Untitled

Clothes are everywhere.

Dresses are tossed across the bed, garment bags are scattered on the floor half unzipped. Shoes, so many shoes, are lined up like a museum display on the carpet, none of them quite right. A beaded Saint Laurent jumpsuit glimmers on the floor, rejected. A Balenciaga clutch hangs open from the dresser drawer. One of Maya’s earrings just fell behind her bedside drawer and she swore so hard the neighbour probably filed a noise complaint.

You can hear Maya muttering to herself in the en suite in amongst her blow dryer whirring, her perfume spritzing, and hangers clattering like a scene from a rom com… if the lead was a marketing genius with rage issues and six figure taste.

You pause in the doorway.

You’re in a black dress that’s perfectly sculpted to your body with a high slit and a low back. You’re holding your clutch, a little coffin shaped number you got at that horror boutique in Burbank, and your lipstick is the colour of dried blood.

Maya bursts out of the bathroom barefoot, holding a pair of mismatched earrings and still trying to zip up the side of her own dress. It’s satin and structured with a deep V, requiring her to be braless underneath of course. Her hair’s wild, her makeup fierce. She’s halfway between chaos and art.

“I’m almost ready,” she blurts, frantic. “I swear. I know we’re gonna be late, spooky, I just… I don’t know which earrings and the light in here sucks and I swear this isn’t tantrum level, I’m just… fitting room at Sak’s level right now, okay?”

She finally looks up and stops cold.

“Holy… fuck.”

You giggle a little, shifting your weight in those towering black heels she made you buy last week. Her eyes drag down your frame, wide and reverent.

“I take it I look okay?”

Maya breathes out like she’s been holding it for hours. “‘Okay’ is the understatement of the century, baby girl.”

She crosses the room in two long strides, still holding both earrings like she forgot what they were for. Her eyes are hungry, like she wants to devour you before the night even starts.

“You’re not allowed to stand in doorways like that. That’s illegal.” She gestures vaguely at your hips, at the slit in your dress, at the line of your collarbone. “It’s unfair, honestly. Cruel, even.”

You grin and shrug. “Just trying to keep up with my girlfriend, the fashion legend.”

“I look like a rushed fashion legend,” she mutters, glancing down at her half fastened dress. “I’ve tried on five different outfits. I’ve destroyed the closet. I haven’t even picked shoes.”

You reach out, gently tugging the zipper up for her, smoothing your hands along her waist after. Her skin shivers under your touch. You lean in close, breath hot at her ear.

“You’re gonna win best dressed and hottest girlfriend in one go,” you murmur. “Now breathe. Earrings, heels, then let’s go. We’re already fashionably late.”

Maya starts pacing in front of the full length mirror now, one heel on, one heel in her hand, a pair of earrings clutched in her mouth like a deranged jewel thief.

“This is stupid,” she mumbles around them, spitting the earrings out into her palm. “Everything looks wrong. Everything’s too… something. These shoes make me look like a Bratz doll, and not in the good way.”

You bite back a grin. “You love looking like a Bratz doll.”

“Yeah, a functioning Bratz doll,” she snaps, hopping once on her one shoed foot before grabbing the edge of the dresser for balance. “I haven’t eaten. I’m sweating. My eyeliner’s trying to abandon ship. And…”

She holds up two pairs of earrings.

“Gold hoops or the diamonds?” she demands, voice sharp. “Be honest.”

You raise a brow. “You’re asking me for fashion advice?”

She glares, the stress flushing her cheeks a little. “Ugh. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

You smile softly. “Do you want help, or are we doing the ‘pretending you don’t need it’ thing?”

She hesitates.

You’re already stepping closer, taking an earring from her hand, carefully threading it through her ear. Her shoulders drop just a little.

“Want me to put your shoes on too?” you murmur.

“Please.” Her voice is quiet now.

You nod, focused, brushing your fingers gently against her jaw as you fix the second earring.

“I like these,” you say. “They’re sharp. Like you.”

That earns a smile. Small, but real.

She watches you step back and give her a once over with the same stillness to you that always throws her off.

And then you smirk cheekily. “Wow, are you really gonna wear the blazer with that necklace?”

Maya gasps. “You little…!”

You’re already backing away, laughing. “I’m just saying!”

“Spooky, I swear to God!” She grabs the nearest sequin bag and chucks it across the room as you vanish back down the hall, laughing all the way.

~

The Continental limo is sleek, all chrome and tinted glass, idling like a panther at the curb. Maya slides into the back seat ahead of you, legs crossed sharply, coat falling open over her deep purple silk dress, the one that cinches her waist and shows just enough lace beneath the plunging neckline to drive you insane. She’s clutching her phone in one hand, reading something from Matt with an increasingly murderous expression.

You climb in after her, clutching your tiny velvet purse, shifting slightly as the door shuts and the city disappears behind tinted black.

“Okay,” she mutters, “the tables got moved. The screen’s not at the right angle for the countdown. And Tyler swears he confirmed the floorplan but-”

“Maya.”

