The Tease


He better not do it tonight, she thought.

They were both stressed out, neither had any sleep. He had no sleep at all the night before. Tons of work left them little time for anything else for the next 24 hours.

But sometimes that wore each of them to the edge — where their occasional flirting kicked up a notch.

His ridiculous fucking teasing rose to unbearable levels. She'd gotten a handle on the whole thing most of the time. But when she was tired, stressed, vulnerable, it was a little harder.

Not that it was a bad thing, really.

She was headed to the office before an important event she had to cover. She knew he'd be there. And just thought to herself, don't do it tonight.

Or to be more precise, if he did it tonight, he better be prepared to be called on it.

He was a merciless tease, in every way. Leaving her hanging. Ignoring her half the time. Flirting, teasing her others. After a few years, it starts to wear on a girl. Especially when she privately lusted after him in the way that she did. Now, she almost enjoyed the torture.

Almost? Fuck, yeah, she enjoyed it.

She got the office and headed straight to her desk, ignoring the light on in his.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hey," she said.

"I brought you some beer. If you want it," she said.

She heard his chair move.

"I don't want it. I need it," he said, coming around the corner.

He hesitated.

"You this evening," he said.

She held out her beer, smiling.

"Why, thanks," she said.

She was wearing a fitted, short black skirt, black tights, heels, and smooth ivory silk blouse, clinging to her, with just one more button unbuttoned than should be.

She smelled good too.

He took the beer.

"Thank you," he said. They clinked bottles.

"How are you doing?" she said.

"I think I'm on a adrenaline at this point, because I am not currently wishing I was dead," he said.

She laughed.

"When do you have to leave?" he said.

"Soon," she answered.

"Can I show you this?" she said, pointing to her email. He leaned over her shoulder, and she noticed his face looked different.

"Did you shave today?" she tried to say calmly.

"No. You're lucky I took a shower. I'm sleepwalking. Why? I figured you could handle it.. You were the only person I was likely to see today," he said.

She didn't answer. Her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in the middle of the night, in the dark, wrapped in sheets, with that scratchy cheek buried in her neck, and other places.

"Don't tell me you're offended?" he said, laughing.

"I'm not offended," she said quietly.

"So what then?" he said.

"You don't want to know," she said, taking another drink of her beer.

"Don't I?" he said. Fucking tease.

"Do you? Because I'll tell you," she said, turning to look him in the eye.

He was sitting on her desk, looking down at her. He laughed, pushed off, and headed back to his desk.

"Always all talk," she whispered.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing," she said.

Just before she was getting ready to leave, she turned quickly and her elbow caught a cup of water on the nearby desk, spilling it over.

Quickly, she grabbed her laptop to lift it in the air, but the movement sprawled her right under the spill.

"Fuck!" she said, jumping out of the chair, putting her laptop on the shelf and heading to the small kitchen for some paper towels.

"What happened?" he said from behind her.

Leaning over her skirt, she blotted it with paper towels.

"I spilled water all over myself. Better me than the laptop I guess," she said.

He moved into the kitchen.

"So're all wet?" he said.

She stopped and looked up at him.

"Cut it out," she said.

"What?" he said.

"I just wanted to know if you were wet or not," he said, smiling.

"Listen," she said, laughing in spite of herself.

She tossed the paper towels and playfully punched him in the arm a few times.

"Keep it up!" she said.

She headed back to grab her stuff, and with her coat over her arm, she headed to his office.

"I'm leaving. Be back soon," she said.

He leaned back in his chair.

"I'll be here," he said.

He looked at her again. She knew that look. There were times when he looked at her and there was nobody home. Or that he saw right through her to the wall, or his brain was onto the next item on his agenda.

Then there were times when their eyes caught each other. Hers stopped his short. She knew he was looking right at her. At times like that, she felt like the world stopped and she couldn't really hear anything else. See anything else.

That was how he was looking at her.

"You know, I just want to tell you one thing," she said.

"What's that?" he said.

"You keep being a fucking tease tonight. At your own risk," she said.

She didn't move from the doorway. Leaned into it.

He laughed.

"How so?" he said.

"I'm just telling you. Keep it up, and I just might have to call you on it," she said.

Her bravado was undermined a bit by the blush that crept over her face.

He let her simmer in that blush without saying anything, smiling at her.

"Noted," he said, still smiling.

So she left.

He stared at the laptop screen but was distracted. He could still smell her perfume in the air.

He really shouldn't be thinking about her. For many reasons. He'd tried to reconcile it before. He got another beer, and sat back, thinking.

