Title: Superfluous Time
Rating: NC-17
Length:
Pairing: Tory/Saffron
Summary: It's a good thing Saffron didn't put all her eggs in one basket when it came to this mission, given that the woman she's dealing with is not who she seems.
Notes: For the
bsg_pornbattle prompt "secrets and lies"
Laura Roslin’s political funding is spectacularly well-organized, a necessity for someone trying to break into the iron circle of Londinium and Sihnon parliaments themselves. It’s also, she’s noticed, an almost entirely digitally based campaign. Saffron (she’s using that name again, because she likes it) knows if she can just get on board, the hacking and slashing of that luscious bank account will be like stealing candy from a baby. A kindergardener, even, if she wants to make it relevant to the would-be Education Director of the ‘Verse.
There are no pictures on the cortex of Tory Foster, Laura’s aide, and no reputation whatsoever. It’s whitewashed, then—Saffron’s not surprised, knowing what she does of how politics works. To pull this con off in one move will be quite a tally on her roster, and she starts by leaving all options open. Her black business suit is designed with a sweeping skirt pattern that belies the ancient-professional air such garb is usually designed to mimic, her high-heeled pumps with an added strap that does the same trick. A simple white shirt, cut low across the bosom, adds the flair she needs to bring the right seduction into her act. Politicians always want a little taste before they leap in, but not too much; they’re wary of silver platters, and Saffron doesn’t blame them.
It’s not hard to bribe her way aboard Colonial 69, the elegant ship that serves as Laura Roslin’s headquarters. The queen of this roost is off on Ariel giving speeches, but Saffron has it from very reliable sources that Foster is here. The crew speaks of Foster with the utmost respect, and Saffron smiles to herself as she walks down the Alliance-standard halls, heels clicking on the floor. Her hips sway in preparation, lips curved and glossed with her special mix, hair twisted with just one fiery curl twisting down around her glowing cheek.
“When was this added to my schedule?” comes a voice like liquid bronze from just outside the hatch, and it’s confirmed for Saffron at last that Tory is indeed a woman. Well, that makes things interesting.
She flexes her fingers and tips her chin just for a second, pursing her lips before the underling comes back and nods, telling her she’s to be admitted. Saffron puts a pre-smile on her face, adjusts the pen and paper-pad in her hand, and smoothly makes her way in.
Even for a professional like herself, the sight is rather stunning. Tory Foster is a matchless woman, skin the color of black walnut and eyes like the remnants of sunset, clad in clothes that hug her shape as if they can’t bear to be parted by even a slight barrier of air. Saffron’s eyes drift up from the hem of her black skirt to the leather belt at her waist to the shadowed curves peering just over her v-neckline. By the time her eyes rise to her fine-featured face, framed by impeccable soft curls and with full lips set unforgivingly, Saffron thinks she will enjoy this con very very much.
“You’re the reporter, then?” Tory asks, weight slightly back on one foot as she eyes Saffron. She’s a couple inches shorter, but you wouldn’t have guessed it, except the way her eyes naturally fall for a couple seconds on the ample cleavage at Saffron’s full bosom.
“Only the best,” Saffron opens, offering her hand with a bare smile. “Saffron Delaney, freelancer.”
Tory takes her hand in a cool grasp, and Saffron brushes her fingertips along the soft palm as she withdraws hers. “I don’t do interviews,” Tory says.
“I know,” Saffron answers, with a bit of a smirk. She takes a step forward, resting her hip against the long table that Tory stands in front of. With a movement designed to draw attention, she twists one finger in a red-gold curl hanging by her ear. “I’m not interested in you professionally, Ms. Foster.”
Tory’s eyebrows rise with a little quirk of her lips. “Oh?”
Saffron gives her a smooth smile. “I’ve been watching your career for some time. No small effort, given the clear record you’ve striven for. But I was invested...you’re something spectacular, you know.”
Tory glances down at the timesheet she holds in her hand, then back up at Saffron. “You weren’t on my schedule when I looked yesterday.”
“No,” Saffron says, smile broadening a little. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I might,” Tory answers, letting the words cover any wavering thoughts behind them, and Saffron is fairly sure that without her experience and training Tory would read as cool as a glacier. But Saffron can detect the rise in her pulse, the curiosity swirling, the fluid stance that speaks of comfortable sexuality—Tory isn’t all work and no play, which just speeds up the timetable on this con by about twelve hours.