She doesn’t look up. “And the DJ they booked is some guy Quinn follows on TikTok, I mean why does Quinn even-”

You lean in. “Baby.”

Finally, she glances at you.

Your red lipstick glistens in the low light. Your thighs are crossed, your black dress riding up just slightly where the slit cuts high on your leg. You reach for her knee, slow.

“You want me to eat you out on the way?” you ask sweetly. “Might help you relax.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh my god,” Maya exhales, head tipping back against the seat. “That’s my girl.”

She drops her phone onto the seat beside her. “Get over here.”

You’re already moving.

You shift onto the floor between her knees, the plush carpet soft against your thighs as you kneel. She spreads her legs immediately, hips shifting forward, and you nudge the edge of her coat open to reveal the slick black lace between her thighs.

You mouth at the fabric first, your kisses slow and reverent as your hands slid up her thighs to grip her hips. She smells like her expensive perfume and something sharper underneath, sweat and desire.

She groans the moment your tongue makes contact through the lace.

“Fuck,” she mutters, tilting her head to look down at you. One hand sinks into your hair, tugging at the curled strands. “You always know exactly what I need.”

You hum against her, tongue pressing harder, letting her feel every roll and drag. She’s already soaked, the lace darkening as you work your way along it, and when you tug it aside, her hips buck gently into your mouth.

“Oh baby,” she sighs, breath catching. “Just like that. Keep going.”

The limo glides smoothly through midtown, a blur of lights and noise outside the windows. Inside, it’s velvet dark, Maya’s breathing the only sound over the quiet hum of the tires.

You suck her clit into your mouth and she shudders, hand tightening in your hair as she lets her head fall back against the seat.

“God, you’re so good to me,” she pants. “My perfect little thing, fuck, right there…”

You lap her through her orgasm, gripping her hips to keep her grounded as she jerks against your tongue, biting back moans into the crook of her elbow. You don’t stop until she tugs you gently off, breathing hard, a little dazed.

She pulls you up into her lap, kisses you filthily, wet with her taste still on your tongue.

“You are the love of my life,” she whispers. “Now sit pretty for me till we get there.”

You giggle breathlessly, snuggling into her arms as she fixes your lipstick with her thumb.

The limo hums beneath you, cocooned in low light and city blur. You’re curled into Maya’s side, her hand lazily stroking your bare thigh where your dress has slipped high, her body warm and thrumming under yours. Her other hand is cupping your jaw, thumb grazing your swollen lips like she’s admiring her favourite work of art.

“Mkay,” you murmur, nuzzling under her jaw, “so how many people do you have to sweet talk before I get you back all to myself?”

Maya chuckles low in her throat. “At this party?” she sighs, brushing your hair back from your temple. “Fucking everyone.”

You pout into her neck. “But I just did such a good job...”

“You did, baby. God, you did.” She kisses your temple, stroking your thigh like she’s soothing a prized pet, fingers trailing lazy, possessive shapes into your skin.

“You feel okay?” she murmurs, voice suddenly soft.

You shake your head, sighing dreamily. “I’m okay. Just… wanna go home already.”

Maya grins, pulling you closer.

“We’ll ring in the New Year with everyone, then the second it turns 12:01, I’ll get you home and spend the rest of the night making you feel very appreciated.”

You smile against her neck. “Deal.”

The limo slows, headlights washing over the glittering entrance to Continental’s rooftop ballroom. You straighten up reluctantly, brushing your fingers across your lips.

Maya licks her thumb and gently wipes the smudge of red from the corner of your mouth.

“Still my spooky little dream girl,” she murmurs, smoothing your dress. “Let’s go cause a scene.”

The lobby of Continental has been transformed, marble floors buffed to a mirror shine, gold uplighting trailing the walls like champagne bubbles, and a wide, curved staircase wrapped in silver tulle. The entrance to the event space is framed by two vintage spotlights, casting soft theatrical halos over each guest as they arrive. Photographers, publicists, and studio handlers line the velvet ropes, murmuring names into headsets, managing arrivals like it’s the Oscars.

It takes your breath away.

And beside you, Maya Mason stands still for a second.

She’s flawless, of course, her floor length dress hugging her like sin, earrings catching every glint of light. She planned all this. The lights. The music. The staging. The whole damn feeling of it.

But it’s her first time seeing it for real.

“Oh Maya…” you whisper, eyes trailing the archway into the main room, an enormous function hall transformed into a retro Hollywood dream.

Crystal chandeliers drip overhead. Silver streamers catch the flickering light. A band is playing vintage jazz under the dim glow of art deco sconces. A glass wall looks out over the LA skyline, all lit up for the countdown.

Maya breathes in deep. “Okay… fuck.”

You glance up at her. “Good fuck or bad fuck?”

She squeezes your hand. “That’s a good fuck, spooky.”

You beam. “You did it. It’s perfect.”

