Zoya was letting out little gasps of air between kissed, stumbling through her office backwards as she tried to find her desk.

One hand took the pin that held her hair up in its complicated bun out, letting her raven curls fall around her shoulders.

Your lips chased hers every time she tried to pull away for breath, one hand on her waist and the other holding her face by the jaw, you thumb rubbing her cheek.

You had been gone on a deployment, helping some Ravkan village rebuild form a Fjerdan raid or whatever. You had been gone five months, five long months without the love of your life. It was December, almost New Years, and you had left late July.

Zoya laughed when her back hit the desk, putting a hand on her chest and gently pushing you back. She smiled and took a few deep breaths, then got herself situated on the desk, brushing away some files she didn’t care much about right now.

The Squaller’s smile and the look in her eyes were your invitation to come back, but you still asked to put your hands on her anyway.

“Zoya, may I-?” You asked, hands hovering above her sides and eyes trained on her.

“Yes, I suppose you may.” Was her response, straightening her spine as though this was a time ti be professional.

Within about thirty minutes, you had both your keftas discarded, your shirt completely off because your woman liked your muscles, and her shirt unbuttoned enough to show just a bit of her cleavage.

When Zoya came down from the high of your touch, panting, arms around your neck with her head tilted back, she looked beautiful.

She sat there, on the desk in her office having just had sex for the first time in five months, gulping in the air your kisses had stolen from her lips, and you still thought her beautiful.

She’d never realized love could run that deep.