“I just know,” Saffron says, with a little dip of her head as she slides closer to Tory, hips leading the way, “that you do so well with risks. Gambles. Chances. I thought a little boldness might not be taken the wrong way?” Through long lashes she catches the look on Tory’s face, the slight swallow of her throat, the dilation of her pupils. Saffron takes a deep breath to expand her cleavage just enough, only refraining from passing her tongue over her lips because of the sedative embedded in her lipstick. “Was I wrong?”
“No interviews,” Tory says, just a hint of husk to her voice as she curves towards Saffron, reaching out for her defined waist. “I told you that.”
“Fine, you can ask the questions.” Saffron lets her voice bubble out, keeping control even though the lean sexual power in Tory is not something she has to pretend to be attracted to.
“We’ll see,” says Tory.
This will all be sadly over in a few seconds, Saffron thinks, as she prepares her lips for the kiss of sleeping death, as Tory’s hands curve round her back and as her head leans in. But when her eyes half close, she doesn’t feel the warm press of lips against hers, just a soft puff of air that makes her gasp just slightly, and then the tickle of hair against her cheek and a nip at her earlobe. Saffron makes a tiny noise, caught off guard, and pushes her wide hips towards Tory’s more slender ones.
“No games at all, then?” Saffron says under her breath, as Tory tugs at where her blouse tucks into her skirt and spins Saffron a little closer to her.
“Mm,” is all Tory’s answer, planting a kiss behind Saffron’s ear and running her delicate fingers along the swath of skin she’d exposed at Saffron’s waist.
This is worth it—this is so worth it. Saffron moves with the flow as Tory pulls her close, kissing down her neck where even Saffron’s pulse is pounding pleasurably fast. She twists her hips into Tory’s, the brush of fabric against her thighs sending anticipatory tingles to her center, and more as Tory’s hands slide up under her shirt.
Saffron takes in a deep breath, half a laugh floating on it, as she rests her hands at the small of Tory’s back, melting just enough into the embrace for her body to sing with desire. Tory’s fingers unhook her lace bra, and Saffron arches into the hint of freedom, mouth drying. She should be pulling Tory’s face to her, planting a firm kiss that would drop the other woman where she stood. But not now, not yet, not when Tory is pushing her back against the table and dipping her head between her breasts, lips caressing Saffron’s heated skin.
She leans away for ease, sweeping one arm out to wipe away the papers on the table and then lets her head fall back as she wraps one long leg around Tory’s hip, resting her tall heel at the base of her spine with just enough pressure to tease. For all her petite size, Tory is strongly settled between her legs, unbuttoning the white blouse and pushing all clothing aside so that she can taste Saffron’s skin. And for all the playful games she’s devised in the past, for this one Saffron almost wants the control; from her submissive position she can influence anything if she tries, but almost she wants to switch their places and feel Tory beneath her, taste her in turn with wanton indulgence.
But then Tory’s mouth is on her breast, silken and hot, and a moan escapes Saffron’s throat that wasn’t planned. She arches into Tory, more as long fingers run circles around her other nipple, stroking it to a stiff peak. Tory’s hips cant towards Saffron’s, rubbing teasingly against her, clothes now too layered and too hot even though Saffron didn’t bother with tights this morning. “Tory,” she says breathlessly, almost about to ask for something she’d only been prepared to imply before boarding this ship.
Tory’s mouth leaving her breast stops her, the dampness leaving her skin cool and neglected, and as Saffron pauses for breath Tory slides further up her body. Hands supporting her on the table, she leans her head down until her lips brush against Saffron’s ear. The air catches in Saffron’s lungs, her eyelids fluttering as she waits for the next touch.
Instead, she hears smooth words. “How long since you left the Guild?” Saffron chokes on her breath, and Tory takes the moment to bite at her ear again, drawing back her head to give her a straight look—eyes still lit with desire, but with focus as well.
“What do you mean?”
Tory lifts one hand to stroke it through Saffron’s hair, using it to pull her head back as she says, “You’ve had companion training, right? Or at least had one as a lover.” Her tongue sneaks out and licks briefly up Saffron’s neck. “Come on, don’t play shy, you’ve done that well enough already. I almost didn’t catch on, but it takes one to know one. How long?”
