The all-over heat is back, along with the intense horniness. I’m just hoping he can’t see how hard my nipples are right now. This bra hasn’t always been the best for that.
I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. I flash an attempt at a friendly smile. “Oh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone from IT. In the flesh.”
It’s true, but I don’t know why I said it like that.
No. I do. It’s because I’m eyeing the way the breadth of his shoulders is as wide as some couches. My gaze keeps traveling down the buttons on his shirt one by one, and I have to pinch myself to flick my eyes back up each time I hit his belt buckle.
Ogling the shape of his pants in front of him, after I’ve beaten him up just seems like a bad idea, but I can’t stop. My sense of composure is melting under my own body temperature.
Could I have— no, actually, it’s too ridiculous to even consider. Humans don’t go into heat.
Khent’s standing in my doorway, with no apparent intent to cross the threshold, his hand holding onto the doorjamb. I realize then his grip is splintering the wood, like he’s hanging onto it for dear life.
He’s starting to breathe more heavily too, sweat beading on his skin. I watch him tug on the constraints of his shirt collar. “Usually I’m down on the fourth floor, but I had to run some things upstairs earlier. Setting up some new equipment in a meeting room.”
I swallow once, maybe twice. Is it ... possible that whatever fever I’ve got, could have spread to him too?
“And that's how we bumped into each other,” I say, like it’s some kind of conclusion or explanation. It answers nothing, really.
Khent nods, our strange little non-apology of a conversation coming to an end.
My teeth worry into my lower lip. Just get this apology over with and then kick him out and lock the door. Then I can take care of this. Even the thought of being alone and finally able to touch myself makes my heart pound harder.
No, that’s insane. I can’t masturbate at work. In the HR office. Get a grip, Janice. And not on him, I try to tell myself. I cross my legs, squeezing them together for the barest amount of relief. Either my legs are really sweaty or I’m so wet it’s soaked through my underwear.
For a moment I think I see his nostrils flare or something. He starts to nod, and one of his buttons pops off his shirt due to how deeply he’s breathing.
It lands on the carpeted floor between us. I blink a few times.
“Oh. Um. I have some safety pins for when I lose buttons,” I say, turning around and rifling through a drawer. It’s something to take my mind off of the ever-growing need between my legs.
I cross my small office to him, reaching my arms up to stick the pin through the buttonhole, to close his shirt back up.
“Really, that’s alright,” he says, waving away my offer, but my fingers are already curling under the seam when the back of my knuckles graze his skin.
It’s not a spark, but there’s some kind of sensation that makes my chest jolt. Goosebumps rise up on my arms.
The touch of his skin is a powerful sensation. All my nerves seem to gather into that point of unmitigated contact between us. I don’t think I’ve ever been so acutely aware of what it’s like to touch someone.
The pin stays stuck in the fabric, whatever my intent was with it long gone. My hands fall from it, flattening out against his middle.
Before I can even think, my hands are drifting down his chest, opening up the rest of his shirt like mere curtains. His body is entirely bound in tight muscle and an unreal number of abs. My hands draw up his skin, tracing the cut of his hips. His breath catches on a note of want, and I move a hand to his arm, feeling the sheer amount of coiled strength. My fingers curl up in the fabric of his sleeve, separating me from him.
I want to pull his shirt all the way off, but the realization that I would probably need to stand on a chair to accomplish that much snaps me out of it.
I can’t believe I did that. That’s completely unlike me. But the need to touch and explore overwhelms every other sense I have. I feel the rise and fall of his chest against my palm, a sharp spike of temperature under my hands. There’s no question, he has this fever too.
It doesn’t make sense, but my head feels heavy and sluggish unreal against this. How could we both have come down with the same virus so quickly? And why is it making me horny? Fevers have never felt like this before.
As I continue to touch, to trace the shape of his torso, the heat of his skin melds with mine and makes a shiver roll through me.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I would never do something like this.
I push back from him, catching myself on the edge of my desk again.
A stronger wave of arousal hits me. I’ve never felt it like that, so all-encompassing that I almost forget where I am. Without thinking, without care, my hand goes straight to my legs to touch myself, to find some kind of relief.
Distantly, Normal Janice is shouting something about rules and professional environments.