The aftermath

Cheryl’s face cycles from pure shock to sharp, open anger in the space of two seconds. Her lithe body stays rigid in the doorway, eyes locked on the exact place where your cock is still buried inside Ruby, the last pulses of your orgasm still visible in the way your hips twitch. Colour floods her cheeks. Her mouth tightens into a hard line.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she says, voice low and venomous. Then she turns on her heel and storms back through the fire door, the heavy metal slamming shut behind her hard enough to echo down the stairwell.

Ruby stays braced against the wall for a moment longer, breathing fast. Worry flickers across her face as she processes what just happened, the risk, the fact that Cheryl of all people walked in on them. Underneath it, though, a harder thought surfaces and settles.

“Fuck that bitch. It is her problem if she is not getting any either.” Ruby explodes.

She pushes back against you one last time, then straightens and pulls her trousers up with steady hands.

“We should get back to work,” she says, voice quieter now but still clear. “Separate doors. Give it a few minutes. Text me later if you want.”

She meets your eyes once more, the worry still present but no longer in charge, then heads down the stairs toward the lower exit, leaving you alone on the landing with the fading sound of Cheryl’s angry footsteps already gone.