Web Exclusive - Scene 632 India Summer Maggie Green

Maggie stepped into India's office, the leather armchair cool against the backs of her legs. She outlined her situation—her marriage dead, the bills still breathing. The figure India quoted made her palms slick. She shifted, crossing and uncrossing her ankles, then came the pause, the slow turning of India's chair. "There is another way," India said. She rose, circled the desk, the fabric of her skirt moving tight across her hips. Her hand cupped Maggie's jaw, thumb brushing the lower lip. "You can pay me in time. Spread over my desk. I'll decide how long it takes." Maggie exhaled through parted lips. India's fingers traced down the column of her throat, slipped beneath her blouse, found warm skin. She pressed Maggie back until her shoulders met polished wood. The first button gave way, then the second, fabric parting, lace against bare breast. India's mouth replaced her fingers—soft suction, teeth grazing nipple, a sound Maggie swallowed. Her legs parted on command. India's palm slid along the inside of her thigh, found damp silk, pushed it aside. Two fingers entered her without preamble; Maggie's hips lifted, greedy. India worked her slowly at first, then deeper, thumb circling, the wet pull of muscle clenching. Papers slid to the floor. Maggie came with a bitten-off cry, thighs trembling. India withdrew her fingers, licked them, then pressed the same hand flat against Maggie's sternum. "We'll settle the rest tomorrow," she murmured, already unbuckling her belt.