But Let's Push it Further

Clara's chest still rises and falls rapidly as she recovers from her climax, her skirt bunched around her waist, panties dangling from one ankle. You rise slightly from your knees, wiping your lips with a delicate swipe of your thumb.

"That was..." Clara's voice trails off, her professional vocabulary failing her. "I've never felt anything like that."

You smile, running your hands along her stockinged thighs. The thrill of having successfully completed your task mingles with a new, surprising desire—you want to see her come undone again, to witness that perfect composure shatter repeatedly under your touch.

"We're not done yet," you whisper, your Irish lilt making the words sound like a seductive promise.

Clara's eyes widen. "But someone could—"

"Isn't that half the fun?" you interrupt, sliding two fingers through her slick folds. She gasps, hips instinctively pushing against your hand. "Besides, David's distraction won't last forever."

You curl your fingers inside her, finding that perfect spot that makes her thighs tremble. Clara bites her lower lip to suppress a moan, her head falling back against the sofa.

"Oh god," she whispers, one hand gripping the leather cushion while the other tangles in your copper waves. "Right there."

https://imgur.com/a/XxhqVwa

You establish a rhythm, building her up more quickly this time, her body still sensitive from her previous orgasm. The wet sounds of your fingers moving inside her fill the otherwise silent office, punctuated only by Clara's increasingly **** attempts to stay quiet.

A distant sound in the corridor makes your heart race, but instead of stopping, you increase your pace, driving Clara closer to the edge. The danger only heightens the sensation for both of you.

"Someone's coming," Clara hisses, attempting to push your hand away half-heartedly.

"So are you," you reply with newfound boldness, pressing your thumb against her clit in tight circles.

Clara's protest dies on her lips as her second orgasm crashes through her. She stuffs her knuckles into her mouth, biting down to silence her cries as her body convulses around your fingers.

The footsteps pass by without stopping, and you both release held breaths. Clara looks utterly debauched—her perfect makeup smudged, her hair tangled from your fingers, her expensive suit wrinkled beyond salvation.

"Jesus Christ," she manages between gulps of air.

Before she can fully recover, you lower your head once more, replacing your fingers with your mouth. Clara makes a strangled sound of surprise that quickly transforms into pleasure as your tongue finds her oversensitive flesh.

"Mia, I can't—" she starts, but her protest morphs into a moan as you suck gently on her clit. "Oh fuck, don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. The heady combination of power and desire drives you forward, your hands gripping her thighs to keep them spread wide. Clara's professional demeanor has completely disintegrated—replaced by raw, animal need as she grinds shamelessly against your face.

The distant chime of an elevator signals increased activity on the floor. Clara's third orgasm builds faster than either of you expect, her entire body tensing before she comes with a barely-suppressed whimper, thighs clamping around your head.

You're rising to your feet, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, when a knock sounds at the door. Clara scrambles to pull her skirt down and retrieve her panties as the door begins to open.

15:05 | Monday 4 August 2025 | Clara's Office, Harrington Global Bank

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