes sharp and unreadable. “That what you want, sweetheart? You want me thinking about your sweet little cunt while I get myself off in this office?”

Your thighs clenched. “Yes,” you breathed.

Casey stood slowly, walked around the desk, and leaned against it beside you. Her silk blouse shimmered in the dim light — deep forest green, top buttons undone to reveal the soft slope of her collarbone. That same lipstick, wine red. Her skirt was tight, high-waisted, black. Impossibly sexy.

She tilted her head. “Then I think it’s only fair you watch.”

And then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, she walked over to the leather chair in the corner and sank into it, her thighs spreading just enough to let the hem of her skirt ride up. You followed her with wide eyes, frozen in place, your breath shallow.

“On the desk,” she said. “Now. Legs apart.”

You moved like your body wasn’t your own. Climbed up onto her desk, your ass settling onto the cool wood, skirt rucked up around your waist. The surface was hard beneath your bare thighs, smooth and unforgiving. You spread your legs slowly, nervously — your pussy already slick, folds flushed and glistening.

You were pink and wet and swollen, clit throbbing, folds sticking as you spread them open with two fingers. Your slick made little sticky sounds as your fingers dipped inside, your cunt aching as you rolled your hips, grinding into your hand. You looked down at yourself — flushed, desperate, your pussy drenched and open for her. You wanted her to see it all.

Casey hiked her skirt higher, baring her own thighs, no panties underneath. Your mouth dropped open.

Her pussy was beautiful. Pale skin giving way to flushed pink folds, soft and glistening, lips full and wet, slick already shining along her inner thighs. A neat patch of copper curls above it, her clit peeking out, swollen and firm. She picked up the toy — your gift — and clicked it on. The hum filled the room like electricity.

“You touch yourself thinking about me, don’t you?” she asked, voice low and raspy. “Lying in bed, moaning my name, cumming like a pathetic little slut.”

Your fingers faltered. You whimpered. “Every night.”

Casey smirked. She pressed the bullet to her clit and gasped softly, hips lifting, back arching. Her thighs trembled as she worked the toy in small, tight circles. You watched, lips parted, heart racing, your own hand moving again between your legs. You dragged two fingers through your folds, coated them in slick, then pressed up against your clit — watching her, letting her see how wet you were for her. How needy.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You’re so—Casey, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

She moaned — soft and breathy, head tipped back, chest rising and falling. Her blouse had fallen open, revealing more skin, the faintest outline of her nipples beneath the silk. Her pussy glistened in the light, toy flicking over her clit as she gasped and bit her lip. Every time she moaned, your own cunt throbbed. Your fingers moved faster.

“I think about your mouth,” you whispered. “When I cum. About you sitting on my face. Holding me there.”

Her eyes snapped to yours. Dark. Wild.

“You want to taste me?”

You nodded, gasping. “Please.”

She groaned, hips grinding up into the toy, wet sounds filling the room now. Her arousal slicked the toy, dripping down between her thighs. She was close — you could see it in her body, the tension in her abs, the way her breaths came in short, shallow bursts.

“Then cum for me,” she whispered. “Let me see how filthy you can be.”

Your fingers flew. You were soaked, slick dripping onto the desk beneath you, your clit pulsing beneath your touch. The heat built fast, sharp and aching, pressure curling tight in your belly.

You moaned her name, loud, desperate. “Casey—fuck, Casey—”

She came with a gasp, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around nothing, slick coating her folds. Her eyes locked on yours, her lips parted, chest heaving. And the sight of her falling apart like that — for you — shattered you completely.

You came hard, thighs clenching, pussy spasming around your fingers, slick pouring out onto your hand and the desk. You whimpered, hips jerking, overwhelmed, dripping.

The air was thick with the scent of sex — sweat and slick and perfume.

You pulled your fingers from your cunt, staring at the mess between your legs. The desk beneath you was wet with arousal, sticky and shining. Your thighs trembled as you caught your breath, your chest still heaving.

Casey was slouched back in the chair, one arm draped over the side, the toy still slick and humming in her other hand. Her legs were still spread, pussy flushed and wet, twitching slightly with the aftershocks. She looked at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Next time,” she said, voice hoarse and low, “you’re going to use this while I fuck you with my fingers. Understand?” You nodded, dazed, still catching your breath.

“Next time,” she repeated, her voice low and rough-edged, like the words scraped her throat on their way out. The way her eyes dragged over you made your stomach flutter — heavy-lidded, pupils blown, the sharp, dangerous glint of a woman who knew she had you, and fully intended to make you pay for it. “You’re going to use this,” Casey murmured, lifting the still-slick toy in her hand, the gleaming wine-colored bullet catching the light as it hummed faintly, “while I fuck you with my fingers.”

You felt it then — a fresh throb between your legs, even though you’d just cum so hard you were still catching your breath. Your pussy ached, still wet, your slick pooling where your thighs met the polished wood of her desk. You could feel how soaked you were, the cool air of the office kissing damp skin, your inner thighs sticky, the scent of sex hanging thick and heavy in the space between you.

