Business Affairs

Kat's at the reception desk when Kira slides up behind her, running a hand up that pencil skirt. Kat bats her away. Says she blacked out Saturday night, doesn't recall any couch wrestling between her thighs. Kira's not buying it and keeps pressing. She ducks low, tugs Kat's panties aside, puts her tongue right on the spot she's trying to pretend doesn't matter. Mid-lick, in walks their boss India wearing a smirk and heels sharp enough to slice tension. Instead of snapping, India locks the door, drops her jacket, and tells them not to stop. She's overseeing. Kat's breath hitches. Kira chuckles against wet folds and goes deeper, making sure India gets the view she wants. India unbuttons her blouse, fingers tracing down her own neck, and when the heat finally boils over, she shoulders Kira sideways so she can taste Kat herself. Three mouths, eight hands, papers scattered, shoes kicked under the desk—all while the phones ring unanswered.