I wove my hands through her silky black hair. A whiff of strawberry and mint swept off the strands and into my nose. I slid under her shirt, against her smooth skin. She wasn't wearing a bra, and I salivated at the sensation of her stiffened peaks.

"Off," I said, gesturing at her shirt.

"Bossy," she said, but she hurried to obey, unleashing a set of large but perky breasts. I spotted the outline of them in the dark, aroused by her perfectly erect nipples.

I hefted one breast to my mouth, taking the nipple inside, sweeping over it with my tongue.

She tensed, a moan rolling out of her. She tangled her fingers into my hair and pushed me deeper against her boob. I suckled, gyrated around her, and cupped her other breast to fondle it.

She writhed against me, and my clit pulsed against the seam of my jeans as she panted, succumbing to my tongue.

What did she taste like down there? I was eager to find out. I'd fooled around once or twice with women when I was younger, but never got to that crucial part—to the tongue making its way into the star of the show.

She grabbed my face to resume kissing me, then undid her pants and let them drop to the floor. My hands wandered to her waist, reveling in the soft curves, then traveled down to her incredibly firm but wide ass. I squeezed, letting out a groan in the process.

She squirmed as she tugged me away from the wall, then fell backwards onto the bed. "Jeans, off," she said, voice heavy with need.

"Bossy," I said, imitating her.

I discarded my jeans and remained in front of her in my lacy bra and drenched underwear.

She cupped her hands around my ass and nodded as she pulled me closer. "Nice," she squeezed, "and you're so incredibly wet." She skimmed her fingertips over my swollen pussy. "Take the panties off."

I shivered, intimidated but turned on by her commands.

I removed my undies. She immediately got her fingers into my stickiness, running back and forth between my folds, the space she was so eager to devour.

"Yes," she licked her lips, "spread a little wider for me, sweetheart."

I listened. It was divine, the way she dipped into me without needing a map to take her to my arousal. I couldn't have been luckier for my first time to be with someone like her.

If she cared about my inexperience, she didn't mention it. Didn't make me uncomfortable by pointing out my lack of expertise, or how I reacted too slowly.

"Mmm, now lift your leg, set your foot on the bed." Her eyes widened as I opened up to her, exposed my pussy up close and personal. "Oh, baby, you're so beautiful."

No one had ever complimented my vagina before, and it made me tremble with pleasure, with pride. I trembled more when she slid forward and stirred her tongue into my moisture. She lapped me up like I was a sugar-coated lollipop, taking in every flavor and exalting in it.

"You taste like bliss, baby," she said after a few minutes, caressing my thigh as she set my leg down. "Now strip and come on over here next to me."

I unfastened my bra, and she chewed on her lower lip as she watched me let my breasts loose.

"You're not talkative during sex, are you?"

I shook my head as we lay on our sides, facing each other. I was naked, but she was still in her underwear, her bare nipples pressing into my arm.

"I don't mind if you don't talk, as long as you scream for me." She sprinkled touches from my neck to my navel, then used her free hand to slide into my crevice again. "Can you do that? Scream for me when you come?"

I convulsed as she traced circles around my clit. "Scream your name?"

"No names." Her lips flurried kisses above my breasts as she moved her fingers inside me. "I don't want to know who you are; just how loud you can scream. Tell me it feels fucking perfect—then scream."

I wasn't sure if I should venture into her mystical center, if I should offer to please her how she pleased me. I was too absorbed in how she paid my clit careful attention, observing my every breath and movement for cues of my pleasure.

My fingers twitched. My hand furthest from her took hold of the sheets, squeezing the fabric as she got me closer and closer to my second explosion.

With shaky movements, I navigated my other hand downward until I felt her wet heat swarming my skin. Oh, she was drenched.

I gasped as I journeyed under her panties, and made my way between her folds, coming into contact with the hot surprise awaiting me.

"Yeah?" She looked up from where she'd been busy twisting her tongue around my nipples. Her finger crept close to actually entering me, which made my body tighten, my nerve endings tingle. "You like how wet I am for you, sweetheart?"

God, she was intoxicating. The desire between her legs was so potent I thought I might pass out.

I had no idea what I was doing, no clue where to start, so I trailed inside her, searching, pretending to tease her—

Aha! Something throbbed near my fingertip. I'd found her clit, and it begged to be touched.

"Oh," she said, surprised. Maybe she hadn't expected me to show any skill at pleasuring her tonight. "Oh, you naughty girl. You got me."

She responded by pressing her finger fully into me.

"Shit," I said, no longer able to keep quiet.