Casey didn’t take her eyes off you. Her lips, slick and faintly parted, curved into a slow, satisfied smile as she watched the aftershocks ripple through your body — your trembling legs, the twitch of your stomach, the unsteady way your chest rose and fell beneath your thin cream tank top, nipples still tight and aching against the fabric. She looked like she could read you in that moment, like every filthy, aching thought in your head was visible right there on your face. And truthfully, they probably were.

Your crush on her — if you could even call it that anymore — had long since twisted into something hotter, darker, more desperate. It wasn’t just about how brilliant she was in the classroom, how sharp and devastating her cross-examinations used to be in court.

It was about how she looked over the rim of her coffee cup in the mornings, how the veins in her hands stood out when she flipped through legal briefs, how her mouth tilted in a half-smile when she was pleased and how your stomach flipped whenever you could make it happen. Most nights, you touched yourself to thoughts of her voice — the warm, controlled rasp of it, saying your name like a secret, a promise, a threat.

And now you were here. On her desk. Cunt still throbbing from the orgasm she’d just coaxed out of you with nothing but her words and the sight of her own fingers working that toy over her clit. And she wanted more.

“You still wet for me?” Casey murmured, her voice dropping even lower, thick with satisfaction and something softer beneath it — not tenderness exactly, but possession. A claim.

She pushed up from the chair with that languid, predatory grace that made your stomach tighten, crossing the room slowly, hips swaying, silk blouse clinging to her in all the right places. The toy was still in her hand, the hum of it vibrating faintly through the quiet room.

You nodded, unable to speak, your breath catching as she reached you. Casey’s fingers, warm and steady, caught your jaw and tilted your face up. She kissed you then — slow, claiming, tongue tasting you like she had all the time in the world. And you melted for her, your lips parting, a soft sound escaping your throat when her teeth grazed your bottom lip. It was filthy, it was greedy, but it was still controlled, her hand firm at your chin, guiding, demanding.

When she pulled back, her thumb traced the slick curve of your bottom lip.

“Take this off,” she murmured, eyes flicking to your top.

Your hands shook as you tugged the tank over your head, baring yourself to her gaze. Your nipples were flushed, tight and pebbled, skin shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat. You felt exposed and desperate and wild under her stare.

“Good,” she murmured. Then her hands were on your thighs, spreading them wider, her palms warm against your skin, thumbs stroking absent little patterns over the damp flesh. She made a soft, appreciative sound at the mess between your legs, at the slick smeared over the wood beneath you, and you felt your face burn with the sheer filth of it.

Casey lifted the toy again, brushed the still-humming tip lightly over your inner thigh. The sensation made you shiver.

“Hold this,” she said softly, placing it in your hand.

You took it, the hum of it a small, steady vibration against your palm. She met your eyes, steady and dark. “Keep it on your clit. Don’t move it. Don’t take it off. I’ll tell you when you can cum.”

Your stomach dropped — in the best way.

You obeyed, sliding the toy between your legs, the bullet gliding slickly over your swollen clit. The contact made you gasp, hips jerking, the pleasure sharp and immediate. You were still so sensitive from earlier, but it felt too good to stop. You bit your lip, pressing the toy gently against yourself, your legs trembling, breath coming quick.

And then Casey’s fingers were on you.

She slid two fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness, groaning softly under her breath.

“God, you’re a mess for me,” she whispered.

You whimpered. The combined sensation — the relentless vibration of the toy against your clit and Casey’s long, slender fingers circling your entrance — made your vision blur at the edges.

When she pushed two fingers inside you, it felt like your whole body snapped tight.

She was rough about it, in that perfect way — no hesitation, no teasing. She slid in deep, curling her fingers immediately, finding that tender, aching spot inside you that made you moan loud, shameless.

Your hips rolled against her hand, the toy, every nerve ending singing.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “Spread out on my desk, fucking yourself on my fingers. So desperate to cum for me again.”

You couldn’t speak, only moan, your head tipped back, hair sticking to your damp skin, sweat beading between your breasts. The room was hot with it now — the scent of arousal, the sound of slick, wet fingers thrusting into you, the hum of the toy.

She fucked you slow at first — curling, twisting, the pads of her fingers brushing that tender spot inside you over and over. The vibration on your clit made your stomach clench, your legs shaking, the edge building fast, too fast. You whimpered, hips bucking.

“Not yet,” Casey warned, voice sharp enough to cut through the haze in your head. Her free hand caught your thigh, holding you steady. “You stay right there for me, sweetheart. Let me feel how tight you get when you beg.”

You whimpered, trying to hold it back, the pleasure too much, the heat thick in your belly.

“Please, Casey—”

She slid in deeper, twisting her fingers. “That’s better.”

You were soaked, your slick dripping onto her hand, the desk, your body strung tight as a wire. Every thrust of her fingers made your pussy clench, every vibration of the toy sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your spine.

