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after hours

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It was 7:30 pm on a Friday night but Cersei sat alone in her office, face lit only by the blue glow of her laptop computer. She stared at the screen as if willing the layout on the screen to resolve itself into something perfect. This presentation, she thought in fixed concentration, needs to be flawless.

A sound from the door caught her attention and she looked up to see Margaery Tyrell, standing with one hip canted against the glass. “Am I interrupting you?”

Cersei leaned away from the keyboard, trailing the manicured nails of one hand across the desk before she answered. “I’m just finishing the marketing presentation. It needs polishing before the final meeting on Tuesday.”

“Oh. I was on my way home.” The tone of Margaery’s voice turned the statement into a question, and that was enough to redirect Cersei’s attention from her work. Temporarily, at least.

She curled her fingers around the handle of her desk chair. “Is the office empty?”

“Yes, everyone’s gone home for the week.” Margaery’s eyes stayed fixed on Cersei’s, heart-shaped little mouth twisting up on one side.

Cersei deliberated for a moment before putting her computer in sleep mode and crooking a finger at her junior sales assistant. “Then come here.”

Margaery crossed the office in a few strides, steady in her heels. She set her stack of folders at the corner of Cersei’s desk. Then she tugged up the corner of her skirt for better mobility, and straddled Cersei in her chair as easily as getting on a bike. With a hot satisfied feeling, Cersei leaned back in her chair and Margaery bent down to kiss her hard, hungrily, just the way both of them liked it.

Or at least, the way that Cersei liked to be kissed. She didn’t know how Margaery really preferred to kiss or fuck anyone. All she knew was that Margaery was willing and eager to sleep her way up the professional ladder at Lannister LLC, and Cersei actually felt gratified in a secret, humiliating way that Margaery considered her a worthy target. Occupying a soft position at her family’s company while her brothers held much better ones was not the type of success Cersei had wanted. So it was welcome to learn that one person, at least, considered Cersei’s position aspirational enough that she would sleep with Cersei to try to get it.

Then again, Cersei had begun to think that it could just be that Margaery liked to sleep with women. Margaery was the one who’d started this thing between them, after all, lingering late after hours to introduce herself when Cersei hadn’t even known her name. And these days, the hungry way Margaery looked up at Cersei as she knelt on the floor of Cersei’s office with her head between Cersei’s legs suggested a desire for something beyond just a better position or a corner office with windows.

Not that it mattered to Cersei. She didn’t split hairs when it came to sex. There was no question of her giving Margaery anything that girl didn’t deserve, especially if Margaery was angling to take away what little Cersei had already gained for herself. As infuriating as it was, Cersei didn’t have the power to pull those kinds of strings—and she knew it. But if little Margaery Tyrell from sales wanted to get down on her knees and eat Cersei out in her office after hours, Cersei wasn’t going to say no. It was sort of a consolation prize, if you put it that way.

She bit down on Margaery’s lower lip, not gently, and Margaery let out a little gasp followed by a groan, then wound her fingers through Cersei’s hair close to the scalp and pulled in the way that made Cersei instantly wet. She loved anything rough, which Margaery had learned quickly. The girl was definitely intuitive, Cersei would give her that.

Margaery brushed back a strand of golden hair from Cersei’s face and leaned down to kiss Cersei’s neck. With Margaery moving in her lap, Cersei reached up to trail her hands across the silky material of Margaery’s blouse, undoing buttons to reveal the lacy bra underneath. She leaned up and pressed her lips to the space between Margaery’s breasts, and Margaery gave an appreciative noise, shifting responsively under Cersei's hands. The younger woman had perfect breasts, high and small—on the few occasions that Cersei had made her take her shirt off, Cersei felt caught between jealousy and desire. Now the two of them mostly kept their clothes on, because Cersei didn’t want to be reminded of her own physical insecurities by the form of a woman who was nearly twenty years younger.

Margaery reached down to slip one hand eagerly under Cersei’s skirt and up Cersei’s inner thigh, but Cersei stopped her. “No,” she ordered, and Margaery paused, surprised. “I thought you wanted—” she began silkily.

“Shut up and turn around.” Her partner was surprised for a moment, and hesitated. Cersei punctuated her request with a short slap on Margaery’s upper thigh, which got the younger woman moving. “Lean over the desk.”

She hadn’t done this before. Margaery always touched her; she never touched Margaery. But the younger woman let out a little exhale of intrigue and did as she was told, shifting her weight in her heels with curious impatience. The good thing about Margaery was that she would try anything at least once—sexual adventurousness was a requirement, apparently, for sleeping one’s way up the corporate ladder.

Moving slowly, Cersei rose to her feet and leaned over, gently pushing up Margaery’s skirt to reveal creamy thighs pressed together and the curve of heart-shaped ass. She drew her nails over Margaery’s inner thighs, running just one finger over the silk-covered triangle between Margaery’s legs and the girl trembled, moving slightly under Cersei’s touch.

“Stand still,” she ordered in a low voice, and Margaery stopped wriggling. Carefully removing her Dolce & Gabbana blazer, Cersei folded it and set it over her leather chair. Then she stepped forward so that her hips were flush with Margaery’s from behind, feet bracketing Margaery’s own.

“Unbutton your blouse,” she said, leaning forward so her lips rested just against the shell of Margaery’s pink ear. Breathing unsteadily, the younger woman obeyed. Cersei reached up with her right hand, arm holding Margaery tightly around the waist, and put her hand inside Margaery’s bra. She found the already hardened nipple and pinched a little.