"Yes, tell me, baby." She gripped my ass, drawing me closer as I titillated her.

"It feels...so...good," I dared. My breaths were deep, hard to exhale. My heart raced as she entered another finger into me, her thumb toying with my clit.

I wouldn't last long, and I'd lose myself in her delightful skill.

I tried to mimic what she was doing—and it worked, because she tipped her head back and let out a cry that shocked through me. More moisture gathered in her center, dampening my fingers. Her shaky core showed me I was pleasing her.

Fuck, it was so hot to sense her losing it, too, to know she was succumbing as I was. Whatever I was doing had some magical effect on her.

I knew where her entrance was—so I went for it. A yelp of sweet shock squeaked out as I pushed into her.

She pried deeper into me, speeding up her rhythm. I again mimicked her, as if we were in a race, competing for who would make the other come fastest, with the most intensity.

We both cried out when we released, unraveling and coming undone together. I couldn't tell who the winner was.

But we'd both won, hadn't we? If this kind of conclusion was the winning formula, then we'd both be hefting up a trophy by the end of the night.

***

When my eyes fluttered open, only a slither of light filtered into the room. But the light came from an area I didn't recognize, and the pillow under my head was much softer, much more luxurious than my regular one at home—

Oh. I wasn't at home, was I? I'd gone out partying for my temp gig, and for Sophia's job. I drank several mojitos, did shots I hated while plastering a cheerful smile on my face.

And I spilled liquor all over a sexy woman's silky shirt.

Then I ended up in bed with that sexy woman.

She was still asleep beside me. So poised and sensual, even in slumber. Her smooth, tanned skin was like gold in the gentle sunlight, her body a treasure I'd discovered and delighted in for too short a time.

I'd sadly never see this goddess of a woman again, but every second spent with her last night was worth it.

As I carefully got out of bed, flashes of our eventful evening came back to me.

Making out in the elevator, stripping and screaming until our voices were raw and our bodies too exhausted to cooperate. We hadn't plugged in phones, hadn't given each other names, hadn't even said goodnight, and fell asleep naked, side-by-side.

I gathered my clothes, threw them on, then stopped at the bedroom door to admire her one last time.

My conquest. She lay on her side, her bangs over her eyes, her heart-shaped mouth parted to let out soft breaths.

I wanted to go and kiss her forehead, or pull the covers up over her heavy breasts, but couldn't.

This was how I preferred to capture her to memory. I would have loved an excuse to graze those delicious nipples again, but I wouldn't stick around.

This was a one-night-stand, and I'd be damned if I let her leave first.

I found my shoes near the main door. As I slipped into them, I was still overcome with arousal as I re-imagined our antics. She hadn't given me a chance to go down on her, but we'd finger-fucked each other and rubbed into each other's thighs so many times that I was sore between my legs.

Not sure how I'd tolerate the ride home on the subway.

"You were lovely," I whispered as I snatched my purse, opened the door, and crept out.

I had no clue how I didn't have a giant migraine from all the drinking, but I survived the busy subway. My long trek down to Two Bridges, in southern Manhattan, was exhausting, but as I marched down my familiar, narrow street, I hugged myself for warmth.

It was a moderately warm early Fall morning, but I felt exposed—as the morning after girl.

I hadn't planned on sleeping anywhere other than in my bed. I'd get interesting gazes once I reached my building, since my neighbors were curious hussies who loved watching me, the broke twenty-five-year-old going off to parties, sharing Lyfts with her model and journalist friends.

They normally didn't get to see me coming home.

Next time I partied with Sophia, I'd remember to bring a jacket to cover myself up, in case I found another hot woman to fuck.

After punching in the door code, I entered my falling-apart building. The brick facade was worn down, and the zigzagged black emergency staircases were rotting and squeaky, but it was home. It had been for several years now. Ever since I'd escaped my horrible family and decided to make ends meet on my own.

Inside my stuffy studio, I chucked off my shoes, hung my purse from its hook by the chipped door, and took a deep, soothing breath.

While my surroundings in this neighborhood were often far from pleasant, I always ensured my home was a haven of comfort. It smelled of roses and orchards, masking the off-putting odor of old smoke that had stained the walls.

I'd checked my phone in the subway—five texts from Sophia asking for details, one from Nico making sure I was okay. I'd also received the reminder of my new job via an email filled with details for my first day, tomorrow.

There was also that fickle notification from my bank: to pay my student loans, rent, phone. And along with that was the whiteboard on my fridge stating I needed food for the week.

Money subtracted from my account so fast, it was as if yesterday I'd been in a place to feel comfortable, but now I was broke. I was always broke.

