The buzz of my phone cut through the quiet of my living room. I glanced at the screen, already knowing who it was.
“Hey, still up? I could really use an extra pair of hands if you’re free.”
I typed back quickly. “Depends. What kind of hands?”
Three dots appeared, then vanished. A new message popped up. “Strong ones. I’m trying to rearrange my office before my big case starts Monday. The couch won’t move itself. Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
I smiled, feeling that familiar pull low in my stomach. Emily had been texting me for two weeks straight since I bumped into her in the elevator of our downtown high-rise. She was thirty-two, a sharp corporate attorney with a corner unit two floors below mine, always dressed like she owned the building. I was twenty-four, finishing my MBA while interning at a finance firm, and clearly out of my depth.
“On my way,” I replied, grabbing my keys.
When she opened her door, the city lights from her floor-to-ceiling windows painted everything in cool blues and oranges. She wore black yoga pants and an oversized university sweatshirt from her law school days, hair twisted up in a messy bun. A half-empty glass of red wine sat on the kitchen island.
“You’re a lifesaver, Ryan,” she said, voice warm but professional, like we were negotiating a deal. “The movers left everything in the wrong spots. I can’t focus with the desk facing a wall.”
We got to work immediately. I pushed while she pulled, sliding the heavy oak desk across polished concrete floors. Conversation flowed easily between grunts of effort. She asked about my internship; I asked about the high-profile merger she’d just closed. Every time she bent over to adjust a rug, the curve of her hips drew my eyes like a magnet.
After forty minutes the room looked completely different. We collapsed onto the couch we’d just repositioned, both breathing hard, laughing about how the delivery guys had clearly been in a rush. She reached for the wine bottle and poured me a glass without asking.
“To helpful neighbors,” she toasted, clinking her glass against mine.
The city hummed far below us. Her perfume mixed with the faint scent of fresh paint from the recently renovated lobby. I could see the faint sheen of sweat along her collarbone where the sweatshirt had slipped off one shoulder.
She set her glass down and looked at me directly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you since that elevator ride. The way you looked at me when I dropped my briefcase.”
My pulse kicked up. “Hard not to notice you, Emily.”
She shifted closer. Her knee brushed mine. “I’m not looking for anything complicated. Just… relief. It’s been a brutal month.”
I didn’t need more invitation than that. I leaned in and kissed her, tasting the wine on her tongue. She responded instantly, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me deeper. The professional mask slipped away as she made a soft sound against my mouth.
We didn’t make it to the bedroom at first. Her hands were under my shirt before I could think, nails grazing my back. I tugged the sweatshirt over her head, revealing a simple black bra that barely contained her. She stood up, shimmying out of the yoga pants, and I followed, shedding clothes in a trail across the new arrangement of furniture.
By the time we reached her king-sized bed overlooking the river, she was down to just the bra and a tiny pair of lace panties. I unhooked the clasp with one hand while she stroked me through my boxers, her touch confident and teasing.
“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you carrying those grocery bags like they weighed nothing,” she whispered, pushing me onto my back. She straddled me, grinding slowly, her breasts brushing my chest as she moved.
I gripped her hips, guiding her rhythm. She reached into the nightstand drawer and produced a condom, tearing the wrapper with her teeth in one smooth motion. The city lights flickered across her skin as she rolled it onto me, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
When she sank down, taking me inside her, we both groaned. She was tight, warm, and completely in control at first, riding me with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. I let her set the pace, hands exploring every inch of her toned body. She had the kind of figure that came from early-morning runs along the waterfront and expensive personal trainers.
Gradually her movements grew faster, more urgent. I sat up, wrapping my arms around her, sucking one nipple into my mouth while she clutched my shoulders. Her moans grew louder, echoing off the high ceilings of the apartment. I could feel her tightening around me, her breathing turning ragged.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped, nails digging into my skin. “Right there.”
I flipped us over, pinning her beneath me on the expensive sheets. She wrapped her legs around my waist as I drove into her harder, deeper. The headboard tapped rhythmically against the wall. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed, but all I could focus on was the way her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted in pleasure.
She came first, back arching, a sharp cry escaping her throat. The feeling of her pulsing around me pushed me over the edge seconds later. I buried my face in her neck as the orgasm crashed through both of us, bodies locked together in the aftershocks.
We stayed like that for a while, catching our breath. Eventually she traced lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip.
“The desk looks much better now,” she murmured, a lazy smile playing on her lips.
I chuckled. “Happy to help with any future redecorating.”
She reached for her phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up her flushed face. A new message notification glowed at the top. She glanced at it, then at me, raising an eyebrow.
“My assistant just texted about tomorrow’s deposition prep. But I think I might need your help again after that… if you’re free.”
I kissed her shoulder. “Send me the time.”