He could move past things easily. Most of the time he could control himself. Tonight, for some reason — maybe it was the lack of sleep — he was struggling a little bit.

It could be that he'd concluded that he really wanted to fuck her.

There were girls he was attracted to. Things he'd wanted to do with them that veered from the ultimately innocent to the furthest scale of depraved. He'd thought about those things.

But when it came to her, it was just that he wanted to fuck her.

It wasn't the only thing he wanted to do with her by any means. But it was the neon sign he couldn't ignore in his mind when he allowed his mind to go in that direction.

Just throw her up on his desk, or pull her onto his lap, and just shut her the fuck up once and for all. She constantly taunted him he was all talk. And she was mostly right, but she had no idea how much he wanted to prove her wrong.

He was really good at keeping his feelings hidden.

But tonight, they circled his head, and he was having trouble. He felt his unshaved face. Thought about her reaction to it.

He turned up his music, and surrendered to the lack of work he was going to get done until she came back.

She closed her laptop and with a pounding heart she headed back to the office. The tension was just too unbearable for her tonight. At this point, she honestly hoped his light would be off, he'd be long gone somewhere else, with someone else.

But turning the key in the lock, while it was dark, she could hear his music coming from the office.

Pathetically, she tried to walk back to her desk and avoid the interaction. The nerves were too raw. She felt her hands shaking. She wanted to be tough. Powerful. She needed to reinforce.

"Want a beer?" he said.

"I'll be right there," she said.

She breathed in and out, and walked over to grab a beer, and headed into his office.

He looked different. Relaxed. But on.

"How'd it go?" he said.

"Fine," she said.

"How's your night been?" she asked.

"Good. Really good," he said.

"Yeah?" she said.

"Yeah," he said.

That look. What the fuck, she thought.

"You're a fucking tease," she said.

"And you love it," he said, not missing a beat.

She was really annoyed. Sort of.

She got up and walked over to his chair. He looked up at her.

"I do love it," she said.

"I can be a tease too, you know," she said.

She reached out and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes for a second.

"I know you can," he said.

"But all you do is tease with words," she said.

"I think teasing is so much better when you are actually getting somewhere," she said.

He looked at her. Her brown eyes locked with his.

"I agree," he said.

She moved toward him, hands on the arms of his chair, that button on her silky shirt that should have been buttoned torturing him.

Her mouth was almost on his, both of them barely breathing.

He was caught. Unmoving.

"Just, almost, there," she whispered into his mouth.

Then she turned to leave in a moment of triumph.

And promptly tripped.

He caught her easily, and his hands moved to her hips, pulling her back into his lap.

Her head leaned back so her face was against his. She could feel his breath against her neck.

"You're fast," she said.

"Sometimes," he said.

His hands were on her hips.

Her back arched. He could see her nipples against the silky fabric. They were so hard it looked like it hurt. Her legs spread over his.

His hands tightened on her hips. She could feel his scruffy face against her neck.

"I should get up," she whispered.

"You should, but I'm not letting you," he said.

His hands were tight against her hips.

Her breathing was fast.

"You know, sometimes, when I fantasize about you," she whispered, his hands stroking her hips.

"Yes," he said.

"It's an elaborate scenario...the tavern owner and the beer wench, or the editor and the reporter who's made bad, bad grammar mistakes...," she whispered.

He laughed and lightly slapped her hip, holding it again.

"But the best fantasies I have about you are the simplest, just me, and you, and nothing else. Just on the edge of that tension, and giving into it...," she said.

"Like right now," he whispered in her ear.

"Yes, yes...exactly like this," she said, her eyes fluttering.

"You wonder why I'm such a tease," he said.

"I'll tell you," he said.

His hands moved from her hips, up, over the silky blouse, holding her full breasts, circling them, deliberately avoiding the nipples that were so achingly prominent.

She gasped.

"Don't you think I want my hands all over these perfect tits? That I haven't thought about that?" he said.

"Oh, no, don't," she said.

She couldn't take when he talked like that. Especially now.

"And here," his hands slid down her sides, over her hips, down her tights and up between her legs, under her skirt.

"When I asked if you were wet before," he said, stroking her inner thighs, "I meant it."

"Don't you think I want to know how wet you are?" he said.

She couldn't breathe.

She turned her head sideways to catch his mouth with hers as her body writhed over his, feeling his dick hard against her ass.

He let it go for a moment, let their tongues find each other, moved his hand to her neck, and they kissed, hard and wet.

Then he pulled away.

"But I can't. You know I can't," he said.


She was actually ok. She was that irritated. Even waiting for him to pull the rug out from under her.

