Water Cooler Convo

Dorian pauses at the water cooler, paper cup still in hand. Morgana steps in close and the chat dies before it begins. Hands move under fabric. She bends Dorian over the cooler, spreads those pale cheeks and buries her face between them. Wet noises fill the quiet hallway while her tongue pushes past the rim. Dorian grips the countertop and pushes back. When they switch, Dorian drops to her knees and devours Morgana's neat little cunt, two fingers sliding in deep. They trade places again, faster each time, licking, spreading, fucking anything that will take it. The thrill of footsteps keeps their arousal sharp. They do not pause when voices drift from around the corner; they welcome the risk, bending over further, mouths and fingers still greedy.