The top of her blouse lay open, exposing lovely, creamy curves. I locked the door behind me.
"Yes, I can," I whispered, and grabbed her shoulders.
I pressed my mouth against hers, crushing her protests. My tongue traced the ridges of her teeth. Slipping my hands inside her blouse I caressed the bulging lacework within.
She resisted briefly then threw her arms around me, pressing her body fiercely against mine. My lips kissed their way to her chin, then traced the jawline to her ear. Her perfume flooded my senses, her hair imprisoned my face, her skin's taste delighted my tongue.
My hands insinuated deeper, squeezing her breasts, her nipples dimpling my palms. Manicured fingers danced over my trousers, freeing my belt and unsnapping the waist.
Lifting her onto the copier, I raised her skirt and yanked her panties off. My slacks and jockeys hit the floor. I slipped into her expertly, and her body rippled with fluid willingness.
I pounded frantically, desperately. She arched her back, biting her lips and meeting each thrust. We must have hit the COPY switch, because green light suddenly began scanning the room in syncopation to our moans.
We finished together, biting our lips to suppress the moans, then giggling like teenagers as we gasped for breath. I pulled up my shorts and pants and tossed her a "That was really great, Babe!" before scooping the blurry copies out of the copier tray and swaggering toward the door.
As she finished pulling on her panties she said, "Don't forget: it's your turn to get the kids at daycare."
I turned and smiled. "See you at home."