Battle Of The Bosses

Reagan Foxx sat behind her desk, phone pressed tight to her ear, voice low and firm. The man on the other end tried to wriggle out of what she wanted, but she had no patience for excuses. She gave him one final line in the sand and hung up before he could answer. The door opened without a knock. Bridgette B walked in like the room already belonged to her. After the merger, it almost did. Reagan looked up and met her stare head-on. Neither woman blinked. “What do you want?” Reagan asked. Bridgette smiled and began listing new terms, her heels clicking against the marble as she paced. The requests started small, petty at best, then grew absurd. By the time she demanded that only lesbian relationships be permitted in the office, Reagan’s jaw tightened. “You’re getting me hot and bothered,” Reagan snapped, pushing back from her chair. Bridgette stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “Then fuck me, or I walk.” The words hung between them, clear and sharp. Reagan understood the game now. She answered by yanking Bridgette forward, their mouths colliding, tongues fighting for control. Hands tore at silk blouses, buttons skittering across the floor. Reagan shoved Bridgette onto the wide desk and dropped between her thighs, tongue plunging deep, licking with slow, relentless strokes until Bridgette gasped and cursed. Bridgette pulled her up, spun them both, and ground her soaked cunt against Reagan’s in hard, wet circles. Their clits dragged together with each thrust, slick and swollen. They rocked and cursed and came, each trying to break the other first, sweat gleaming on bare skin, until the desk shook under them and the argument was finally, gloriously, settled.