“I bet you’re gonna soak my desk,” she murmured, her mouth against your ear now, her voice rough and dark and unbearably hot. “Bet you’re gonna make such a fucking mess for me.”

You moaned, your whole body shivering, toes curling, the edge so sharp it hurt.

“Cum,” Casey said, her breath hot on your neck. “Now. Let me feel you.”

You shattered

The orgasm ripped through you in thick, staggering waves, your entire body arching up off the desk, a sound you didn’t recognize spilling from your throat — desperate, high, helpless. Your hips rocked against her hand, the relentless vibration of the toy against your clit tipping you over again and again, pleasure blooming so sharply it bordered on pain. Your thighs trembled violently, slick pouring out of you, your cunt clenching tight around Casey’s fingers as you sobbed out her name, the sound tangled and raw.

Somewhere in the haze of it, the toy slipped from your grip, falling to the desk with a soft, sticky thud, and you felt your clit twitch at the loss of contact, the sudden absence of sensation almost as unbearable as the overwhelming pleasure that came before it. Your whole body was slick — sweat pearling along your hairline, your chest heaving, skin flushed and shimmering in the heavy air of the office.

Casey’s fingers stilled inside you as your orgasm slowed, her touch going gentle, soothing, the pads of her fingers brushing through your soaked, fluttering walls. She withdrew them slowly, dragging them through the wet heat of your pussy, gathering your slick, her eyes dark and greedy as she watched you tremble.

You were wrecked.

Your legs lay splayed open on the desk, your skirt rucked up high on your hips, the cool wood beneath you streaked with your arousal. Slick had smeared across the polished surface, glistening in the low light, a shameless testament to what you’d just done — what she’d made you do. Your inner thighs were sticky, the skin flushed and damp, and your cunt ached in the best, deepest way, still clenching faintly with every aftershock.

When you could finally lift your head, the sight of her undid you all over again.

Casey was standing over you, one hand braced on the edge of the desk, the other bringing her fingers — wet and shining with your slick — to her lips. She sucked them clean, slow and unhurried, closing her eyes for a moment like she was savoring it. A soft, satisfied sound slipped from her throat, low and obscene, and the way her lips shone when she licked them clean made your stomach twist.

Her hair had slipped from its knot, thick copper strands clinging to the damp skin at her throat. The silk of her blouse was rumpled and clung to her body, a faint sheen of sweat catching on the delicate curve of her freckled chest. Her face was flushed, lips slightly parted, breath coming rough and uneven. She looked ruinous. Wrecked and sharp and impossibly beautiful, and you couldn’t stop staring.

Neither of you spoke.

The air between you was thick — charged, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and warm skin. You could hear the tick of the clock on the wall, the low, faint hum of the building’s ancient heating system, but mostly you heard the unsteady rasp of your own breathing and hers. The room felt small now, the world outside irrelevant, your bodies still trembling from what you’d done.

Your thighs ached, muscles loose and spent, and you felt your slick still sticky on the insides of them, cooling against your skin. The mess on the desk glistened in the dim light, a smear of evidence neither of you seemed in any rush to clean up. You could still feel the pulse of your own heartbeat between your legs, your clit oversensitive, your cunt sore and slick and empty in the most delicious, aching way.

When your eyes finally met hers, something low and electric passed between you. A flicker of heat, of wicked satisfaction, of something softer and darker underneath. Casey’s gaze was heavy-lidded, unreadable, and you felt it settle over you like a weight, pinning you in place.

You didn’t look away.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved. It was enough to just exist there, in the quiet aftermath of it, in the warm, messy wreckage of what you’d done. In the thick, unspoken thing hanging between you now — no need for words, no rush to name it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

The room still felt thick with heat, the air scented with sweat and sex and the faint citrus of Casey’s perfume. Your pulse hadn’t completely steadied, your limbs still loose, your skin tingling in the places she’d touched you, kissed you, filled you. The weight of what had just happened hovered between you — not in a bad way, not in a regretful way, but in a way that felt loaded. Like neither of you quite knew what to say now that you’d come down from it.

Eventually, Casey stepped back first.

Her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, something softer flickering there — not quite tenderness, not quite guilt, just a raw, stripped-down quietness that you hadn’t seen in her before. Then she cleared her throat, breaking the moment, reaching for the discarded toy and turning it off with a flick of her thumb. The sudden absence of the hum made the room feel quieter, heavier.

Wordlessly, you both began gathering yourselves.

You slid off the desk, legs trembling a little, feeling the cool, tacky smear of your slick against your inner thighs. The air kissed the flushed, oversensitive skin there, making you shiver. Your skirt was a lost cause — wrinkled, hiked up awkwardly, damp where you’d made a mess of yourself on the desk. You tugged it down anyway, smoothing the fabric with shaking hands.

