“Amy.” I think I’m begging. Her thumb moves over my clit again and again, her finger in me, but now that I’m putty in her hands I can’t do it. I can’t come. “Amy, please.”

I slip my hand beneath her bra. Her skin is hot beneath my palm. I kiss her sternum. “Please,” I whisper into her skin. “Oh god, please.”

She pulls her hands away so suddenly it takes me long seconds to realize it, to stop kissing her. “What are you doing? Why’d you stop?”

She tugs at her hair. “Stand up.” She pulls me up by my hips.

“Wh-what?”

“I really do distract you.” She sounds smug.

“I... It’s just...this is my first time,” I mutter as she turns me around and places my hands flat on the table.

“Whatever you say, Hollywood.” And then, in my ear, “Don’t move.”

Amy palms one of my breasts. Her soft pink nail polish looks obscene gripping me, the dusky rose of my nipples peeking through her fingers. She draws her other hand between my breasts, over the swell of my stomach, beneath my underwear. The vision of the black cotton stretched over her hand might be burned into the tender skin behind my eyelids for the rest of my life.

In this position I can’t touch her, can’t see. I can only feel where every part of her is pushed up against me. And hear her quiet encouragements, bordering on commands, in my ear.

“You’re so wet for me, Hollywood.”

“I bet you taste like honey.”

“You come like a dream, I just know it.”

“You can do it, Sophie. You’re going to come so hard on my hand, Sophie. I can feel it.”

Her petting becomes faster, tighter. “I want to,” I promise. “I want to so bad.”

A tear falls down my cheek.

“Do it, beautiful girl.” Teeth press into my skin, the tender spot where it meets the shoulder. The wave of pleasure finally crests. I shout something unintelligible. Barely words. My fingernails scratch against the wood, searching for purchase as my legs shake and I come. I gush over her hand, the insides of my thighs painted with all of this pleasure that belongs to her.

“You did good.” She kisses my temple. Vaguely, I acknowledge I might be hurting her with how tightly I grip her wrist, but I can’t make my muscles release.

“You did so good, Sophie.”

From anyone else that would sound like a condescending line. But from Amy, I only want to hear her say it again and again.

The chef’s table looks fine. Completely normal, really. No one would know that I just had sex here. In my professional kitchen.

“We’re going to get shut down,” I mutter, buttoning up my jacket because sure, that will save this tableau of health code violations.

Amy walks out of the back hallway, her face flushed but her blouse also rebuttoned.

“We should...” I make a wiping motion.

She nods. “I’ll take care of it.” She stops out of my reach and closing the distance between us feels too vulnerable. It says too much.