"Thank goodness I don't have a car," I said, dimming the lights.

I made myself some coffee, and curled up on my bed to binge-watch a show that took my mind off all my troubles.

***

For this new gig—a temp personal assistant job for some big-rig CEO I didn't bother to read too much about—I didn't have the time or funds to get my pant suit pressed before the first day.

But with my ironing skills and homemade fabric softeners, I looked like I could afford such luxuries.

It was a risky outfit to wear during my commute—white with a black shirt underneath—but this person's place in NoHo wasn't too far from where I lived. I wouldn't have to suffer the dusty, dank subway for too long.

It was a bright morning, and I was running later than I'd planned.

Fuck.

I launched down the stairs and street in my wedged booties. I commonly took my time, enjoyed the atmosphere, and smiled at passengers as I stood in the cramped wagons that sped under the busy streets. Today I was rushed, with no opportunity for pleasantries.

I arrived in front of CEO Silver Bell's building with five minutes to spare, gasping for breath.

I craned my neck up to admire the modern windows and sleek facade. It resembled my building, but this one was much newer, more refreshed compared to mine. Luxurious and upscale, it made me hesitate to even enter. The zigzag stairs didn't look ready to fall off, and the windows were sturdy, lofty.

The building's lobby had a keypad, but also a doorman who saw me and opened the door before I even had to touch the device.

"Fifth floor," he said to me, eyeing me from head to toe while indicating the elevator in the rear of the lobby.

I caught my breath from all my rushing between trains and stations. The hall was narrow but had high ceilings, with a chandelier dripping down dots of light over the marble floors.

"How did you—"

"Ms. Bell is expecting you. She forwarded us your information," said the man, insisting towards the elevator. "Fifth floor. When it asks for a code, put in three-three-five-eight."

I held in my questions—I was going to be late if I didn't hurry—and spun to the machine, scrunching my brows.

Ms. Bell? Silver Bell was a woman?

I didn't judge names, but the name Silver felt more masculine to me. That was definitely what I'd thought when Ursula from my temp agency gave me the information yesterday.

But as the swanky, mirrored elevator shot me upward, I reflected on that more. Silver was in fact more of a unisex, neutral name. I should have known better than to assume.

Working for a woman reassured me. Not that all men were pigs, but I'd temped for a few whose idea of a personal assistant was more indecent than what was in the contracts I'd signed. None of them ever touched me or harassed me, but I perceived their gazes as I bent over.

The elevator ride was seamless. After a smooth jolt to stop, I input the code, and the doors opened. Before me were white walls, white-wood floors, white accents. I spotted a round, white-rimmed mirror showing my reddened cheeks and widening eyes.

It was all so bright and clean I worried I'd sully something simply by stepping out of the elevator.

I dashed out, almost tripping as I set my heels onto the white-wood flooring. I regained my balance by taking hold of a hallway table straight across from me. The porcelain bowl atop it rattled a little, but stayed in place as I straightened up and puffed out a breath.

Ursula warned me Silver Bell was rich, but this was more than rich. This was billionaire status—someone with deep pockets, who ate at decadent restaurants every night, wore nothing but designer shoes, and lived in the upper-scale penthouses I saw in movies about businessmen who slept with fancy hookers and then fell in love with them.

Decadence dripped from every detail.

This was a mansion in condo-form—and I was only in the hallway.

Everything about this place screamed I have a lot of money and like to spend it.

"Miss Meyer?" Heels clacked rhythmically, and a silhouette appeared to my right.

I turned to see someone walking towards me. Behind them was a living room, with cream leather couches and a glass coffee table atop a fuzzy black rug. Soaring windows overlooking Manhattan loomed in the background.

The figure approached; a beautiful, tall, slightly curvaceous woman wearing a chic brown suit.

She walked with confidence, hips swaying, her pace slowing as she came closer to me. Her dark, cropped hair bounced with her steps, and her obscure eyes narrowed on me as I stood there, disheveled and disoriented.

And panicked.

I froze, flashes of spilled drinks and hot sex flooding my mind. Tangled tongues and scented, sweaty skin, fingers and tingles and moans.

The woman standing before me now, studying me, giving me the same glare she'd given me two nights ago, was her.

She wore a suit of a similar caliber, with a silky white shirt that reminded me of the one I'd slid my hands under not forty-eight hours ago.

The same heels—cleaned up of liquor smears—adorned her feet. And on her face was the same scowl worthy of a pissed-off business owner about to evict a rowdy group of customers from her venue.

Silver Bell was my one-night-stand.

And I'd signed a contract that now made her my boss?

Fuck.