She looked up at me, cheeks flushed

I stepped between her spread thighs and slid both hands under the hoodie without hesitation. Her skin was warm and soft, and the second my palms filled with the full, heavy weight of her breasts she let out a shaky breath that the mic caught perfectly.

Veronica kept talking.

Her voice stayed low and intimate for the camera, but it was getting rougher around the edges as my thumbs brushed over her nipples. They were already tight, and when I rolled them gently between my fingers she had to pause for a second, eyes fluttering.

“I like when he touches me like this,” she told the camera, breath catching. “He’s so much bigger than me. His hands feel… safe. And filthy at the same time.”

I pushed the hoodie up with one hand, exposing her completely from the waist up. She didn’t stop me. She just leaned back in the chair a little more, legs spreading wider, and kept going.

“He’s watching me right now,” she continued, voice dropping even lower. “Touching my tits while I talk to you. And I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.”

I couldn’t help myself. One of my hands slid down her stomach, over the waistband of the tiny shorts, and cupped her through the thin fabric. She was soaked. The heat of her bled through immediately, and when I pressed the heel of my palm against her she made a soft, broken sound that went straight to my cock.

Veronica’s eyes found mine for a second. They were dark and glassy. She gave me the smallest nod — permission — before looking back at the camera.

“He’s touching me now,” she said, almost whispering it. “Over my shorts. And I’m trying really hard to keep talking but it feels so good.”

I rubbed her slowly through the fabric, feeling the way her hips twitched and rolled into my hand. She was so responsive. So open. Every little sound she made was being recorded, and knowing that only seemed to make her wetter.

After a minute she reached down, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the shorts, and pushed them down her thighs. She left them around her knees, not bothering to take them all the way off. The camera caught everything — the smooth, bare skin, the way her thighs trembled slightly, the glistening evidence of how turned on she was.

She didn’t even try to keep the performance going after that.

Her head fell back against the chair as I slid two fingers through her folds, slow and deliberate. She was slick and hot and so fucking soft. When I circled her clit she let out a low moan that the mic picked up crystal clear.

“Fuck,” she breathed, no longer performing for anyone but me. “Tom…”

I leaned down and kissed her — deep and messy — while my fingers kept moving. She kissed me back desperately, one hand fisting in my shirt, the other gripping the edge of the desk like she needed something to hold onto.

She came with my fingers inside her and my mouth on hers, body shaking in the chair, a soft, broken cry muffled against my lips. The red recording light stayed on the whole time.

When the tremors finally eased she reached over without looking and stopped the recording. The little red light blinked off.

For a second the room was quiet except for our breathing.

Then she looked up at me, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, hoodie still pushed up under her arms and shorts tangled around her knees. She looked completely wrecked in the best way.

“That was for you,” she said softly, voice hoarse. “All of it.”

I was still hard enough to ache, still standing between her thighs like I couldn’t move. She reached for my waistband, fingers brushing the front of my track pants where my cock was straining against the fabric.

“Your turn,” she murmured, eyes dark and warm. “If you want it.”

The day with no plans had turned into something neither of us had expected when we woke up.

And we were nowhere near done.