Your tank top was still discarded in a soft pile on the floor. You bent to pick it up, pulling it back over your head, the thin fabric clinging to your damp skin. Your nipples were still tight, sensitive, brushing against the cotton, and you caught yourself biting your lip as you fumbled with your denim jacket.

Across the room, Casey adjusted her blouse — the deep green silk clinging to her skin, sticking slightly to the sheen of sweat that still lingered on her chest. She tucked it back into the waistband of her black skirt with careful, practiced fingers, like this was just another thing to be managed, smoothed over. But her breathing was still uneven, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders now, a mess of copper waves no longer pinned up.

Neither of you said a word.

The silence stretched, not quite awkward, not quite comfortable. It felt like holding your breath underwater, waiting to see which of you would surface first.

And then — because you couldn’t stand it, because the heat in your chest was turning to panic — you broke it.

“Professor Novak—” you started, voice too soft, rough around the edges.

Casey’s head lifted, her gaze snapping to yours.

You swallowed hard, feeling the tight knot form in your stomach. “I… I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For giving you that toy. For putting you in that position. I wasn’t thinking — I mean, I was, but not about what it might risk for you, your job, your… reputation. I know you probably just wanted to blow off some steam, and I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey,” Casey cut in, and it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t her courtroom voice. It was soft. Firm. Tired in a way that felt human. She crossed the room before you could finish unraveling, one hand reaching up to cup your jaw, her palm warm against your flushed cheek. Her thumb brushed over your skin, her touch steady and grounding.

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this into something ugly.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart pounding. She leaned in and kissed you — not like earlier. Not greedy. Not rough. Not to take. It was soft. Careful. A steady press of her lips to yours, like sealing a promise you hadn’t spoken out loud yet. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your hands lifted instinctively to rest against her hips, the warmth of her body steady against yours.

When she pulled back, her mouth ghosted over yours.

“In here,” she said quietly, her lips still brushing yours, “it’s Casey.”

Something hot and aching twisted in your chest.

You wanted to cry from the tenderness of it. From the simple fact that she wasn’t pretending it hadn’t meant something. That she wasn’t pulling back, locking the door tight between you again. She could have. God knows it would’ve been easier.

But she wasn’t.

You nodded, your throat tight.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Casey.”

Her eyes softened, a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth. “Good girl.”

It made your stomach flutter.

She let her hand fall from your jaw, but stayed close, her fingers brushing the edge of your jacket. The silence lingered, heavier now for everything neither of you had said yet.

After a moment, you cleared your throat, chewing at your lower lip. “I don’t… I don’t know what this is,” you admitted quietly. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I just — I wanted you so badly it hurt, and I thought if I just had you once it’d… get it out of my system or something. But it’s not gone. It’s worse now.”

Casey gave a soft, breathless laugh, like you’d told her a secret she already knew. Her gaze dropped for a second, something unguarded flickering across her face before she lifted her eyes back to yours.

“It’s not gone for me either,” she murmured. “Hasn’t been since the first week you sat in my class, wearing those little skirts, looking at me like I hung the moon.”

Your cheeks flushed hot.

“I kept telling myself it was nothing. That it’d pass. That I was too old, that you were my student, that it wasn’t worth the risk.” She shrugged, a dry smile tugging at her mouth. “But then you left a goddamn vibrator in my desk with a note like that, and I realized it wasn’t going anywhere.”

You laughed, choked and a little breathless, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’m a menace,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” Casey agreed, lips twitching. “But you’re my menace now.”

It made something sharp and warm twist inside you.

The weight of what it meant still hung there, though. The risk of it. The very real danger of what this could cost both of you.

“I know this isn’t… simple,” you said quietly, sobering a little. “I know it could cost you everything if anyone finds out. And I don’t want to be the reason for that. I care about you too much.”

Casey’s gaze held yours steady. “I’m not reckless, sweetheart. I know what this is. I know what it could be. And if you’re brave enough to want it, then I’m brave enough not to pretend I don’t.”

Your heart stuttered.

“So what do we do?” you asked, voice soft.

She reached for your hand, fingers threading through yours, the contact simple and grounding. “We see where this goes,” she murmured. “Carefully. Quietly. Until we figure it out.”

You nodded, breath catching. “Okay.”

Casey squeezed your hand. “Okay.”

And for the first time since your world tipped sideways, you felt something settle in your chest — messy and risky and complicated, but yours.

You both let out a breath at the same time, a small, unsteady laugh passing between you. No titles now. No lectures. No case law citations. Just two people, standing too close in a quiet office, wrecked and wanting and still holding onto each other like neither was quite ready to let go.

You never meant for it to be a thing. The movie nights, you mean.

It wasn’t some grand, deliberate arrangement. It wasn’t planned or even suggested outright. It just… happened. You’d barely been a week into your new position at the DA’s office — all bright-eyed, hopelessly eager, practically vibrating with nervous energy every time you stepped through those heavy glass doors.