Saffron can feel the vulnerability in Tory’s stance, the way she’s not quite straddling Saffron’s body, the grip on her hair barely more than a kinky expression. But she’s not concerned—there’s something cool and confident and not quite threatening, just a challenge. And one that Tory’s sure she’ll be successful in. Letting her body relax in just the first hint of submission, Saffron allows herself a slight smirk as she looks up at Tory. “I was twenty-one.”
Tory’s lips curve in a knowing look. “I guessed you were older; the instinct’s clearer after all that time. I was sixteen.”
Saffron just stares for a moment, not just at Tory’s beauty, which is still keeping a fire alive between her legs after such seduction, but at the aura behind it. It’s not hard to imagine her in companion robes, saying companion phrases, working with all the smooth arrogance that the Guild has well-earned over generations. Despite once shaking her fist at that elegant mansion, Saffron can’t help but be drawn to its output now, fully aroused by Tory in a way that hasn’t struck her in months. “I couldn’t take their middling ways any longer,” she breathes out, unashamed.
Tory’s smirk isn’t distant now, but very much alive with the present. “None of the best can,” she murmurs appreciatively. Then, reaching up behind Saffron’s head, she grabs a napkin. With a fire deep in her eye, she wipes the lipstick from Saffron’s lips, lowering her body once again. “Now then,” she whispers.
Saffron needs no invitation to reach up her lips. Tory’s crash into hers, earthy and sweet, and in barely half a second Saffron’s opened her mouth, needing more of the kiss. Tory’s hand in her hair tugs, turning her head at just the right angle for the smaller woman to take her, tongue hot and deep in her mouth. Saffron brings her hand to the back of Tory’s neck as heat rushes through her entire body, eyes closed as she just feels and tastes and loves.
They tangle a little, hands scrambling to touch more, Tory trying to hold on and Saffron trying to be released so she can experience more. She flips them, crushing Tory beneath her for a moment, but only a moment. Tory rolls out, and they tumble to the floor, Tory on top again with a flash of teeth in her wicked smile as she pins Saffron, both their chests heaving with excitement. “How long since you used these talents for anything but a con?” Tory asks, running her hands up Saffron’s arms as she holds them down, her knee spreading Saffron’s thighs so her skirt hikes up.
Saffron can hardly think for the heat in her head, her body, all over her skin. She swallows, just wanting Tory to fuck her right here, no more power play. “Does it matter? I want it now.”
“What do you want?” Tory asks pointedly, breathing out across Saffron’s bare breasts exposed from her mostly-opened blouse. There’s domination in her eyes, with the skill to back it that brings desire and not fear.
Saffron’s flesh tightens in anticipation, the tickle of air not quite enough sensation. She gasps in a breath, admits it, “I want your fingers inside me, fucking.”
Tory was ready for that. She moves closer, one arm hiking Saffron’s leg up and out, the other slipping between her legs. Saffron’s wet and dripping, and she arches at the barest touch on her pussy. Her eyes roll back into her head, but in the pause when nothing happens she recovers, and looks straight into Tory’s eyes when the fingers push in. A half whine escapes her throat as she bucks up, getting what she wants at last as Tory’s three fingers thrust up into her.
Her body writhes as Tory gives her pleasure, fucking her steadily, twisting her fingers with a companion’s skill. The kind of skill that too often is pushed into politics and social games, rather than pure passion. Saffron takes the fingers greedily, clenching around them as they plunge in and out, brushing against her swollen clit for the briefest of seconds.
She came here to trick and steal, slip away with everything in place, with herself at the top of everything. But this is the kind of unexpected she could live for. Tory’s not too slow or too quick, fingers thrusting in fast, hitting just the right spots to make Saffron moan and flail, and finally to cry out sharply as release hits her like a shock wave, rocking her into senseless bliss.
For a moment she loses track of the world, only feeling Tory’s hand stroking her down from her shivering peak, bodies pressed warmly together. Saffron finally breathes out, utterly relaxed, and looks up into Tory’s face once again. “Why?” she asks.
Tory cocks her head slightly to one side, moving her fingers now slippery with Saffron’s pleasure up to tease at one of her bare nipples. “We have half an hour left on the schedule,” she purrs, eyelids hooded. “And now you owe me for more than just planning to steal from my account.”
Saffron swallows, but then smirks, smoothly rolling to the side. “I can make up for that...”
Tory grins up at her, spreading her legs as Saffron slips down her body, ready to give back in turn. And Saffron decides once and for all that this particular job is finished—Tory is instead a long-needed vacation. One that Saffron is going to remember.