“I mean, I had a few teams pulling their hair out the past two weeks, but yeah.” She flicks her hair back and puts the mask back on, that glossy, charming Maya Mason confidence. “It’s a serve.”

“It’s like walking into a movie,” you murmur.

She looks at you. Eyes softer now. “Yeah. It kinda is.”

She leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheekbone before she turns, taking your hand properly, and leads you through the crowd with the kind of practiced social grace that makes executives pause mid-sip and actors remember who actually gets them on magazine covers.

Maya’s hand never leaves the small of your back as the two of you walk further into the function room, the glittering swell of voices and music curling around you. The space is alive with studio execs, producers, directors, actors, agents, and influencers, all mingling beneath the chandeliers and sipping cocktails.

You glance up at her. “Seriously, baby. This is incredible.”

She hums distractedly, scanning the crowd. “It’ll pass. Give it ten minutes and someone’ll spill espresso on the carpet.”

You tug her hand, pulling her a step closer. “Maya. I mean it.”

“It was nothing,” she says offhandedly. “Just a few favors, four all nighters, and threatening to yank Black Wing’s promotional budget.”

You grin. “So nothing.”

She dips her head toward you, murmuring “tell me more about how amazing I am.”

“I’ll write a whole speech if you take me behind one of those columns and kiss me.”

That earns you a look of heat, something fierce and tender all at once.

You’re about to say more, maybe test the limits of her self control, when you spot Matt across the room, nervously nursing a glass of something dark while Quinn talks his ear off, bouncing slightly on her heels and trying way too hard not to stare at Anthony Mackie chatting up someone by the bar.

“Look at them,” you murmur.

Maya follows your gaze. “Oh god.”

You approach and Matt exhales in visible relief.

“Thank fuck,” he says. “You’re here.”

Quinn lights up. “You guys look insane. Like, disgustingly good.”

You beam. Maya smirks. “We are disgustingly good looking.”

“You planned all this?” Quinn asks, gesturing around.

Maya raises a brow. “What do you think I do for a living?”

Anthony Mackie laughs at something nearby and Quinn stiffens like she’s been electrocuted.

You nudge her. “Go say hi.”

“I can’t,” she hisses. “He’s a superhero.”

Maya snorts. “You are so weird.”

Matt leans toward Maya. “You okay?”

She blinks. “Why?”

“You’re… not on your phone.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s because I’ve just arrived and nothing's exploded yet.”

You thread your arm through Maya’s again, grounding her. She’s already eyeing a server who’s about to drop a tray of mini sliders, and her PR brain is whirring at a thousand miles per hour.

“Hey,” you whisper, soft. “No explosions tonight, okay?”

You feel her tense just slightly beside you, eyes flicking toward the entrance as a pair of talent agents arrive. One of them is dragging an up and coming actor behind him that Maya’s team has been courting for months. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts her weight like a predator catching scent.

You glance up. “You know them?”

“Need to,” she mutters, already calculating the charm to cocktail ratio that’ll make this conversation go her way. “That’s Wes Hawthorne’s agent. He’s barely legal and already thinks he’s too good for press junket training.”

You laugh, smoothing your hand down her arm. “So you’re about to work your dark magic.”

Maya doesn’t respond, already slipping into her well tailored head of marketing persona, all silk and calculation. But before she can go, you gently grab her wrist.

She turns, and you stretch up on your toes, brushing a soft, deliberate kiss to her mouth. She tastes like red wine and peppermint lip balm.

When you pull back, your voice is soft. “Go be amazing.”

She smirks. “I always am.”

You lean in, lips grazing her ear. “Come find me in twenty?”

Maya’s fingers slide up your thighs in a slow, brazen stroke that makes your breath catch. Her nails trace the edge of your garter, hidden beneath your gown. She leans down, lips just barely brushing your cheek.

“Make it ten.”

Your breath stutters. You bite your lip, heat blooming across your chest.

“Deal,” you whisper.

She winks and then she’s gone, already sliding through the room. You watch her move, utterly entranced, reassuring yourself you can wait ten minutes… maybe.

You’re halfway across the room, searching for a refill or maybe just a quiet corner to cool your flushed cheeks (ten more minutes, you tell yourself), when you catch a flash of gold lamé and sleek black satin cutting through the crowd.

Patty Lee.

Continental legend. Your legend, in some ways, the one who gave you your first shot in the horror division. The woman every young exec wants to be when they grow up. She’s draped in a sculptural, high necked black gown, floor length and severe, softened by that glimmering vintage gold shawl over one arm. Her white streaked hair is twisted back in an effortless chignon, like she just stepped off a Vanity Fair spread.

She catches you looking and lifts a single brow. “Well don’t make me come to you.”

You grin and cross the room, kissing her cheek. “You look beautiful Patty.”

“I always do.” She slides a flute of champagne into your hand with practiced precision. “You clean up nice too. Is that McQueen?”

“Mmhmm.” You sip, then tilt your head. “And you? Is it vintage?”

