Rating/Warnings: E (18+, minors DNI, I’m not responsible for you.) P-in-V sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms. This is smut: act accordingly.
Word count: 5748
Summary: You run into your old law school friend one Friday night on the way home from work.
Andy lives on the third floor. You don’t entirely remember getting there, but you’re pretty sure it involved enduring the slowest elevator ride in history, followed by a walk to the end of the longest hall before he stopped at the last door on the right. But your patience is rewarded the second the lock is turned back into place.
Your back hits the door only a second before Andy takes your face in his hands again and drops his mouth to yours. You can’t help the little sound of satisfaction that comes from somewhere in the back of your throat. This is so much better than kissing him in the car. There, you’d been twisted to the side, your seatbelt buckle digging painfully into your hip, the center console an immoveable obstacle between you and what you wanted.
Part Two of this dang thing is FINISHED, beebs! Now to sit with it for a few hours, reread it in the morning and see if it’s post-worthy.
Until then, here’s a little preview to wet your whistle (or whatever you want to wet, I don’t judge.)
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You’re distracted for a moment by the ridiculous length and thickness of the fan of his eyelashes. It’s almost enough to forgive him for the painstakingly slow pace at which he’s undoing your buttons.
Almost.
You clear your throat lightly as your nails drift into his thick hair. “Still pretty chilly over here, pal.”
Andy stops as he plucks open your last button, the one right between your breasts, and lets out a quiet chuckle. He shakes his head. “So mouthy…”
“Always,” you agree with a grin. His thumbs slip beneath the open sides of your top and he peels it away from your skin, letting it fall to the floor behind you. Andy’s arms fold around your hips, pulling you in close enough that you can feel his warm exhale on your belly before he presses a kiss just beneath your sternum. You let out a little hum of encouragement. “Okay, getting warmer…” You feel his laugh more than hear it before he kisses you again, a little lower. “Warmer…” Your throat runs dry when he finds the clasp and zipper at the back of your skirt and opens both the moment before he slides it to the floor, letting you kick it away to join your top.
“Come here,” he says softly and sits back on the bed to pull you into his lap, your thighs spread over his, your knees pinned on either side of his narrow hips. You’re pretty sure he can hear your heart pounding as his arms wrap all the way around you, his large hands spanning the width of your back. In the dim light from the window, you watch him lift his eyebrows again. “Still cold?”