Everyone else felt like they belonged there, sharp and sure of themselves, speaking a language you weren’t fluent in yet. Polished suits, clinical smiles, the kind of hardened confidence that only came with years of carrying the city’s ugliest secrets in your case files. But then there was Casey Novak.

And Casey Novak… she was something else entirely.

From the moment you met her, you were helpless. She wasn’t just smart, wasn’t just good at her job — she was magnetic. She moved through the office like a storm with perfect posture, all decisive strides and clipped, clever words. She had this way of looking at people that made them shut up and listen, made them scramble to keep up.

And yet, with you, she’d been kind. Smiled when you nervously fumbled through your introduction, made a dry joke that immediately eased the tightness in your chest. She didn’t brush you off. She asked where you went to school, if you liked working downtown, what made you want to go into law. She made you feel… seen.

And you clung to that.

Maybe too much.

So when she offered to let you shadow her for a case, just a simple preliminary hearing, nothing too intense, you jumped at the chance. It became a pattern. A late file drop-off turned into a quick recap in her office. A rushed dinner after a long deposition morphed into “Well, you can hang around if you want, I’ve got takeout coming.” Then a sarcastic remark about your phone wallpaper (a still from some dorky rom-com you loved) turned into a casual, “We should watch it sometime, just for a laugh.” You didn’t even realize how naturally you fell into it.

Somehow, over a few scattered evenings, you and Casey had a routine. She’d handle the food — usually something indulgent and greasy she’d complain about and then devour like she hadn’t eaten all day. You’d pick the movies. And you always, always brought something ridiculous.

Cartoony comedies, goofy romances, anything light and silly because you were still too shy to suggest something serious. You didn’t know what would be worse, boring her or her catching on to the quiet little crush you’d been nursing like a pathetic teenager.

But she never seemed to mind. In fact, she humored you. She’d stretch out on her couch with a glass of wine, let you ramble about the plot like it was cinema history, and toss out snarky commentary that made your stomach flutter.

And tonight was no different.

You’d shown up at her apartment with a plastic bag full of junk food and a sheepish grin, already apologizing for your movie choice. “It’s dumb,” you warned her, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan as she opened the door.

She gave you that crooked little smirk. “They’re always dumb,” she teased, stepping aside to let you in. “That’s half the fun.”

You laughed, feeling the tight ball of nerves in your chest loosen just a little. She looked effortless, as usual — tank top, hair up in a messy knot, no makeup, and still the most distractingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen up close.

You flopped onto the couch while she opened a bottle of wine, raising an eyebrow as she poured a glass for herself. “Want one?” she asked, tilting the bottle in your direction.

“Oh— I don’t really… I mean, I’ve tried it, but…” you trailed off awkwardly, biting your lip.

Casey just grinned, setting a second glass down in front of you anyway. “Live a little. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.”

You took a tentative sip once she sat beside you, immediately making a face at the sharp tang of it, and she laughed — low and warm, the sound of it sinking right into your bones.

“That bad, huh?”

“I think my throat’s on fire,” you managed, wiping your mouth.

“Lightweight,” she teased, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Guess it’s good I’m not trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

Your face went hot so fast it was a miracle you didn’t combust on the spot. You ducked your head, trying to hide your flustered grin.

“I was kidding,” she murmured, nudging you again, her voice softer. “Relax, sweetheart.”

The pet name made your stomach flip.

You clutched a pillow to your chest, both for something to do with your hands and to hide the way your thighs pressed together at the sound of her voice. She clicked on the TV, settled back with one ankle crossed over her knee, and you queued up your movie.

It was something you’d seen too many times to count, deliberately chosen because you knew it by heart, which meant you wouldn’t have to concentrate on it. Which meant you could focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, on the way she smelled like clean skin and something crisp and peppery.

It was dangerous, being this close to her in the dim light of her living room, with no courtroom distractions, no case files to hide behind. Every time she shifted beside you, your whole body prickled, hyperaware of the brush of her knee against yours, the way her wrist flexed when she sipped her wine. You kept stealing glances at her when you thought she wasn’t looking — at the curve of her jaw, the easy smirk she gave the TV whenever a character did something stupid.

“What?” she said suddenly, catching you mid-stare.

Your eyes widened. “Nothing— I wasn’t— I just—”

She grinned. “Busted.”

You groaned, pressing the pillow over your face. “I swear I wasn’t staring.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, leaning closer, her voice dropping into something more teasing. “If you’re gonna stare, you should at least be good at it.”

Your whole body went molten.

“I wasn’t—” you protested weakly, but she just laughed again, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Relax, rookie,” she teased. “I’m just messing with you.”

You sank deeper into the cushions, the heat in your cheeks refusing to die down. And then, somewhere between the hero’s ridiculous grand romantic gesture and Casey making a dry, muttered remark about how unrealistic it was, you must have started leaning against her.

It felt natural.

Easy.

Her shoulder was solid and warm beneath your cheek, and when you didn’t pull away, neither did she. In fact, she shifted a little closer, and you swore you felt her thumb brush lazily along your knee.

