“Would you shut your trap—?” Caitlyn hissed, lips smothering the sultry giggles that tumble over your lips, swallowing your noises and making sure to savor them thoroughly.

Her hand swoops down to cup your lower back, hoisting you onto her desk and throwing your legs over her hips. Chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose. Gloved fingers dig into the divots of your spine, forcing a pleased, yet startled whine, from the depths of your throat.

“I’m not supposed to have visitors.” she informs, though the way her fingertips slip beneath your skirt contradicts every stern warning she’s given you thus far.

A low groan from her has you scrambling forward, thighs locking tightly around her midsection as she fails to pull away. Even if she’s not putting that much effort into it.

“Easy—”