“80’s Yves Saint Laurent,” she says, sweeping her shawl back. “Had to dig it out of my archive.”

You laugh. “God, you’re so cool.”

She shrugs one shoulder, all elegance.

“So. How was your Christmas?” You ask her softly.

Patty exhales slowly, glancing sideways at you. “Hm. Overcooked roast, two nieces with TikTok brain, and my sister asking if I’ve considered dating men again.”

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“And you? How was your Christmas?”

“Oh! Good. Really good, actually. Maya rented this BnB just outside the city. There was a fireplace and an outdoor hot tub and she had this whole spread waiting when I got there. Wine, records, food from that place in Laurel Canyon I love…”

Patty lifts a single brow. “And here I was assuming she couldn’t slow down.”

“She can,” you say softly. “With me, she can. We barely left the bed. It was… I don’t know. She was just perfect. I felt really loved.”

Patty eyes you for a beat. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

You blush. Shrug. Sip again. “Yeah. I really am.”

You’re mid sip when you hear Patty’s voice shift.

“Oh, Matty,” she drawls, “come say hello!”

You blink up just as Matt Remnick appears at her elbow, tux slightly wrinkled. He gives you a tight smile, already holding another flute of prosecco.

“Hey again,” he says, nodding to you.

You smile, polite. “Hi.”

He turns to Patty, launching into some story about the open bar mishap involving a missing case of champagne, but you’re only half listening.

Your eyes are drifting.

It’s been more than ten minutes. You scan the crowd for Maya, the sharp lines of her jaw when she’s focused, the shine of her rings when she lifts a glass but come up with nothing.

You’re just about to excuse yourself to look for her when your phone buzzes.

~ Maya: Incoming call ~

You frown, sliding it out of your bag and pressing it to your ear. “Baby? What’s going on? I can barely hear you.”

“Listen very carefully.” Her voice is low, a little rushed, but sharp with urgency.

You turn slightly, pressing a hand over your free ear. “What’s going on?”

“Do not tell anyone,” she says. “I need you to come to my office. Right now. Quietly.”

You blink. “Wait what?”

“Don’t stop to talk to anyone. Don’t let anyone follow you. Just come.”

The line goes dead.

You stare down at your screen, stunned.

“Everything alright?” Matt asks, squinting at your face.

You nod automatically, already turning away. “Sorry. Something’s come up.”

Patty raises an eyebrow, lips parting to say something else, but you’re already turning, heart thudding a little now.

Why is Maya calling you and telling you not to tell anyone? Maybe she couldn’t wait till after midnight to get her hands on you.

You take the elevator up alone, everyone too busy posing with champagne or chasing talent into corners to notice. And as the doors open, a small shiver works its way down your spine.

Something’s off.

Her office door is closed. The hallway is still. The sounds of the party are distant, muffled.

You swallow once, and reach for the handle.

The moment the heavy office door clicks shut behind you, Maya spins around, wild eyed.

“NO! No, no, no, no. Spooky, please tell me you didn’t just close that.”

You blink. “What? I… yeah?”

She lunges past you, yanks on the handle, and nothing. The lock stays firm. She jabs at the keypad next to the door.

“Fuck! Fuck. I knew this stupid thing was glitching, security said they’d fix it days ago…”

“Maya,” you say cautiously, “are you saying we’re locked in?”

She turns slowly, eyes wide with the sort of fury only Maya Mason could hold. “I’ve been in here for twenty minutes trying to get this fucking door to open and you… ugh!”

You raise your hands. “You called me and said to come to your office, you didn’t say anything about the door, how was I meant to know?!”

“I was panicking! My phone was dead, I finally got it charging, and I needed someone to come let me out and I didn’t want anyone to know I’d locked myself in! And you!” She waves a manicured hand at the now very closed door, “you just sealed our fate.”

You gape at her. “Why were you here charging your phone anyway?! You swore minimal work then you’d be with me!”

“I wasn’t working,” she snaps. “I just came up to plug in my phone for five minutes! I wasn’t gonna miss the countdown, I was gonna come back down and… ugh, I got distracted looking at stats and now this.”

You narrow your eyes. “So I ate your pussy in the limo like the devoted little slut I am, and now I’m missing free champagne and food because your phone died and you couldn’t resist checking analytics?”

She groans. “I’m a marketer, spooky, it’s in my blood.”

“You’re a nightmare is what you are! You locked us in your office!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

You throw yourself dramatically onto the couch. “I could’ve been eating expensive finger food right now.”

She exhales, long and frustrated. “Well. Happy fucking New Year.”

You sigh, digging into your little black purse and pulling out your phone like it’s a lifeline.

“Okay, it’s fine,” you say quickly, mostly to yourself. “I’ll just call someone. Tyler, or… Sal maybe. Or Matt. Quinn. Patty. Someone.”

Maya’s pacing behind you now, heels clicking against the hardwood as she mutters, “fuck, why was the charger in my office? Why do I even care about metrics tonight…”

You hold up a finger. “Shh! I’m calling.”

