Helping The Boss

India clenched her jaw behind the desk. Another TPS report missing. She jabbed her password, hit refresh, and the screen stayed empty. Fucking interns. Charlotte knocked once before stepping inside. India didn’t wait. “Where the hell is it?” The blonde fidgeted. “I— I sent it last night, I swear.” India stood, fingers digging into her own hips. She took a long, hot breath, then pointed at the seat across from her. “Sit.” Charlotte obeyed, wide eyes. Silence thickened. “I’ll do anything to keep this job,” she finally whispered. India smirked, half cruel, half curious. “Anything?” She shrugged out of her blazer and spun her chair around so its high leather back faced the door. One sharp snap of her fingers. “Shoulders. Neck. Don’t stop till I say.” Charlotte rose quickly, palms sliding over tense muscle. India’s head rolled forward. Heat pooled under her silk blouse. Each circle of those thumbs loosened the knot inside her chest and tightened another one lower down. India shrugged the blouse off one shoulder, then the other. Charlotte’s breath hitched. India’s bra straps slipped. She reached back, unhooked the clasp, let it fall. Her nipples tightened against the cool office air. “Keep going,” she ordered. Charlotte’s palms crept lower, tracing ribs, brushing under breasts. India pushed her chair farther back, rolling it so her knees parted around the younger woman’s legs. “On your knees.” Charlotte sank. India spread wider, skirt already riding up her thighs, panties damp and dark. She yanked the lace aside. Charlotte didn’t hesitate—mouth opened, tongue dragging flat and strong from slit to clit in one long, greedy lick. India’s hips jerked. A low sound escaped her throat, half growl, half moan. Charlotte dove in, tongue working deep, fast, then slow, two fingers sliding in without warning. India’s head snapped back against the chair, teeth clenched, knuckles white on the armrests. Every drag of that expert tongue hit the raw center of weeks of frustration and turned it molten. Charlotte didn’t speak—she sucked, licked, fucked—each stroke promising the same thing: she wouldn’t fuck this up.