#mention: vidal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queerteapie · 2 months ago

Text

She Who Knocks (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal

Rating: Mature

Challenge: Agatha All Along Week, Day 4: Professors/Teachers (@agathaallalongweek)

Summary: Agatha Hart doesn’t open her office door for just anyone. She’s senior faculty, tenured, untouchable, and she prefers it that way. Until Rio Vidal shows up. Younger, newly appointed, and never arrives without lipstick perfectly in place or eyes that linger just a second too long.

She keeps coming back.

Agatha keeps letting her in.

And one of these days, someone’s going to close the door and forget to lock it.

Tags: 18+, smut, NSFW, professor, teacher, mutual pining, tension, flirting, desk sex

AAA Week Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Ao3

She Who Knocks

The rain starts just as the campus clock chimes two.

Agatha Harkness doesn’t flinch. Her fingers tap once, then twice, against the edge of her desk, dark nails clicking rhythmically over a stack of essays she’s already regretting. A thin ribbon of steam curls up from her mug of black tea - earl grey, no sugar, no sentiment. She doesn’t bother looking at the door when there's a knock and it creaks open.

She knows who it is.

“You’re early,” she says, still not looking up.

The click of heels enters the room, soft but deliberate. Like she’s walking on clouds and still means business. Agatha finally lifts her eyes.

Rio Vidal is - unbearably radiant. Again.

Draped in a soft lilac blouse that ties at the collar, curls pinned up messily like an afterthought, gold earrings catching the gray light spilling through the old stained-glass windows. She’s holding a portfolio pressed flat against her chest like a shield. Or a gift.

Agatha says nothing. Neither does Rio, for a moment.

“I thought we were supposed to review the exhibit submissions,” Rio says, her voice gentle, laced with something like apology - but not quite. She smiles, eyes bright, expectant. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“About participating?” Agatha leans back slowly in her chair, fingers steepling. “Not yet.”

Rio laughs, a soft, genuine sound that somehow makes the office feel warmer. She steps closer, setting her portfolio on the corner of Agatha’s desk, careful not to disturb the papers. Her perfume is light - something floral, maybe bergamot. Agatha hates that she notices.

“I brought coffee. In case tea’s not enough to tolerate me.” She lifts a to-go cup from her bag, still warm, and sets it beside the mug without ceremony. “Oat milk. No syrup.”

Agatha eyes it suspiciously. “Do I look like someone who drinks oat milk?”

“No,” Rio says with a grin. “You look like someone who hasn’t tried it yet and is about to be pleasantly surprised.”

Agatha should say something sharp. Should dismiss her, or at the very least mock the idea of emotional beverages. But instead she leans forward, peering at the portfolio.

“Fine,” she mutters. “Show me what you brought.”

Rio’s smile softens. She opens the portfolio with careful hands and spreads the first few submissions across the desk. Student work - chaotic, colorful, achingly sincere. Agatha lets her gaze drift, critical but quiet.

“Don’t hold back,” Rio says, eyes flicking to her. “I know you won’t.”

Agatha’s smirk is faint. “You’re learning.”

Their hands brush as they both reach for the same page. Neither moves right away.

Outside, the rain begins to fall harder.

They sit side by side, a respectable gap between them at first, until it narrows with each page they pass.

Agatha lifts a mixed-media piece, layers of magazine cutouts and oil pastels swirling into a collage of mouths, eyes, and bruised colors. She studies it with a neutral face, but Rio watches her like it matters. Like she’s trying to read her.

“You hate it,” Rio says lightly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Agatha exhales through her nose and shifts the piece aside. “It’s raw. Which isn’t a criticism, necessarily. But it lacks cohesion. It’s emotion without direction.”

Rio hums. “Maybe that’s the point. Direction isn’t always the goal in grief.”

Agatha glances at her. “Are you always this forgiving with your students?”

“Only when they’re brave.” Rio shrugs one shoulder, the silk of her blouse catching the light. “They put their pain on paper. That counts for something.”

“Everything counts for something, Miss Vidal,” Agatha replies, tone cooling. “But in an exhibit meant to represent excellence, sincerity doesn’t outweigh technique.”

There’s a beat. Rio doesn’t flinch. Instead, she smiles - gentle, unwavering, like a lighthouse against Agatha’s storm front.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

Agatha turns away first.

They keep going. Another piece. Then another. A charcoal study of hands in various gestures. A photo essay of late-night diners and their lonely patrons. An abstract interpretation of insomnia - bold streaks of black across canvas, splattered with silver ink.

Rio leans closer to straighten one that’s skewed, her shoulder brushing Agatha’s briefly. Warmth, perfume, the edge of her wrist grazing Agatha’s knuckles. It’s gone in a second, but Agatha’s body registers it like a burn.

She says nothing.

“Do you ever miss it?” Rio asks softly, eyes still on the piece. “Being the one making things instead of judging them?”

Agatha doesn’t answer immediately. She leans back, folding her arms.

“No,” she says, though it sounds like a lie.

Rio doesn’t call her on it.

Instead, she gathers the pieces carefully, sliding them back into the portfolio. “I think this’ll be a good mix,” she murmurs. “If we balance my idealism with your cruelty, we’ll get something…honest.”

“I’m not cruel,” Agatha says.

Rio’s smile curves, mischievous now. “No?”

“I’m discerning.”

“Mm.” Rio tilts her head. “You know what the students call you, right?”

