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Seven Minutes

by | flash fiction | 0 comments

The walk-in closet was almost completely dark. A shaft of light came from under the door, which gave them just enough illumination to make out each other’s forms once their eyes adjusted.

“This is ridiculous,” he started, but then she stumbled into him.

Her body was warm. She was all curves that he’d never really felt other than hugs over the years. His hand found her hip and she pressed herself into his body.

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you look at me over the years. Now’s your chance,” she said expectedly.


She rolled her eyes, though he more felt it than saw it.

“Or whatever, we can talk about the weather.”

Their bodies were just barely touching. Her shirt was very tight. His hand moved up her back, and she put her arm around him.

“What can I-”

“Just do something. I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it,” she whispered.

Her voice sounded different. He only ever knew her as a friend. He didn’t know that side of her. When he pulled her closer, she squirmed in his arms. She let out a little squeak. She was biting her bottom lip. He could just make that out.

He pulled up her shirt, which was tucked into her jeans. She moved to help him. He realized that the clock was ticking fast. With her shirt up to her neck, he pulled at the cups of her bra. She reached behind her and undid it.

He felt like a teenager, all impatient and uncoordinated. It felt absurd and hot. His hands were on her tits, hungry for the softness of them. His mouth was on her nipples in a second, his hands groping her, reaching down for her ass.

She let out a little moan and raised her arms so that they were out of his way. He greedily grabbed her tits again, then his hand moved down, and he went for the button of her jeans, and she pulled them away.

“Stay up here,” she said softly, pulling his hands back to her tits.

He pulled his mouth away from her nipple, seeing her in the dim light. It felt very wrong to see his old friend like that, and he liked the wrongness of it. He pushed her against the wall. She let him push her around. She put her hands behind her back and looked at him from under her long lashes.

He moved in and kissed her neck, just under her ear. She moaned louder, let out a little curse. He remembered that was her place, her little kryptonite. He sucked her earlobe and bit it. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, then they were kissing.

It was a real kiss. It was the first kiss he had in a long while with someone new, someone unexpected, and it was wild and desperate.

They made out, deeply, passionately, their hands in each other’s hair, on each other’s backs, their asses.

She pulled away and kissed his neck.

“Fuck, I changed my mind. You can open my jeans,” she groaned into his ear.

And just then, the knock came.

“Seven minutes is up!”

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