You hit Sal’s contact first. Nothing. Straight to voicemail.

“Okay, okay,” you mumble, clicking over. “Tyler’ll answer. He always answers…”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Voicemail.

You bite your lip and try Matt next. Then Quinn. Then Patty. Then someone from post production. No one picks up.

Outside, you can still hear the muffled thrum of the party. Music, laughter, the clinking of champagne flutes. The rest of the company is several cocktails deep and you’re here in Maya’s office with heels that pinch, and a rapidly dying sense of optimism.

You look up at her, voice small. “Maya…”

She turns, instantly keyed in at your tone.

Your lower lip begins to tremble, “we’re gonna get found, right? We aren’t gonna be here till morning, right?”

Her whole face softens, her stubborn stress lined brow relaxing. And then she’s in front of you again, palms warm on your arms, pulling you close again.

“Hey, spooky,” she murmurs, voice low, fingers smoothing down your bare back. “Of course we’re gonna get found. This is Continental Studios, not a fucking saw trap.”

You let out a tiny whimper into her chest. “But what if no one finds us until morning?”

“Okay. Listen to me,” she says, voice gentler now, smoothing out into that lower tone she only uses when it’s just the two of you. “Security does a sweep of the whole building after midnight. It’s protocol, part of the party brief. No one’s allowed to be left behind.”

You look up at her, frowning. “And they’ll definitely check your office?”

She nods. “They always check. We’ll hear keys in the lock by like, 12:20. Maybe sooner.”

You exhale, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to unwind.

“Till then I guess we’ll just have to find ways to pass the time,” she says, smirking, a glint in her eye.

You pull back with a pout. “You better not say analytics.”

She grins. “I was gonna say cunnilingus, but I can keep it strictly hugs if you’re mad.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “You are the worst.”

“And you,” she leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead, “are the hottest girl at the party. Even if you’re not currently in attendance.”

You huff, burying your face in her neck, letting her hold you as the panic starts to melt.

She pulls you to stand, her chin resting on top of your head as the two of you sway slightly to the faint music downstairs.

Outside, the party rages on.

“At least I get you all to myself after all,” you whisper, voice low and dreamy.

She glances down, and you tilt your chin up to kiss her, just a press of your lips, soft and grateful. But she is the one to deepen it.

Maya kisses you harder, her hand moving to the small of your back, holding you there, pulling you closer like she’s trying to press the week’s worth of stress into your skin. Her tongue brushes yours, slow and claiming, and your breath catches as your knees nearly go.

The faint music below grows more distant as your body arches into hers.

You feel her sigh against your lips, feel her fingers skim down your side, slipping under the edge of your dress. You gasp, barely holding back a moan.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, kissing down your jaw, “you always do this to me…”

You hum, teasing, “Lock you in your own office?”

She chuckles darkly against your skin. “Drive me insane.”

Her hands are on your thighs now, sliding up with intent, and your head falls back slightly as you cling to her blazer, all thoughts of the party long forgotten. Just the two of you and the dimmed city lights beyond the window.

“You gonna let me have you, baby?” she murmurs against your neck. “Up here, all mine?”

You nod, breathless. “All yours, Maya…”

You barely feel the desk hit the backs of your thighs before you’re lifted onto it, Maya’s hands firm under you, grip rough like she needs you there, now, where she can press in and cage you between her body and the cool edge of the desk.

Your heels knock against drawers as you wrap your legs around her waist, dragging her closer. Her mouth is hot and hungry against yours, filthy and frantic.

The music thumps faintly through the walls like a pulse. Downstairs, Continental is celebrating but up here it’s just you and her. Her tongue in your mouth, and her hand sliding up under your dress.

Your head falls back with a gasp as her mouth trails down your throat, groaning against your skin like she’s starved. You arch into her as her palm presses between your thighs.

“Maya, fuck!”

“My girl,” she mutters, low and wrecked. “You want someone to hear how wet you are already?”

You whimper, grinding down on her fingers shamelessly.

She chuckles, cocky and breathless, and then she’s kissing you again, open mouthed and desperate. Her other hand starts tugging down your dress to bare your bra, your tits. She mouths at one through the lace, her tongue hot, teeth scraping, and you moan into her hair, fingers gripping tight in her curls.

Your lipstick’s ruined, your panties are soaked, and it all feels so dangerous being so brazen in her office, on her desk, moaning as Maya mutters filth into your skin like she’s about to fuck you right here. And god, you want her to.

You want her to push your panties to the side and wreck you right here on the marketing budget spreadsheets, just to prove she can.

But for now, her fingers press deeper, rubbing through the soaked cotton, and her mouth is back on yours again, biting your lip between hers, and you can’t think straight.

“You gonna cum just from this?” she whispers, voice wrecked. “Just from me kissing you and grinding on me like a filthy little slut?”

You nod helplessly, both of you lost to the heat and the thrill and the fact that you could be caught, you shouldn’t be doing this, and that it only makes it hotter.