Your stomach fluttered. Your skin felt too tight.

When you let out a soft yawn, trying to mask it behind your hand, she glanced down at you, her voice soft and teasing. “You falling asleep on me, sweetheart?”

You smiled, half-embarrassed, feeling your eyelids droop. “No… I’m fine. It’s just… it’s warm in here.”

Casey chuckled, her arm draping casually over the back of the couch behind you. “Sure it is.”

You felt your cheeks burn, a familiar twinge of self-consciousness rising — because you knew you were naive. You weren’t like her. You hadn’t had flings, you didn’t know how to flirt properly, didn’t know how to navigate this kind of closeness. But God, you wanted to. You wanted her. And when her fingers traced lazy circles against your knee, you felt your whole body tilt toward sleep, your head dropping against her shoulder, safe and warm.

And then you were gone.

୨ৎ

When you wake, it’s to that quiet, strange stillness only found in someone else’s bed. The early morning light is soft and hazy, spilling through unfamiliar curtains in pale ribbons across the sheets, catching the dust in the air. Your head’s thick with sleep, limbs heavy, the faint warmth of another body beside you sinking slowly into your awareness.

You blink, a little disoriented, registering first the way your sleep shirt’s ridden up your thighs, then the cool drag of the sheets against your bare skin. You’re not on the couch anymore. You’re in her bed.

And then you see her.

Casey’s propped up on one elbow beside you, her hair down and a little messy, her skin bare except for a thin white tank top slipping low on one shoulder. She’s watching you with a look that isn’t teasing, isn’t smug, but something deeper — a soft, simmering hunger mixed with tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep, and it rolls over you like warm honey.

Your throat’s dry. “I… I’m sorry,” you croak, instantly mortified, your hand clutching the sheets like it might save you. “I don’t remember… how I…”

Casey smiles, her hand reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. You fell asleep on me. I figured you’d be more comfortable in here.” Her thumb strokes your jaw, lingering. “I didn’t touch you.”

You swallow hard, your face burning. “I… I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t think you did. I just…”

Her thumb slides across your lower lip. “You’re adorable when you fluster.”

Your stomach twists, a sharp, fluttery ache blooming low between your hips. You want her so badly it’s making your whole body ache, and you don’t know how to ask for it.

“I’ve never done this,” you admit softly. “Like… been in bed with someone. Not even for sleeping. Or… anything.”

Casey’s eyes darken immediately, her gaze dropping to your lips, then lower. Her hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb grazing the soft skin behind your ear.

“You’ve never…?”

You shake your head, nervous but aching for her. “Not even close.”

A low, hungry sound slips from her throat. “Jesus,” she mutters. “You’ve got no idea what that does to me.”

You open your mouth, breath catching. “I… I want to,” you manage, voice cracking.

“Say it again.”

“I want you. Please.”

Casey leans in, and the kiss she gives you is slow, deep, devastating. Nothing like the clumsy, teenage kisses you remember fumbling through. Her mouth moves over yours with purpose, coaxing you to open, her tongue sliding against yours with a hot, slick glide that makes you whimper. You don’t know what to do with your hands — you hesitate, hovering awkwardly at your sides, and she notices, smiling into the kiss.

“Here,” she murmurs, taking your hands in hers and guiding them to her waist. “Touch me, baby. You’re allowed to touch.”

You let your fingers settle tentatively against the curve of her hips, your palms brushing the soft fabric of her tank top. She feels warm, solid, every inch of her radiating control.

Casey pulls back just enough to look at you, her breathing heavier now, her voice low. “I wanna see you, sweetheart. Can I?”

You nod, face flushed, heart pounding. She sits back on her heels, her hand brushing your cheek one last time before sliding down to the hem of your sleep shirt. She peels it up, slow, deliberate, her fingertips trailing after the fabric like she’s memorizing every inch. Goosebumps follow the path of her hands, and when the shirt’s pulled over your head, you feel utterly exposed.

Your breasts are bare, nipples tight and flushed from the cool air and from the heat in her gaze. You feel small under the weight of it — not embarrassed, but raw, your skin hypersensitive everywhere her eyes land.

“Fuck,” Casey breathes. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

You shiver at the heat in her voice. She cups one breast in her palm, her thumb teasing over your nipple until it stiffens even tighter, sending a bolt of aching pleasure straight to your core. She leans down, kisses over the soft flesh, then draws your nipple into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it until you gasp, arching into her.

When she switches to the other, her teeth graze the sensitive skin and you whimper, feeling your thighs press together.

“You like that?” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin.

You nod, trembling. “Yeah… yeah— it feels…”

“Good,” she finishes for you, smirking. “We’re just getting started.”

Her hands trail down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your panties. She hooks her thumbs in them, pausing. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Please.”

