A soft chim suddenly rang out.
Ding.
And then the elevator doors slid open in a smooth, mechanical breath, revealing the stark white light of the hallway and there, standing frozen just feet from the opening, were Helena and Sophie.
They didn't speak. They didn't have to.
The image in front of them was a silent detonation.
Lina knelt on the elevator floor, hair disheveled, lips red and wet, her face streaked with mascara and spit. Her scrub top clung to her chest, twisted and damp, revealing the outline of breasts still rising and falling in uneven breaths. Her knees were splayed slightly, thighs parted just enough to reveal everything.
Devon's cock was still out, glistening in the dim light, his scrub pants pooled at his thighs. His hand, tangled in her hair moments ago, hovered mid air, as if he'd been caught mid thought.
Time itself seemed to pause as they witnessed the carnal crime scene in front of them and the conversations they were having initially died instantly.
"You have to be kidding me," Helena finally sputtered, her voice a strangled mix of horror and disbelief. Her clipboard slipped slightly, her knuckles whitening as she gripped it tighter. "What the fuck?"
Her voice rang out again.
Sophie's lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes, wide and shining, moved slowly, too slowly, from Lina's kneeling form to the wet, twitching length of Devon's cock still hanging heavy and proud, flushed and slick with spit and come.
Meanwhile, Devon didn't flinch. He tilted his head, a slow, predatory grin curling his lips, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, untouchable arrogance.
He let them look, let their gazes feast on his cock, the way it pulsed under their scrutiny. "Evening, ladies," he said, his voice filled with confidence.
"Care to join us?" He stood there staring at them, letting the moment stretch, his cock a blatant provocation, before finally reaching down. His fingers grazed his length with a deliberate, almost caressing slowness, as if savoring their attention, before tucking himself into his scrubs with a casual flick.
The motion was almost performative, as though he was telling them, You saw what you saw. And?
Sophie's breath caught audibly. She didn't even try to look away.
And Lina?
Lina was divine ruin.
Still kneeling.
Still breathless.
Still tasting him.
Her mascara ran in dark rivers down her flushed cheeks, tears from the depth she'd taken him, from the way she'd let him use her throat like it belonged to him. Her lips, red and swollen, were still parted around a final breath. Her chin and neck were streaked with spit and come, glistening, raw, exposed.
There was nothing accidental about her position.
She was on display.
Her thighs were parted slightly, the damp heat between them now undeniable, scent curling into the elevator like a confession. Her scrubs clung to her in all the wrong places, thin, soaked, stretched, a second skin betraying every curve.
Her chest still rose and fell in shallow gasps.
But her eyes?
Her eyes weren't glassy with shame. They were glowing.
And then suddenly, she moved.
Slowly, like a creature rising from the altar of some unholy worship, Lina placed her palms flat on her thighs, then dragged them down the length of her legs as she began to rise.
Her actions were erotic, deliberate and even unbothered.
The shift of her body was a performance and her audience had already paid the price a moment ago.
Her knees unbent, her back straightened, her chest lifted, pushing her tits against the clinging fabric of her scrub top, the outline of hard nipples screaming through the thin cotton. As she stood to full height, she never broke eye contact with Helena and Sophie.
Her hand dragged upward from her thigh, lingering along her own curves, until it pressed softly against her core through the fabric, right where she was soaked. She didn't hide it. She cupped herself, fingers rolling in a lazy circle over her clit through the scrubs, hips ticking forward with a barely-there grind.
Sophie let out a strangled sound.
Lina just smirked.
She pulled her hand away and brought it to her lips, tongue flicking out to taste what Devon had left behind on her skin, eyes still locked on the women who'd stumbled into her show.
Then she reached down, adjusting her waistband, giving them a full view of the way her scrubs clung to her soaked pussy as she pulled them tighter, grinding them up into herself with a little roll of her hips that was closer to a fuck-you than any spoken word.
Her fingers smoothed the front of her top next, dragging across her chest, palms flat against her nipples, massaging them through the cotton with a slow, indulgent roll that made even Devon exhale like he was ready for round two.
"Well, damn," Lina purred, her voice a low, husky drawl that carried a hint of mockery. "Didn't expect an audience." She stepped forward, her hips swaying with a brazen confidence, the damp fabric of her pants clinging to her thighs, hinting at the slickness beneath.
Helena's jaw clenched, her shock morphing into something sharper, more venomous. "You're fucking disgusting," she spat, but her voice trembled, betraying the way her eyes kept darting to Lina's body, to the way her scrub top clung to every curve. "And you," she turned to Devon, "you're supposed to be a fucking professional."
"Disgusting is such a harsh word don't you think?" Lina said softly. Then continued. "Or are you just jealous you didn't get there first?"
Devon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that filled the elevator.
Sophie's flush deepened, her hands twisting together. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her eyes flicking to Lina's lips, then away, like she was afraid of what she might say.
"Excuse me," Lina said, joy evident in her voice as she brushed past the two women. Her shoulder grazed Sophie's, deliberate and slow, and she felt the secretary shiver under the contact. Lina didn't look back, but she could feel the weight of their stares.
The elevator doors began to slide shut, but Helena's hand shot out, jamming them open with a metallic groan. She stepped inside, Sophie trailing hesitantly, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. The confined space was a pressure cooker, reeking of sex
Helena's glare locked onto Devon, her eyes blazing with a hatred so clear it seemed to burn the air between them.
However, he leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed, his posture loose, almost leisurely, as if he hadn't just been caught with his cock out. His scrub top was slightly askew, a faint sheen of sweat on his neck, but his grin was unshakable, a predator's smirk that dared Helena to take a swing.
"Y-You." Helena stuttered. She opened her mouth to speak, unable to contain her fury any longer, when Sophie quickly stopped her from speaking.
A chuckle came from Devon, and as the elevator dinged the door sliding to the floor he was in, he stepped out with the door closing behind him.
"Fucking bastard."
She muttered, but her voice broke, her eyes flicking to Sophie, who was still pressed against the wall, her face pale, her hands trembling. "Soph, you okay?"
Her lips parted, then she gave a gentle nod.