You’re still panting, your body flush and shaking from how close she just got you with nothing but her mouth and her hands and her filthy, filthy voice. But she’s not done. You feel it in the way she grabs your hips, grounding you against her thigh one last time before she pulls back, eyes wild, chest heaving under her half-undone tuxedo shirt.

And then she smirks breathlessly and murmurs, “C’mere.”

She barely gives you a second to react before she’s turning, guiding you off the desk, stumbling with you in her arms until the back of her knees hit the leather couch in the corner of her office.

Then Maya drops onto the couch with a soft grunt, legs spread wide, and pulls you straight down into her lap.

You straddle her immediately, your thighs bracketing hers, your dress bunched up around your waist, her hands already back on your body like she’s trying to memorize every curve.

The second your mouths meet again, it’s chaos, all teeth and tongues and breathless moaning. Her hands slide up the backs of your thighs, grip your ass and pull you down harder against her.

You’re both grinding now, filthy and desperate, her hands rough and greedy and your fingers in her hair as you gasp into her mouth.

“Maya!”

“Take it off,” she growls, hands already fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “Wanna see you. Wanna feel you.”

You don’t hesitate. Your hands go behind your back, dragging the zip down, the fabric loosening around your shoulders, and Maya groans like she’s in pain as you shimmy out of it in her lap, your chest heaving, your skin flushed, your panties clinging wet between your thighs as you toss the dress aside.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” she rasps, hands devouring your waist, your hips, your tits, like she can’t decide where to touch first.

You reach for her next, tugging at her own dress, popping the buttons of her dress open one by one until the thin silk gapes wide and her bra’s pushed down and you’re both bare against each other, skin to skin.

And it’s hot.

God it’s so hot, the air thick with sweat and breath and heat, her couch creaking beneath you, the muffled music still thumping from the floors below.

You rock against her, grinding down onto the hard press of her thigh again, gasping into her neck as her fingers dig into your ass.

Her voice is wrecked, low and raspy in your ear. “Keep going, baby. Ride it. Fuck, you feel so good…”

You moan helplessly, nails dragging down her back as you kiss her again, messier now, both of you drunk on each other, on the risk and the need and the way this doesn’t feel like just fucking, it feels like claiming, like branding, like mine mine mine.

Her hands go to your hips, guiding you rougher, making you roll against her until your head’s falling back and your moans are echoing off the walls.

You’re seconds away from falling apart again.

And Maya knows it.

She grabs your jaw, pulls you down to her mouth, and kisses you like she owns you.

Your mouths break apart just long enough for you to lean back in her lap, breathing hard, your fingers trembling as they slide down past the waistband of her black lace panties.

She watches you as you hook your fingers in the elastic and pull.

“Fuck,” Maya breathes, her hips lifting just enough to help you, her thighs parting wider, hungrier, needier. “You wanna take my panties off baby?”

You drag them down her legs and toss them to the floor, along with your own.

Then you’re back on her lap, skin to skin now as you grind down against her bare pussy, slick on slick, she gasps, her eyes rolling back for a moment like it’s too much.

“Ohhh, my girl wants to rub herself on my pussy?” she rasps, grabbing your hips with both hands. “That what you need, baby? Wanna fuck yourself on mommy’s cunt?”

You whimper, a high, needy whimper in your throat like you’ve been broken wide open. Your hands clutch her shoulders, your body rocking down on hers, hips grinding as your slick cunt slides over hers in a messy, perfect grind.

Her breath catches, and she mutters a broken, “jesus fuck!”

You’re both soaked. Her pussy’s wet and swollen against yours, and the pressure as you roll your hips, clit to clit, sends fire shooting through your belly, making you moan helplessly into her mouth as you kiss her again.

You’re gasping between kisses, barely coherent as your bodies grind together, sticky and desperate, Maya’s hands bruising on your hips.

“Just like that,” she pants. “Fuck, ride me baby. Ride my pussy. You’re doing so good…”

You’re whining now, dizzy with heat and how filthy it is, fucking like this in her office, your slick noises louder than the music downstairs, fucking her with your pussy.

Her nails dig into your ass as you grind down harder, your clits catching again creating sparks of electric friction that leave you both gasping into each other’s mouths.

You pull back, panting, lips swollen, eyes dark. And you drop to your knees.

Her breath hitches.

“Honey,” she says, voice low, wrecked. “What are you…”

But you’re already shoving her thighs open, dragging her closer on the couch, and pressing your mouth to her pussy like you’ve been dying for it.

She gasps, back arching, hand flying to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck!”

You moan into her, tongue flicking and licking and sucking like you’re starved and this is the only thing that’s going to satisfy you. You can taste yourself all over her and it only makes you hungrier, makes you moan as you suck her clit into your mouth.

Her thighs clamp around your head and her hips start to roll, needy and instinctive, grinding up into your mouth like she can’t help herself. Her fingers tighten in your hair, guiding you just how she likes.