Rating: NC-17
Length:
Pairing: Tory/Saffron
Summary: It's a good thing Saffron didn't put all her eggs in one basket when it came to this mission, given that the woman she's dealing with is not who she seems.
Notes: For the
bsg_pornbattle prompt "secrets and lies"Laura Roslin’s political funding is spectacularly well-organized, a necessity for someone trying to break into the iron circle of Londinium and Sihnon parliaments themselves. It’s also, she’s noticed, an almost entirely digitally based campaign. Saffron (she’s using that name again, because she likes it) knows if she can just get on board, the hacking and slashing of that luscious bank account will be like stealing candy from a baby. A kindergardener, even, if she wants to make it relevant to the would-be Education Director of the ‘Verse.
There are no pictures on the cortex of Tory Foster, Laura’s aide, and no reputation whatsoever. It’s whitewashed, then—Saffron’s not surprised, knowing what she does of how politics works. To pull this con off in one move will be quite a tally on her roster, and she starts by leaving all options open. Her black business suit is designed with a sweeping skirt pattern that belies the ancient-professional air such garb is usually designed to mimic, her high-heeled pumps with an added strap that does the same trick. A simple white shirt, cut low across the bosom, adds the flair she needs to bring the right seduction into her act. Politicians always want a little taste before they leap in, but not too much; they’re wary of silver platters, and Saffron doesn’t blame them.
It’s not hard to bribe her way aboard Colonial 69, the elegant ship that serves as Laura Roslin’s headquarters. The queen of this roost is off on Ariel giving speeches, but Saffron has it from very reliable sources that Foster is here. The crew speaks of Foster with the utmost respect, and Saffron smiles to herself as she walks down the Alliance-standard halls, heels clicking on the floor. Her hips sway in preparation, lips curved and glossed with her special mix, hair twisted with just one fiery curl twisting down around her glowing cheek.
“When was this added to my schedule?” comes a voice like liquid bronze from just outside the hatch, and it’s confirmed for Saffron at last that Tory is indeed a woman. Well, that makes things interesting.
She flexes her fingers and tips her chin just for a second, pursing her lips before the underling comes back and nods, telling her she’s to be admitted. Saffron puts a pre-smile on her face, adjusts the pen and paper-pad in her hand, and smoothly makes her way in.
Even for a professional like herself, the sight is rather stunning. Tory Foster is a matchless woman, skin the color of black walnut and eyes like the remnants of sunset, clad in clothes that hug her shape as if they can’t bear to be parted by even a slight barrier of air. Saffron’s eyes drift up from the hem of her black skirt to the leather belt at her waist to the shadowed curves peering just over her v-neckline. By the time her eyes rise to her fine-featured face, framed by impeccable soft curls and with full lips set unforgivingly, Saffron thinks she will enjoy this con very very much.
“You’re the reporter, then?” Tory asks, weight slightly back on one foot as she eyes Saffron. She’s a couple inches shorter, but you wouldn’t have guessed it, except the way her eyes naturally fall for a couple seconds on the ample cleavage at Saffron’s full bosom.
“Only the best,” Saffron opens, offering her hand with a bare smile. “Saffron Delaney, freelancer.”
Tory takes her hand in a cool grasp, and Saffron brushes her fingertips along the soft palm as she withdraws hers. “I don’t do interviews,” Tory says.
“I know,” Saffron answers, with a bit of a smirk. She takes a step forward, resting her hip against the long table that Tory stands in front of. With a movement designed to draw attention, she twists one finger in a red-gold curl hanging by her ear. “I’m not interested in you professionally, Ms. Foster.”
Tory’s eyebrows rise with a little quirk of her lips. “Oh?”
Saffron gives her a smooth smile. “I’ve been watching your career for some time. No small effort, given the clear record you’ve striven for. But I was invested...you’re something spectacular, you know.”
Tory glances down at the timesheet she holds in her hand, then back up at Saffron. “You weren’t on my schedule when I looked yesterday.”
“No,” Saffron says, smile broadening a little. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I might,” Tory answers, letting the words cover any wavering thoughts behind them, and Saffron is fairly sure that without her experience and training Tory would read as cool as a glacier. But Saffron can detect the rise in her pulse, the curiosity swirling, the fluid stance that speaks of comfortable sexuality—Tory isn’t all work and no play, which just speeds up the timetable on this con by about twelve hours.
