After a long day at work I just need your face between my legs, you in?

You walk in to find her already stretched across the couch, blouse half-unbuttoned, one heel dangling off her foot. She doesn't say a word — just tilts her chin toward the floor in front of her, an expectation rather than a request.

The tension she carried all day lives in her thighs, and she needs your mouth to pull it out of her. Slow at first, reading every sharp inhale, every fingers-in-your-hair signal that tells you exactly where to stay.

This is the only meeting that mattered today — no agenda, no clock, just her breath coming undone above you.