“You gonna let me use you, baby?” she pants, hips fucking up harder now, her breath ragged. “Gonna let me cum all over your mouth like a good little slut?”

You moan against her, nodding the best you can, lips wrapped around her clit as your tongue works her in tight, eager circles.

Her thighs shake. Her whole body arches. And then she’s cumming hard, riding your face like she’s possessed, grinding her pussy into your mouth with messy thrusts as she sobs your name and holds your head tight against her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!”

You keep licking her through it, holding her thighs open with your hands as she shudders through the aftershocks till she can’t take it anymore. She claws at your hair, pulling you off, panting and shaking.

“Up. Get up here,” she growls, voice wrecked.

You climb back into her lap and she drags you down, crashing her mouth into yours like she needs to taste herself on your tongue.

Your thighs slide around hers again and you’re grinding back against her, bare pussy on hers, both of you soaked and trembling and sensitive now, too much and still not enough.

She whines into your mouth, grabbing your hips again as you rock down on her clit. “Baby, shit, it’s so much…”

But she doesn’t stop you. She lets you rub your pussy against hers as you make out like animals and rut into each other like you’re trying to fuse.

You’re still rocking against her, slippery and panting, both of you bare and soaked, your pussy dragging against hers in wet, messy grinds. Her mouth is on yours, hot and devouring, your whole body trembling with how close you are.

But Maya’s not done watching you fall apart.

Not yet.

Her hand slides down between you, her fingers slipping between your folds, slick from both of you. You gasp, body jerking as she presses two fingers against your clit, slow little circles that make you whimper into her mouth.

“Fuck,” you cry, hips bucking.

“Oh, you’re gonna cum?” she murmurs against your lips, voice low and fucking lethal. “You gonna cum on my lap like a filthy little baby?”

You nod, wild and dazed, hands scrabbling at her shoulders, and she just grins before she slides her fingers lower and pushes inside.

“Then fucking give it to me.”

You scream.

Her fingers pump into you hard and deep, palm grinding your clit as you ride her lap like you’ve lost your mind, soaked and squealing, hips jerking, body thrashing in her arms as she fucks you through it.

“Yeah, that’s it, fuck, you’re so wet,” she groans, hand working you open, her own pussy slick under you, still twitching with the echo of her last orgasm. “C’mon, baby. Let go for me.”

Your body goes taut, your thighs clench, and your whole body shudders as your orgasm rips through you. You squirt on her lap, wet and messy and uncontrollable, soaking her thighs, her couch, everything.

“Shit,” Maya groans, biting her lip as she watches you fall apart, her fingers still pumping, her other arm locking around your back to keep you from sliding off her. “That’s it, baby. Make a mess for me. Show me how good I fuck you.”

You sob into her neck, writhing through it, hips jerking, overstimulated and soaked, tears slipping from your eyes as she won’t stop, grinding her hand against you, drawing out every pulse of it.

“Too much,” you cry, voice wrecked and trembling. “M-Maya, please…”

“Shhh,” she soothes, still rocking her fingers inside you, slow now, deeper. “You’re okay. You’re so good. Just like that, baby. That’s it.”

You collapse into her, boneless and shaking, your cunt still fluttering around her fingers, her other hand cradling the back of your head as you melt against her chest.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she murmurs, kissing your temple, her voice low and full of pride. “You came so hard for me. Fuck, look at you.”

You whimper something incoherent, and she smiles smug and soft, brushing your hair back as she finally eases her fingers out of you.

You’re shaking in her lap, your thighs trembling, cunt soaked, lips parted as you try to breathe. Your lashes are wet with tears, and your whole body’s twitching, oversensitive and sticky, your skin flushed and glowing under the office lights.

Maya just watches you with awe in her eyes, fingers gentle now as she brushes the hair back from your face.

“There you go,” she murmurs, voice soft now. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

You whimper, a little broken sound in your throat that she kisses away. Her mouth moves all over you, slow and calming.

Your arms are weak around her neck, your head resting against her chest as she shifts beneath you, easing the two of you down onto the couch, her back to the cushions as she pulls you on top of her.

You nuzzle in without even thinking, mouth parting over the soft curve of one breast, whimpering as you mouth at her lazily.

Maya moans, low and quiet, her hand stroking your back in long, soothing sweeps.

“That’s it,” she whispers, her other hand sliding down to cup your ass, holding you close. “That’s my girl. My good, good girl.”

You suck gently at her nipple, all dazed and needy, hips still twitching now and then like your body doesn’t know it’s over.

Maya lets you mouth at her, lets you come down like that, your cheek warm against her chest, her fingers trailing idle circles into the small of your back.

“You made such a mess,” she teases gently, but there’s pride in it as she kisses the top of your head. “You squirted all over me, honey.”

You whimper, burying your face in her tits.

She laughs quietly, breath warm in your hair.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” she says, rubbing your hip. “All ruined and clingy.”