“I just know,” Saffron says, with a little dip of her head as she slides closer to Tory, hips leading the way, “that you do so well with risks. Gambles. Chances. I thought a little boldness might not be taken the wrong way?” Through long lashes she catches the look on Tory’s face, the slight swallow of her throat, the dilation of her pupils. Saffron takes a deep breath to expand her cleavage just enough, only refraining from passing her tongue over her lips because of the sedative embedded in her lipstick. “Was I wrong?”
“No interviews,” Tory says, just a hint of husk to her voice as she curves towards Saffron, reaching out for her defined waist. “I told you that.”
“Fine, you can ask the questions.” Saffron lets her voice bubble out, keeping control even though the lean sexual power in Tory is not something she has to pretend to be attracted to.
“We’ll see,” says Tory.
This will all be sadly over in a few seconds, Saffron thinks, as she prepares her lips for the kiss of sleeping death, as Tory’s hands curve round her back and as her head leans in. But when her eyes half close, she doesn’t feel the warm press of lips against hers, just a soft puff of air that makes her gasp just slightly, and then the tickle of hair against her cheek and a nip at her earlobe. Saffron makes a tiny noise, caught off guard, and pushes her wide hips towards Tory’s more slender ones.
“No games at all, then?” Saffron says under her breath, as Tory tugs at where her blouse tucks into her skirt and spins Saffron a little closer to her.
“Mm,” is all Tory’s answer, planting a kiss behind Saffron’s ear and running her delicate fingers along the swath of skin she’d exposed at Saffron’s waist.
This is worth it—this is so worth it. Saffron moves with the flow as Tory pulls her close, kissing down her neck where even Saffron’s pulse is pounding pleasurably fast. She twists her hips into Tory’s, the brush of fabric against her thighs sending anticipatory tingles to her center, and more as Tory’s hands slide up under her shirt.
Saffron takes in a deep breath, half a laugh floating on it, as she rests her hands at the small of Tory’s back, melting just enough into the embrace for her body to sing with desire. Tory’s fingers unhook her lace bra, and Saffron arches into the hint of freedom, mouth drying. She should be pulling Tory’s face to her, planting a firm kiss that would drop the other woman where she stood. But not now, not yet, not when Tory is pushing her back against the table and dipping her head between her breasts, lips caressing Saffron’s heated skin.
She leans away for ease, sweeping one arm out to wipe away the papers on the table and then lets her head fall back as she wraps one long leg around Tory’s hip, resting her tall heel at the base of her spine with just enough pressure to tease. For all her petite size, Tory is strongly settled between her legs, unbuttoning the white blouse and pushing all clothing aside so that she can taste Saffron’s skin. And for all the playful games she’s devised in the past, for this one Saffron almost wants the control; from her submissive position she can influence anything if she tries, but almost she wants to switch their places and feel Tory beneath her, taste her in turn with wanton indulgence.
But then Tory’s mouth is on her breast, silken and hot, and a moan escapes Saffron’s throat that wasn’t planned. She arches into Tory, more as long fingers run circles around her other nipple, stroking it to a stiff peak. Tory’s hips cant towards Saffron’s, rubbing teasingly against her, clothes now too layered and too hot even though Saffron didn’t bother with tights this morning. “Tory,” she says breathlessly, almost about to ask for something she’d only been prepared to imply before boarding this ship.
Tory’s mouth leaving her breast stops her, the dampness leaving her skin cool and neglected, and as Saffron pauses for breath Tory slides further up her body. Hands supporting her on the table, she leans her head down until her lips brush against Saffron’s ear. The air catches in Saffron’s lungs, her eyelids fluttering as she waits for the next touch.
Instead, she hears smooth words. “How long since you left the Guild?” Saffron chokes on her breath, and Tory takes the moment to bite at her ear again, drawing back her head to give her a straight look—eyes still lit with desire, but with focus as well.
“What do you mean?”
Tory lifts one hand to stroke it through Saffron’s hair, using it to pull her head back as she says, “You’ve had companion training, right? Or at least had one as a lover.” Her tongue sneaks out and licks briefly up Saffron’s neck. “Come on, don’t play shy, you’ve done that well enough already. I almost didn’t catch on, but it takes one to know one. How long?”