He expected more of an emotional response, but he wasn't going to get it.

She immediately pushed off him. Stood up before him and adjusted her clothes.

"You know what you are," she said, saying his name.

She leaned in again to his mouth, holding his chair arms.

"I've finally realized — you're not a tease," she said.

"What am I then?" he said.

She stood back and opened another button of her blouse. Her pale lace bra was showing.

"You're afraid," she said.

He looked at her, waiting.

"You're afraid after all this time, and all your talking, you won't be able to back it up. I, on the other hand," she said, opening another button.

"I on the other hand, know I can not only back it up, I can blow it away," she said.

Smiling, she turned to leave.

It was the classic, 2nd-grader-on-the-schoolyard manipulation — calling him a chicken.

And he was only too happy to fall for it. In fact, he was looking for a fucking excuse.

He jumped from his chair and caught her at the door, turning her around and pushing her against the wall.

"You think I'm afraid?" he said.

"Uh huh," she said, trying to catch her breath.

God, he wanted to fuck her.

"You're the one who should be afraid," he said.

He found her mouth with his, still holding her against the wall. His hand went into her hair, pulling it, while she dug her nails into his back. Her leg lifted around his hips.

Their kiss was hot, wet, messy, and delicious. She couldn't get enough of his tongue.

His hand left her hair and with both hands, he found the opening of her shirt and slowly, deliberately pulled the rest of the buttons open, popping them off, one by one.

He lifted her hips up against the wall and buried his face in her breasts, pulling the straps down, impatient now, to find those hard nipples.

And they were so hard, pulling her bra away to show her full pale breasts with those dark pink aching nipples, he took one in his mouth and mercilessly sucked it, working it with his tongue until she cried out loudly. He covered her mouth with his hand as he rhythmically sucked it, harder, harder, he could feel her shudder all over.

She tried so hard not to scream. The feel of her aching nipple in his mouth, she wanted it, wanted it bad, her fingers knotted in his hair, urging him on, feeling his unshaved face against her sensitive skin, him proving her so fucking wrong.

And he was right, she should be afraid. She was on the verge of completely losing control as he lowered her down again, his tongue finding hers, but his hands lost under her skirt, pushing it up, and she tried to push his hands away.

"No," she whispered.

"Oh yeah," he whispered back.

He was almost there, over the tops of her thigh high stockings. This is where he wanted to go with her. He was almost there, almost finding her wet pussy with his hands, almost pushing her skirt high enough. He was ready. He wanted to fuck her. Her shuddering half naked body was going to take every last ounce of his strength.


But then she wriggled out from his hands and fell to her knees.

Expertly, quickly, she had his pants open, down, away, and before he knew what hit him she was sucking his dick good and slow. Good and wet.

His knees buckled a little as he reached backward to his desk for strength, her tongue teasing him, sliding him in and out of her mouth, sucking harder, harder, moving a little bit faster, deeper, and he caught his breath.

"You're such a fucking tease," he said, and she laughed.

Sliding him in and out of her mouth, working him with her hand, pushing him further back on the desk, gently stroking his balls with her tongue, licking them, sucking them, back on his dick, doing circles with her tongue on the tip, teasing him.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled her up roughly.

Turned her around so her ass was against his desk.

"No," she whispered.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he said.

He pushed her back so she was lifted onto the desk.

"What's wrong?" he said, pulling her blouse all the way off, pulling her skirt all the way up.

"You afraid?" he said.

"Yes," she said. Her hands were shaking.

He kissed her again, their tongues fucking each other's mouths, deep, wet, and so good.

And then pulled back, pushing her back on the desk, her legs open, skirt pushed up, stroking her pussy with his fingers, finding her soaking wet and open, sliding his fingers in and out of her, getting her to a shuddering mess of begging and moaning his name, and finally, finally...

He fucked her. He fucked her slow and hard and fast and deep, sliding in, and out, and in and out. He almost couldn't control himself, watching her bucking and writhing, pounding the desk with her fists, pulling her hair. She came like no one else.

"Again....," she whispered..."more more more more."

And he gave her more and then some. He'd always wanted to fuck her. Thought about it. When she turned him on, he thought about fucking her, always.

And then he was almost there, he gave it to her harder then he had yet, slamming into her, in and out, and in and out.

He could see she was totally about to explode. Her hands were shaking. Her teeth chattering. She was whispering his name.

And he stopped.

"Oh no – not now," she whispered.

"Don't," she said.

"Why not?" he said, smiling at her.

"I thought this was the kind of teasing you liked?" he said.

The End.

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