You just whine, too soft and hazy to respond, as she keeps kissing you: your temple, your shoulder, the top of your spine.

“Shhh,” she soothes. “I got you. I got you, baby.”

You’re curled against her chest now, half draped over her, cheek resting against the swell of her breast as her fingers stroke gentle circles into your back. Her thighs are still slick beneath you, your skin sticky with sweat and sex, but you’re too blissed out to care.

You tilt your face up to kiss her collarbone, then her throat. She hums, smiling softly as she tilts her head to let you.

You grin. “Thank god for Continental’s shitty lock system.”

Maya snorts, her chest shaking under your palm.

“Right?” she laughs, dragging her fingers lazily down your spine. “We could be having expensive champagne and mini quiches but now we get to explain that wet patch for the rest of the fiscal year.”

You giggle into her skin, lifting your head enough to look at her. “You think they’d believe you spilled a drink?”

You’re both laughing when you hear the sound of voices counting down echoing up from the floor below.

“Ten!”

“Nine!”

Maya’s breath catches. She looks at you wide eyed like she forgot anyone else even existed until this second.

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

“Six!”

You shift in her arms and cradle her jaw in your hands.

“Five…” you whisper, leaning in.

“Four…” she whispers back.

Your noses brush.

“Three…”

Her hands grip your waist.

“Two…”

You’re already kissing her before they say “One.”

It’s soft and sweet. You can still taste yourself on her lips.

And when the cheers erupt downstairs, muffled through floors and distance you press your forehead to hers and whisper “Happy New Year, Maya.”

Her smile breaks slowly, full of warmth. Her hands cradle your face. “Happy New Year, my love.”

Then she’s kissing you again, deeper this time, her lips moving with promise and tenderness. And there’s a voice in your head that thinks this is the most wonderful New Year you’ve ever had.

You’re still draped over her, kissing slow and dreamy, your fingers tangled in her hair, when you begin to hear footsteps.

Your whole body freezes, Maya going still beneath you. You both tilt your heads toward the hallway.

Someone’s walking this way.

“Shit.” you whisper.

“Fuck!” Maya jolts, grabbing your waist and practically lifting you off her lap as you both scramble up from the couch.

You’re naked, your panties are nowhere to be seen and there’s a visible wet patch on the damn cushion. You both look like you’ve just been fucked senseless. Because you have.

You’re fumbling for your dress, laughing under your breath as you pull it up over your sticky skin.

“I can’t find my shoes,” you hiss.

“Leave them,” she says, mascara smudged under her eyes. “Just get dressed!”

“Hey!” you call out once you’re decent, rushing to the window that looks down into the hallway. You bang on the glass, breath fogging it up. “We’re locked in! Help!”

A second later, the door clicks open.

“Jesus,” one of the security guards mutters from the hallway, blinking at the two of you. “We thought you went home hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Maya says, grabbing your hand, smug and utterly unapologetic. “We got… distracted.”

You barely make it past the hallway before you’re giggling again, your dress still rumpled, Maya’s hair a mess, and your thighs still slick beneath the hem of your dress.

Once you’re far enough down the hall, you glance up at her, flushed and glowing.

“Do you wanna rejoin the party,” you tease, nudging her side, “I’m still sticky, but I could maybe stay an hour? While you talk to people?”

Maya stops walking and turns toward you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you in close.

“No,” she says, firm and soft. “I just wanna be alone with my baby girl.”

You beam. “Really?”

She kisses your nose. “Really. You’re all I want.”

You wrap your arms around her neck, still giggling and a little wrecked.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because you’re all I want too.”

~

The car pulls away from Continental, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, and everything finally goes quiet.

You’re curled into Maya’s side in the backseat of the blacked out limo, bare legs draped over hers, your cheek pressed to her chest as you sigh, half asleep already. The car is warm, the leather soft beneath you both, and Maya has one arm around your waist, the other stroking your thigh absently.

You smile, eyelids fluttering closed, your fingers curled into her dress as you nuzzle closer.

She tightens her hold on you, kissing your hair.

And for a long moment, she just looks at you, all soft and pliant in her arms, lipstick half kissed off, dress wrinkled, skin still flushed from everything she did to you. Her baby girl.

Hers.

And fuck, she loves you.

She never used to be like this. And now here she is, her heart full, totally gone for you.

You shift a little, letting out a soft sleepy whimper, and she smiles.

God, you don’t even know how beautiful you are like this, how easily you’ve wrecked her entire life, her perfectly planned, carefully guarded, professionally untouchable life.

And now all she can think about is when.

When to ask.

When to give you the ring already sitting in her bedside drawer.

When to tell you the thing she already knows like gospel.

That you’re it for her.

That you always were.

“Hey,” she whispers, but your eyes are closed now, breath warm against her chest, already asleep.

She kisses your temple.

“I’m gonna marry you,” she murmurs into your hair. “You know that, right?”

You don’t stir but a soft smile tugs at your lips, like maybe you heard her in your dreams.

She grins.