“Right,” Lili says, careful with suspicion. “Casual.”
“Casual,” Aleksandr agrees. She can see the fucking smirk he’s trying to hide.
“As in, no strings attached. We’re fucking, that’s it.”
“I have been around longer than you. I’m familiar with these types of arrangements.”
It’s best not to examine the response that elicits in her. It feels a lot like jealousy.
“Great,” she grits out. “Sorted, then.”
“Is that all you wanted to discuss?”
“Uh—yeah. Yes.” Should she—should she leave, now?
“Good.” Aleksandr nods, like an item has been crossed off an agenda. “Now, take off your clothes.”
She stares at him. “Excuse me?”
“Your clothes, Lili. Off.”
“What,here?” She shoots a glance at the heavy door. It’s closed, but there are dozens of people outside.
“Here. Unless you’re not up to it.”
Lili narrows her eyes at him.
A forty-five-year-old neoliberal will not best her.
Standing, she holds his gaze. She toes off her shoes, pulling her shirt over her head. Undoes the buttons of her jeans, kicks them off.
She’s not wearing anything fancy underneath, just black underwear, simple bra. But his clear, focused stare makes a chill race through her that tastes like fear—what he might do, what she can’t anticipate—yet it’s diluted with something else. Something she doesn’t want to admit to.
But Lili can play games, too.
Straightening her shoulders, willing herself to feel comfortable under the dangerous thrill of his attention, she walks around his desk and hops on top of it, perched in front of him. She parts her knees. He makes no move to touch her, and Lili slips two fingers into her mouth. Heat blooms inside of her when his eyes flicker, fast, to her lips. Holding his stare, she slides her fingers into her underwear.
She starts with practiced, familiar strokes. Lili knows how to getherself off, fast and well. She’s already much wetter than when she’s alone in her bedroom. Her body feels hot and open as he watches her, not moving—and hisattention.
It feels like power.
She feels that habitual instinct to shy away, push it back.
But she wants it. She wants to matter like this.
Lili dips a finger lower, slipping inside. Leaning back on her free hand, she spreads her legs further.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she catches Aleksandr’s hand, resting on his knee, twitch.
Adding another finger, she starts to move faster, trying to rub the heel of her palm just right. As she builds the rhythm, her breathing grows shorter: little gasps, the bite of her teeth against her lip as she tries to hold in the sounds, familiar habits from trying to stifle noise in her bedroom alone.
Motion, the roll of his chair pushed back, then Aleksandr’s standing. He rests his hand on her bare knee, and that first touch of his skin against hers makes the muscles of her legs tremble, knees jumping like some startled animal.
Her next breath is decisively less controlled.
Aleksandr’s hand lingers for a moment, before moving up her thigh. Between her legs, his hand covers hers, the thin material of her underwear against his palm.
“You can do better than that,” he murmurs. She feels his voice in her stomach as he pushes.