“Oh—fuck,” Margaery whispered in a slightly strangled voice. “Oh—I—”

Cersei reached up with her other hand, moving her right hand to Margaery’s right breast so that she had both nipples between her fingers. She pinched harder, twisting, and Margaery let out a string of harsh sounds as she shifted helplessly against the desk. Cersei ground her hips forward in turn, feeling a tightening sensation between her own legs. She leaned forward to trail her nose against Margaery’s cheek until Margaery turned hungrily to kiss her, wet mouth falling open slightly against Cersei’s lips. Cersei leaned forward to kiss back just as hard.

They stayed like that for minutes on end. Cersei was enjoying herself. She could have kept at it for hours, teasing Margaery, who was obviously coming apart under her hands, panting as she desperately pressed her hips back against Cersei’s. Finally Cersei took her hand from Margaery’s bra to slip one finger into Margaery’s mouth, and then another. Margaery’s eyes flickered wide open to meet Cersei’s, her gaze hot and direct under mascaraed lashes.

The wet suction of Margaery’s mouth reminded Cersei of better things to come and at last, she took her other hand from Margaery’s breast to trail up between Margaery’s legs, dragging aside the silk fabric there. The younger woman was already wet and hot and swollen, and Cersei sucked in her breath a little to feel it. “Are you ready?” she demanded, stroking one finger along Margaery’s entrance, and Margaery whimpered.

Yes, I…”

Cersei slipped two fingers into Margaery, scissoring them slightly like the fluttering of butterfly wings, and with her other hand she gripped Margaery’s hair, pulling her head back. She hadn’t meant to kiss Margaery again but the other woman turned her head around with such urgency that Cersei was caught off guard. Margaery put a hand under Cersei’s chin, close to her exposed throat, and Cersei kept fucking her with her fingers until they were both breathing heavily, kissing, pressed hard against the desk.

“Oh, my God!” Margaery cried suddenly, and collapsed onto the desk surface, brunette head falling onto the cradle of her arms as she came. She shuddered and went still.

Cersei drew back. The sight of the younger woman laid open like that, legs still splayed apart, gave her an idea distinct from her own arousal. She stepped forward and in one abrupt movement pulled down the younger woman’s panties to her knees. The gasp Margaery gave in surprise turned into a soft cry as Cersei, going against all of her own rules, dropped to her knees and breathed one cool breath against Margaery’s heated, wet center. She heard a scrabbling of nails against the desk that probably meant that the younger woman had reached out to grip the opposite edge, splaying herself fully across the desk’s surface. But she couldn’t be bothered to look because she leaned forward, full of powerful curiosity, and tasted Margaery with just one slight lick of her tongue.

There was a full-body moan from the other woman, and Cersei paused. “Quiet,” she said, and then there was quiet. Margaery was so wet that Cersei, who had never done this before, could only think to clean her up, trailing her tongue through Margaery’s folds. She went delicately at first, but finding that she didn’t mind the taste or the smell as much as expected she pressed harder, applying the flat of her tongue. Margaery’s knees twisted together as Cersei worked, and she was groaning softly, shifting her head against the desk.

Cersei had barely finished, and had only leaned forward to taste Margaery again, wary of putting her entire face in there but enjoying what she was doing, when Margaery’s breathing started coming faster and faster, thighs trembling, and then she cried out again and went still.

Satisfied, Cersei withdrew and got to her feet, only slightly unsteady after kneeling for so long. Margaery had drawn up one foot so that her heel had fallen off, and laid facedown on the desk, shoulders rising and falling with her unsteady breaths. Cersei stepped back wordlessly, pushing the back of her hand over her lips. She reached across the back of her chair, retrieved her blazer, and put it back on.

She had dabbed her mouth with a tissue and was reapplying her Dior lipstick when the younger woman finally peeled herself up and turned around. Her pink lips were swollen, there was color in her cheeks, her brunette hair was messy, and she looked exactly as if she had just gotten fucked twice against a hard surface.

Margaery looked up at Cersei, eyes gleaming as she refastened the buttons on her cream silk blouse. “That was amazing,” she said, smiling, still slightly short of breath. “Can I ask—what are you doing after this?”

Cersei would have frowned, but that gave her wrinkles. She and the other woman never so much as had a drink together outside the office. What they did had always been confined to this, on the handful of occasions it had happened before.

She looked at that young face gazing up at her, full of hope and hunger, and felt suddenly exhausted. This was all she could give Margaery, and she resented that Margaery would even ask for more. She’d already fucked her; what more could that girl want? What else did Cersei have to give her? The answer was nothing.

“That’s all, Margaery,” she said, and watched with pleasure as the smile disappeared from the younger woman’s lips. “You may go. Good night.”

Disappointment sealed over Margaery’s face for a moment, but disappeared with professional ease. “Good night, Cersei,” she said almost warmly, turning to leave.

“Good night, Ms. Lannister,” Cersei corrected, and hid her smile at the dismayed expression that crossed Margaery’s face.

“Good night, Ms. Lannister,” she repeated quietly, and went out. Cersei enjoyed the dejected slump of the younger woman’s shoulders as she disappeared from view, and then congratulated herself for nipping that particular familiarity in the bud. It wouldn’t do to give that girl any ideas.

Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.