Deja answered by moving her hand to his lap and unzipping his pants.

“Oh, fuck,” was all he said, and that was all Deja thought needed saying.

The only sounds that mattered were their soft moans and groans as he fingered her, and she stroked his dick in rhythm. They started slowly, but apparently, a couple of days apart was enough to make them near frantic with need for one another. It didn’t take long for Deja to start riding Alejandro’s hand or to spit into her palm and grip him with both hands, jacking him as she rode him.

It was lewd, and even worse than the last time they’d gotten inappropriate with one another in her office. And this time was even more dangerous since it was the early afternoon. Granted, Deja’s floor was near empty on a Friday afternoon, but this was still a gamble. She knew that; she just refused to let herself think about it. She didn’t want to think about how pathetically lonely her life had been until he walked her to her office in the fall. She just wanted to feel every inch of Alejandro’s body she could get her hands on, and forget everything else in the meantime.

And she did.

Deja’s back bowed as her orgasm took her over, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Alejandro moved his free hand to the back of her head and held her there, pressing his own face into her neck. They ended up pressing their mouths tight to one another to muffle their groaning releases.

They didn’t have time to be shocked at the mess Alejandro made in Deja’s hands and all over their clothes because the sound of a door slamming shut down the hall caught their attention.

Someone else was in their office. Someone might have heard them.

“Fuck,” they said at the same time.

Twenty-Five

March

Deja’s mother believed chores were the best kind of therapy.

She didn’t believe in therapy, but if it existed, she believed that it came in the form of a Luther Vandross playlist on Spotify and enough bleach to burn her nose hairs. Deja had spent years trying to convince her that her definition of therapy was skewed, but when times were hard, she fell right back into that childhood conditioning, cleaning everything she could find. It was even worse when she couldn’t sleep, and Deja hadn’t been able to sleep much for the past few weeks. Every time she tried to calm her brain and fall asleep, she’d hear someone’s office door closing while she held Alejandro’s sticky, softening dick in her hands, and she’d be wide awake again.