All Buttoned Up

Autumn had slipped out before the sun rose. Ryan had barely stirred when she pressed a quick, distracted kiss to his temple, murmuring something about contracts, clients, and needing to get in early to prep. Her heels had clicked across the floor, the front door shutting softly behind her. That had been hours ago. She hadn't texted, apart from a quick one around lunchtime- "back to back meetings, grabbing a quick five minutes now, let's order in tonight, I love you."

He knew she needed space on days like this, when her schedule was stacked minute to minute--but something in his chest had been coiling tight all afternoon. And when the door finally opened, when she finally stepped into their apartment--

He turned toward the sound of her heels clicking softly on the hardwood. And then everything stopped. Autumn stood in the entryway like a fucking dream. Her hair was mostly pinned up, but loose pieces curled around her temples like she'd been tugging at it all day. Her silky ivory blouse was still tucked into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her waist and hips like it had been stitched onto her body. Her makeup was still nearly perfect--plum lipstick, sharp black eyeliner--but there was a flush to her cheeks that said she was spent. Raw. Ripe.

And then there were the glasses. Low on her nose. Fogged a little from the shift in temperature. And the heels--still on. Strappy, sharp, long enough to make his mouth go dry.

Ryan's hands flexed against his thighs. His entire body went still.

"Holy. Shit."

She blinked over at him, setting her bag down. "What?"

He rose slowly, like he didn't trust his legs. "You went to work like that?"

She tilted her head. "Big clients today. International buyers. I had to--what's wrong?"

"You wore that all day?" he repeated, voice low, dark, and unravelling. "That skirt. That blouse. The glasses. And those heels, fuck--"

She gave a tired laugh. "They're just work clothes. And I'm wearing glasses because I ran out of contacts."

He was already walking toward her. "No, they're not." His voice dropped, jaw tightening. "You look like the setup for a porno I would watch on repeat."

"Ryan," she warned, cheeks going pink.

He ignored it. "You didn't text me. You didn't call. And now you come home dressed like this?"

Then he was in front of her. One hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "You think I'm letting you walk into our home looking like that and not wrecking you?"

She let out a soft gasp just before he kissed her--hard. His mouth crushed against hers, all heat and pent-up tension, his hands already sliding down her body, grabbing at her skirt, her ass, like he couldn't help it. She whimpered into his mouth, and that sound lit him up from the inside.

"You need to be fucked," he said, voice ragged against her lips. "Right here."

Then he lifted her onto the entry table, knocking a small decorative bowl aside as he shoved her bag out of the way. Her heels clicked on the wood as he stepped between her legs and kissed her again, deeper this time--his tongue sweeping into her mouth like he meant to claim her. His hands went to the blouse first. Each button was undone slowly, deliberately, knuckles grazing her skin until the silky fabric parted and he groaned at the sight of what lay beneath.

Lace. Sheer. Black. He bent his head, pressed a kiss to the edge of the cup, teeth grazing her.

"You wore this under your clothes? All day?"

"Yes," she breathed, already unsteady.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "That's what you wore while smiling for clients and talking about lighting schemes?"

"Yes."

"You filthy girl."

His hands slid down, lifting her skirt higher, pushing it over her hips. And then he froze.

"Autumn."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

His eyes went dark. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Ryan..."

He dropped to his knees like it was instinct, reverent and starved. His hands slid along the silk of her thighs, tracing the straps that attached her black garters to sheer stockings. He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

"You wore this all day?" His voice had gone guttural. "You wore garters? Stockings? While people looked at you like you were just another polished curator?"

She bit her lip, watching him through her lashes. "I didn't think anyone would see them."

"Yeah? Well now I can't unsee them."

He gripped the tops of her thighs. "I'm gonna lose my mind."

And then his mouth was on her. He didn't even bother pulling her panties off right away--he licked her right through them, slow and firm, until she was panting and writhing against the wood beneath her. Then, finally, he hooked them aside and dove in like he was starving.

Autumn cried out, heels digging into the edge of the table, hands buried in his hair. He ate her--no mercy, no hesitation, the kind of head that made her want to scream. His tongue moved deep, deliberate, dragging over her clit again and again until she was a mess of moans and whispered pleas.

"Ryan, please--I need--oh my God--"

He just growled against her, locking his arms around her thighs and feasting. Her blouse slipped further off her shoulders, glasses tilted, skirt bunched at her waist. She looked like a debauched secretary fantasy, and he wasn't anywhere near done.

When she came, it was fast and blinding, her whole body jerking, her voice a ragged cry of his name. He stood, breathing hard, and dragged her forward by the hips. Spun her to her stomach on the table. Her heels clicked again, legs still trembling. He kissed the nape of her neck, reached between them, and rubbed her slick folds.

"No teasing," she panted. "Just fuck me, Ryan."

"You think I can't?" he growled, lining himself up, one hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. "After you walked in like that?"

Then he sank into her in one hard thrust, and she let out a desperate, cracked moan. He didn't hold back. He took her--deep, steady, unforgiving, one hand braced on her back, the other on her hip as her body jolted against the table with every stroke. Her heels stayed on, her glasses still clinging to her face, barely, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looked wrecked. Ruined. Perfect.

"Wore this--" he grunted, slamming into her, "and expected me to just say hi when you got home?"

Her reply was a broken sob.

He reached between them, found her clit again, rubbed until she cried out, helpless, undone. "Come for me again," he said through gritted teeth. "Come like this. In your skirt. In your heels."

And she did--shattering around him, pulsing tight and hot, dragging him over the edge with her as he cursed and spilled inside her, still grinding through it, his body draped over hers. After a long, pulsing moment, she laughed breathlessly against the table.

"So. Should I dress like this more often?"

He groaned into her neck. "You do, and I'll never let you leave the house again."

She grinned wickedly over her shoulder. "Tempting."