She slides them down slowly, and you feel the wet cling of fabric against your folds, your arousal making the thin cotton stick to your skin. When the panties clear your thighs, you see the evidence of it — the damp patch, the glisten between your legs, and your face burns hot.

But Casey groans, dark and filthy, eyes fixed between your thighs.

“Look at you,” she rasps. “God, baby… you’re soaked for me.”

You whimper, not sure where to put your hands again, and she catches them, bringing your wrists to rest on the pillow beside your head.

“Leave ’em there,” she orders, soft but firm. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, heart hammering.

She parts your legs, wide enough that you feel exposed, vulnerable, but the hunger in her face makes you ache. Your pussy’s slick and swollen, the folds soft and glistening, your clit a flushed little pearl peeking out from its hood.

Casey lets out another groan. “So fucking pretty,” she murmurs. “I’m gonna taste every inch of this.”

And then she’s lowering herself between your thighs, kissing the inside of your knee, then your thigh, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up until her breath ghosts against your pussy. The first stroke of her tongue is slow and flat, dragging through your folds from base to clit, and your hips jerk violently.

“Oh— oh my God—”

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Casey soothes, one arm slipping under your thigh to hold you down while the other hand parts your lips, exposing your clit. She circles it with her tongue, flicks it, then seals her mouth over it, sucking just hard enough to make you sob her name.

Her tongue moves like she knows your body better than you do — sliding down to tease your entrance, then back up, lapping through your slick. The wet sounds between your legs are obscene, her groan vibrating against your clit like she’s savoring every taste of you.

You’re gasping, moaning, legs trembling. “Casey— I— it’s too— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she growls against you, slipping a single finger inside your tight, soaking pussy. The stretch burns for a second, but it melts into heat fast, and when she curls it just right, you see stars.

“Oh—fuck—Casey, I’m—”

“Come for me, baby. Right now. Let me feel it.”

It breaks like a wave, your orgasm slamming through you so fast and sharp you cry out, back arching off the bed. Your pussy clenches hard around her finger, wet and pulsing, and Casey moans into you, licking you through it, your hips jerking as pleasure coils tight, sharp, unbearable.

When you finally collapse, boneless and shaking, she pulls herself up your body, her lips shining with your slick. She kisses you, filthy and deep, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

“You’re mine now,” she murmurs against your lips. “And I’m never fucking letting you go.”

And you believe her.

୨ৎ

You don’t know how long you lay there, skin still humming, the sheets tangled around your legs, Casey’s body half-draped over yours like she can’t bear to be too far away. Her fingers trail idle patterns along your side, tracing down to your hip and back up again. The air between you is thick, hazy, electric even after everything, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You turn your face into the curve of her neck, inhaling the clean warmth of her skin, still carrying the faintest scent of wine and sleep and you. Your lips brush against her collarbone, and it makes her hum, a low, lazy sound in the back of her throat.

And then, in a soft, breathless voice you barely recognize as yours, you murmur, “Can… can I do the same to you?”

Casey stills.

Then you feel it, the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her thigh presses a little tighter against yours. She leans back enough to look at you, her eyes sharp and dark and suddenly very, very awake.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice — like she wasn’t expecting it but God, she wants it. “You wanna taste me, baby?”

You swallow hard, cheeks flushed, nerves buzzing so fast it makes your fingers tremble. But you nod, a little shy, a little eager. “I… I wanna know what you taste like. I wanna… learn.”

That does something to her. You can see it ripple through her body, see the way her eyes darken, her lips part, the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. She leans in, kisses you hard, like a reward, like a promise.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Casey breathes against your lips. “I’ll show you. You’re gonna do so good for me.”

She eases back, stripping her tank top off in one slow, fluid motion. And you forget how to breathe. Her body is everything you imagined and more — smooth pale skin, small, firm breasts with dusky pink nipples that peak tight under your gaze. There’s a softness to her you’d never seen in her courtroom armor, curves made for hands and mouths, and you ache to touch her.

She smirks when she catches you staring, and it makes your stomach flip.

“Go ahead,” she teases, guiding your hand up to her breast. “Touch me, baby.”

Your palm cups her, the weight of it perfect in your hand. Her nipple’s pebbling under your fingertips, and when you brush your thumb across it experimentally, she lets out a low, appreciative sound.

“Mmm, just like that. You’re a natural.”

The praise makes heat bloom between your thighs again.

Casey leans back against the pillows, legs parting just enough that you catch the slick glint of her arousal. Her pussy’s flushed, pink and soft, already wet for you, and the sight of it makes your mouth water, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You see how wet I am for you, baby?” she murmurs, her fingers sliding through the slick between her thighs, gathering it, then bringing them to your lips. “Taste.”

You part your lips and suck her fingers into your mouth without hesitation. She tastes heady, musky, a little sweet and utterly addictive. The filthy groan she lets out when you swirl your tongue around her fingertips makes your thighs clench.

“God, look at you,” Casey breathes. “Come here.”

