Celebration

Zack just landed the promotion. The corner office is his, and the champagne's already breathing when he walks through the door. Athina meets him with a slow smile and nothing else on but a slip of black silk. The afternoon stretches out like a promise they intend to keep. She drops to her knees first, lips parting, eyes locked on his. Her black hair brushes his thighs as she takes him in, slow, wet, deliberate. Zack’s hand finds the back of her head, guiding, urging, until she’s swallowing every inch and he’s breathing hard through his teeth. They move to the bed because the floor won’t hold them. He fucks her deep, steady, the kind of rhythm that builds and breaks and builds again. Athina arches, takes it, claws at his back when he angles just right. Sweat beads at her hairline, rolls down the valley between her breasts, and Zack licks it away before it can fall. She comes first, thighs locked around him, mouth open in a silent cry. He pulls out at the last second, strokes himself over her face, and paints her lips, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. Thick ropes that catch the light and drip toward her collarbone. She smiles through it, tongue flicking out to taste what he’s given her. They don’t stop there. The afternoon bleeds into evening and they’re still at it, bodies slick, sheets twisted, the bottle long forgotten on the nightstand. Celebration tastes exactly like this.