She Needs I.T. Bad

Anna Claire Clouds had just hung up when panic crept in. Her boss needed a major presentation. Tomorrow. She called IT, hoping for a quick fix. Penelope Kay walked in carrying her laptop. Anna stared—young, striking, nothing like the balding techs she expected. The hint of attraction hit her chest before she could swallow it. They leaned over the same screen. Penelope’s voice stayed low, steady. Each suggestion cut Anna’s nerves down another notch. Their shoulders touched. Neither moved away. Slides stacked up fast. Anna noticed the curve of Penelope’s neck when she reached across the desk, the way her fingers danced across keys. The air between them thickened. Save. Crash. Gone. Anna’s breath stopped. Penelope touched her wrist—firm, certain. “You don’t need the slides. You already know it.” Anna repeated the words, felt them settle. Calm came back, then heat. Penelope turned to leave. Anna grabbed her wrist. The kiss landed clumsy. She jerked back, cheeks burning. Penelope answered with her own—slow, deliberate, certain. Clothing dropped to the floor, buttons scattered. Penelope lifted Anna onto the desk, papers scattering. Legs wrapped around hips. Their mouths met again, hungrier, less polite. The desk creaked. Fingers pressed into skin. They worked each other open until the panic was only a distant hum beneath the steady rhythm of skin and breath.