She guides you between her legs, her hand in your hair, angling your mouth just where she wants you. You hesitate for a heartbeat, nerves fluttering, and she feels it, strokes your cheek.

“I’ll tell you exactly what to do, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice low and thick. “Start with a kiss, right here.” She guides your mouth to her clit, swollen and sensitive.

You press a soft, tentative kiss there, and she shudders, a low moan slipping from her lips.

“Good girl,” Casey breathes. “Now… use your tongue. Flat and slow, just like this.”

She rocks her hips, demonstrating against your mouth, and you follow her lead. Your tongue flattens against her, licking a long, slow stripe through her folds. She tastes warm, rich, salty-sweet, the flavor thick on your tongue. Every sound she makes, every shift of her hips, feels like a reward, like you’re earning each broken moan.

“Mmm, fuck, just like that,” she groans. “God, you’re so fucking good at this.”

Your confidence builds with every flick, every slow circle. Casey guides your hand up, placing it on her breast. You squeeze gently, thumb brushing her nipple the way she showed you, and the sound she makes goes straight to your core.

“Faster, baby. Little circles, yeah… right there.”

You work your tongue, circling her clit, sucking it gently between your lips like she taught you, and Casey’s hips start to rock against your face, the muscles in her stomach tensing.

“Finger,” she gasps. “One. Slow.”

You hesitate, but she grabs your wrist, guiding your fingers down, sliding one into her slick, tight heat. She’s impossibly warm inside, gripping you, and the filthy moan she lets out when you curl your finger the way she shows you makes you ache.

“Oh God— fuck, you’re perfect. I’m so close— don’t stop, sweetheart.”

You suck harder, pressing your tongue just where she likes, your finger curling inside her, and Casey falls apart with a sharp cry. Her thighs tremble around your head, hips bucking as she comes, the taste of her slick and heady on your tongue. You keep licking, desperate to draw every last drop of pleasure from her until she has to gently tug your hair.

“Okay, baby— okay, enough,” she pants, voice wrecked and shaking.

You crawl up, dazed and flushed, and she pulls you into a deep, filthy kiss, tasting herself on your lips. Her arms wrap around you, holding you tight.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, grinning. “You’re mine now, you know that?”

And you whisper against her lips, “I’ve always been yours.”

୨ৎ

The room settles around you in the kind of thick, satisfied quiet that only comes after bodies have been wrung out and thoroughly adored. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air heavy with the scent of sex and skin and Casey’s sharp citrus warmth. Your body feels loose, weightless, every inch of you still thrumming from where she touched, where she kissed, where you tasted her and made her come undone.

You’re curled against her now, your face tucked against her neck, breathing her in. The warmth of her skin, the steady, soothing rise and fall of her chest under your cheek, the way her hand lazily traces the bare curve of your hip, makes you feel like you’ve melted into her.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need.

Casey’s fingertips drift up your spine, feather-light, and you shiver even though your body feels like it’s running a low-grade fever. She presses her lips to your hairline, a soft, lingering kiss that makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she murmurs, her voice lower now, softer, stripped of all the teasing edge she carried earlier.

“Mmhmm,” you hum against her skin, too content and sleepy to move. “I feel… good.”

A low chuckle rumbles in her chest. “Yeah? You did so fucking good for me.”

Your face heats up again, and you hide it against her neck. “You did everything,” you mumble, embarrassed but grinning.

She shifts, tilting your chin up with a gentle finger until you’re looking at her. There’s no smugness in her smile now — just this quiet, affectionate warmth that makes your stomach flip all over again.

“Baby,” Casey murmurs, brushing her thumb over your lower lip. “You made me come like a goddamn teenager. Don’t sell yourself short.”

You duck your head, a shy, pleased sound catching in your throat. “I… liked it. A lot.”

“I could tell,” she teases gently, dropping another kiss on your temple. “You’re a quick learner.”

Your eyelids are heavy now, sleep creeping in at the edges, but you don’t want to leave this moment yet. You trace lazy shapes on her stomach with your fingertips, the texture of her skin warm and smooth under your touch.

“Casey?” you murmur, voice soft and slurred with exhaustion.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I… I’m really glad it was you,” you admit, your cheeks burning even as you say it, because you mean it. Because it matters.

Her arm tightens around you, and she presses a slow, tender kiss to your hair. “It was always gonna be me, sweetheart,” she says quietly, her voice thick in a way you’ve never heard before. “From the second you walked into my office with those wide, innocent eyes and started blushing every time I looked at you.”

You smile against her skin, a sleepy, contented sound escaping you.

“I always thought you were too good for me,” you confess, barely a whisper.

“Not a chance,” Casey murmurs. “You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

You snuggle closer, tangling your legs with hers, feeling safe and warm and impossibly loved in a way you hadn’t known you were missing until now.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” you warn drowsily, your words muffled against her collarbone.

“That’s okay, baby,” she soothes, her hand in your hair again, combing through the messy strands. “I’ve got you. Sleep.”