Saffron can feel the vulnerability in Tory’s stance, the way she’s not quite straddling Saffron’s body, the grip on her hair barely more than a kinky expression. But she’s not concerned—there’s something cool and confident and not quite threatening, just a challenge. And one that Tory’s sure she’ll be successful in. Letting her body relax in just the first hint of submission, Saffron allows herself a slight smirk as she looks up at Tory. “I was twenty-one.”
Tory’s lips curve in a knowing look. “I guessed you were older; the instinct’s clearer after all that time. I was sixteen.”
Saffron just stares for a moment, not just at Tory’s beauty, which is still keeping a fire alive between her legs after such seduction, but at the aura behind it. It’s not hard to imagine her in companion robes, saying companion phrases, working with all the smooth arrogance that the Guild has well-earned over generations. Despite once shaking her fist at that elegant mansion, Saffron can’t help but be drawn to its output now, fully aroused by Tory in a way that hasn’t struck her in months. “I couldn’t take their middling ways any longer,” she breathes out, unashamed.
Tory’s smirk isn’t distant now, but very much alive with the present. “None of the best can,” she murmurs appreciatively. Then, reaching up behind Saffron’s head, she grabs a napkin. With a fire deep in her eye, she wipes the lipstick from Saffron’s lips, lowering her body once again. “Now then,” she whispers.
Saffron needs no invitation to reach up her lips. Tory’s crash into hers, earthy and sweet, and in barely half a second Saffron’s opened her mouth, needing more of the kiss. Tory’s hand in her hair tugs, turning her head at just the right angle for the smaller woman to take her, tongue hot and deep in her mouth. Saffron brings her hand to the back of Tory’s neck as heat rushes through her entire body, eyes closed as she just feels and tastes and loves.
They tangle a little, hands scrambling to touch more, Tory trying to hold on and Saffron trying to be released so she can experience more. She flips them, crushing Tory beneath her for a moment, but only a moment. Tory rolls out, and they tumble to the floor, Tory on top again with a flash of teeth in her wicked smile as she pins Saffron, both their chests heaving with excitement. “How long since you used these talents for anything but a con?” Tory asks, running her hands up Saffron’s arms as she holds them down, her knee spreading Saffron’s thighs so her skirt hikes up.
Saffron can hardly think for the heat in her head, her body, all over her skin. She swallows, just wanting Tory to fuck her right here, no more power play. “Does it matter? I want it now.”
“What do you want?” Tory asks pointedly, breathing out across Saffron’s bare breasts exposed from her mostly-opened blouse. There’s domination in her eyes, with the skill to back it that brings desire and not fear.
Saffron’s flesh tightens in anticipation, the tickle of air not quite enough sensation. She gasps in a breath, admits it, “I want your fingers inside me, fucking.”
Tory was ready for that. She moves closer, one arm hiking Saffron’s leg up and out, the other slipping between her legs. Saffron’s wet and dripping, and she arches at the barest touch on her pussy. Her eyes roll back into her head, but in the pause when nothing happens she recovers, and looks straight into Tory’s eyes when the fingers push in. A half whine escapes her throat as she bucks up, getting what she wants at last as Tory’s three fingers thrust up into her.
Her body writhes as Tory gives her pleasure, fucking her steadily, twisting her fingers with a companion’s skill. The kind of skill that too often is pushed into politics and social games, rather than pure passion. Saffron takes the fingers greedily, clenching around them as they plunge in and out, brushing against her swollen clit for the briefest of seconds.
She came here to trick and steal, slip away with everything in place, with herself at the top of everything. But this is the kind of unexpected she could live for. Tory’s not too slow or too quick, fingers thrusting in fast, hitting just the right spots to make Saffron moan and flail, and finally to cry out sharply as release hits her like a shock wave, rocking her into senseless bliss.
For a moment she loses track of the world, only feeling Tory’s hand stroking her down from her shivering peak, bodies pressed warmly together. Saffron finally breathes out, utterly relaxed, and looks up into Tory’s face once again. “Why?” she asks.
Tory cocks her head slightly to one side, moving her fingers now slippery with Saffron’s pleasure up to tease at one of her bare nipples. “We have half an hour left on the schedule,” she purrs, eyelids hooded. “And now you owe me for more than just planning to steal from my account.”
Saffron swallows, but then smirks, smoothly rolling to the side. “I can make up for that...”
Tory grins up at her, spreading her legs as Saffron slips down her body, ready to give back in turn. And Saffron decides once and for all that this particular job is finished—Tory is instead a long-needed vacation. One that Saffron is going to remember.
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