7

Sammie rolled Claire onto her back, focused and intent, but her skirt gave a little resistance the buckle caught. Claire reached down without hesitation, eager to be free of the barrier between them. Her hands brushed his, and for a moment, their eyes met heat flashing between them.

He slicked himself and slid inside her in a slow, steady thrust, body meeting hers in the most primal way. As he moved, Claire’s hand traveled to her center, fingers teasing herself as she chased the high building within her.

Then Sammie surprised her his hands gripped the edges of her blouse and with a sudden pull, buttons flew, scattering like confetti. Thank God she’d ditched her bra earlier; the air hit her bare chest, and then so did his skin. That contact tipped her over her first release hit, quick and tight, but not enough to drain her. It just stoked the fire.

He swept her up into his arms, never pulling out, his strength lifting her effortlessly. He kept moving, now standing, and the way he held her the power in his grip, the rhythm of his hips it made her melt. She tightened around him, and he groaned, thrusting deeper.

That new angle, the sheer intensity, her legs wrapped around him midair it was all too much. It overwhelmed her. She gasped as her second climax tore through her, much deeper this time, a rolling wave that left her trembling, breathless.

Sammie was close now, and just before he tipped over, he pulled out, finishing across her stomach in warm, sticky ribbons. Claire watched him, still pulsing with the aftershocks, loving the messy, intimate evidence of what they'd just shared.

Reaching for her tattered blouse, she held it up with a wry smile. “We might need to add ‘sewing’ to your training plan,” she teased.

“Right alongside ‘consistent performance under pressure,’” Sammie shot back, grinning.

“Speaking of performance,” she said, lifting her chin with mock authority, “tonight’s KPI? Smashed.”

His brow lifted playfully. “And that little comment about DP earlier…?”

“Digital Publishing, of course,” she replied with a smirk. “Though I’ve had a few… memorable experiences in that category.”

“Same,” Sammie said, tone low and promising.

“Maybe we’ll find a third party to help us explore the topic further,” Claire said, her voice silk-wrapped steel.

He leaned in. “It’s on my to-do list.”

“And Sammie,” she added, slipping back into her boss voice, “two things. First you’re definitely not crap. And second…” she stepped close, eyes narrowing with a smirk, “this never happened.”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, mock-serious. “Completely inappropriate. Would’ve been terribly unprofessional.”

It was an unusually quiet Saturday morning. With no parties or events lined up, Claire and Heather decided to indulge in some extra sleep. The apartment was calm, the sunlight filtering gently through the curtains as the city outside slowly came to life.

Claire stirred first, the stillness of the room wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She glanced toward the adjacent bed where Heather lay sleeping, her chest rising and falling steadily. There was something mesmerizing about the way the light danced over her pale skin, illuminating the soft curve of her thigh and the gentle slope of her shoulder, partially exposed beneath a silky nightgown.

Claire lingered there for a moment, watching her friend, captivated by a strange mix of admiration and something else something deeper. Curiosity, maybe. Desire, perhaps. Whatever it was, it made her heartbeat thrum louder in her ears.

Without fully understanding why, Claire crossed the room and slid beneath the sheets beside Heather. She reached out, her fingers brushing against soft skin. Her touch was slow, almost reverent. The silk of Heather’s nightgown shifted under her hand as she traced delicate lines across her friend's side, feeling the warmth of her body.

Heather stirred slightly but didn’t pull away. Her eyes fluttered open and met Claire’s.

Claire froze, caught in the moment.

But Heather didn’t recoil. Instead, she gave her a sleepy smile, whispering, “That actually feels kind of nice.”

The simple words gave Claire courage. She leaned in closer, the space between them charged with something neither of them had dared name before. Just as her lips were about to meet Heather’s, the shrill ring of a phone sliced through the quiet.

Heather groaned, stretching lazily before answering. “Hey, Dad,” she said with a sigh, mouthing an apology to Claire. After a brief conversation, she ended the call. “I’ve got to run,” she said, already heading to the bathroom. “Can we pick this up later?”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Claire lay there for a while, thoughts spinning, her body still humming with unspent energy. She got up, took a quick shower, and made herself a light breakfast, but her mind remained elsewhere locked in the memory of Heather’s smile and the softness of her skin.

Still needing release, she picked up her phone and dialed Sammie.

“Hey, Sammie,” she said, her voice softer than usual.

“Hey, baby. You sound... interesting. Everything okay?” he asked.

“I just miss you,” she murmured. “Think you can stop by later?”

He chuckled low. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Claire smiled and hung up, knowing full well that Sammie never disappointed when he promised to come through.

Hours later, just as the sky turned golden, the apartment door creaked open again. Heather stepped in and stopped dead in her tracks.

There, on her own bed, was Claire, tangled in the arms of a tall man with a sculpted back and strong shoulders. His face was hidden as he kissed a trail down Claire’s stomach, but Heather didn’t need to see him to know it was Sammie.

The air was thick with heat and moans, and Heather’s cheeks flushed. She should’ve looked away. Instead, she backed quietly onto the couch, unable to resist watching. Something inside her stirred, matching the rhythm of the scene before her. Without thinking, she began to slowly unbutton her blouse, her breath quickening.

Claire eventually caught sight of her, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing grin curved her lips. “Heather,” she called breathlessly, “you don’t have to just watch.”

Sammie turned around then, standing up and offering a friendly, if slightly amused, smile. Heather's gaze flicked from his face to his body, taking in the man Claire had spoken about so often. Her heart raced.

He crossed the room toward her, offering a hand, his touch gentle but full of promise. And as their eyes met, Heather felt the tension unraveling, turning into something electric.

For the first time, she didn’t feel like she had to question the moment. She simply stepped into it.