Agatha arches a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“Professor Harkness the Heartless.” Her tone is teasing, but her eyes are watchful, like she wants to see how deep the nickname cuts. “But they don’t mean it. Not really. I think it’s part fear, part admiration.”

Agatha hums low in her throat. “Fear and admiration are often confused.”

Rio pauses, fingers still resting on the top of the portfolio. “And which would you prefer? If you had to choose.”

The question hangs there, deliberate. Not innocent. Not flirtatious, either - but intimate in its own way.

Agatha leans forward slowly, hands clasped.

“I don’t choose,” she says, voice low. “I command both.”

Rio’s breath hitches just slightly, a shift in her posture almost too small to notice. Almost.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle.

In the quiet, the air between them buzzes.

Rio breaks the gaze first, but only to close the portfolio and slide it neatly into her bag. She smooths the strap across her shoulder, fingers lingering on the leather like she’s giving herself something to do. The calm she usually wears like silk is still there, but thinner now - edges showing.

Agatha notices.

“I should let you get back to grading,” Rio says, standing slowly. Her voice is soft again, like she’s dialing herself down. “Thanks for reviewing everything. This went…better than I thought it might.”

Agatha doesn’t stand. She watches her instead, chin resting on her hand, fingers curled against her cheek.

“Are you always this optimistic?” she asks.

Rio pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Only around people who pretend not to care but clearly do.”

Agatha huffs a quiet sound - amused. Or impressed. Maybe both.

Rio turns then, just slightly, giving Agatha her profile. The curve of her lips. The gleam of her earrings. The warm softness of her expression that never quite dips into sweetness, because there’s intention behind it. Curiosity. Hunger, maybe, in its earliest form.

“Walk me out?” she asks.

Agatha considers refusing. She should. She wants to. But she doesn’t.

She rises instead.

The rain has stopped, leaving behind slick cobblestones and the smell of wet leaves. The sky is pale, the sun a dying smear behind the clouds.

They walk in step, their shoes clicking softly through puddles. The path is nearly empty. A few scattered students laugh in the distance, voices muffled by the mist.

“I think the insomnia piece was my favorite,” Rio says after a while, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her cardigan. “It was loud. Messy. Honest.”

“It was also poorly balanced and overworked,” Agatha replies, hands in her coat pockets.

Rio glances at her sideways. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re insufferable.”

But they’re both smiling.

They reach the library steps, a wide marble landing slick with rain. Rio stops there, facing Agatha. Close, but not too close.

There’s a flicker in her eyes - hesitation, or maybe invitation. “I’d say this was nice,” she murmurs, “but I don’t want to offend your disdain for sentiment.”

“You wouldn’t,” Agatha says. Her voice is lower now, her coat damp at the shoulders. “You’re too perceptive for that.”

Rio’s smile softens. “Mm. And what do you perceive, Professor?”

A beat. The moment is delicate, fragile in its stillness.

Agatha steps closer - just half a step. Enough to close that respectable gap from earlier. Her gaze is steady, unblinking. She doesn’t touch Rio, but her presence is a touch all its own.

“That you should be careful with how you ask me things,” she says, voice like velvet over stone. “I’m not as restrained as I look.”

Rio’s breath catches. Her lashes flutter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And then, just like that, she turns. Walks down the stairs into the silver light. Not quickly. Not flustered. But deliberate. Like she knows Agatha is watching her leave - and wants her to.

Agatha stays on the steps a moment longer.

The drizzle picks back up, light and cold.

She doesn’t feel it.

**********

Agatha tells herself she’s not waiting for her.

She’s just early. Organized. The portfolio is already on her desk, sorted, annotated. The room smells faintly of sandalwood and old paper. Outside, the sun is sharp through the stained glass, painting fractured reds and golds across the floor. She pretends not to notice that the clock ticks past the hour.

And then.

Knock, knock.

No creaking hinges today - Rio steps in with confidence, umbrella tucked under one arm, lips glossed a soft rose. Her cardigan is oversized and cream-colored, sleeves swallowing her hands. The kind of effortless, artistic softness Agatha would mock in anyone else.

But not her.

“You’re late,” Agatha says, even though she isn’t.

Rio tilts her head, smiling. “I know. I wanted to see if you’d wait.”

Agatha raises a brow. “Dangerous habit.”

“You seem like the patient type.”

“I’m not.”

Rio just grins and pulls up the same chair as last time, sliding in closer than before without asking. “Good. I like being challenged.”

Agatha exhales, slow. Controlled. She doesn’t look rattled. But she’s aware of every inch of Rio’s presence now - the rustle of her sleeves, the faint scent of jasmine and linen, the way her leg brushes against hers beneath the desk and stays there.

Rio opens the folder.

“I marked the ones I think are strongest,” she says, tapping the stack. “But you can destroy them first if you’d like. For consistency.”

Agatha gives her a sideways look. “You enjoy provoking me.”

“Only because you haven’t told me to stop.”

Agatha pauses. “Is that what you’re waiting for?”

Rio doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she turns a page, revealing a student’s minimalist sculpture proposal - steel wire twisted around pieces of broken mirror. Her tone shifts - lighter, more focused. “This one surprised me. There’s something visceral about it. Ugly, but honest.”

Agatha lets her linger in that detour. It’s easier to dissect art than whatever this is between them.

“Yes,” she says, studying the piece. “But it needs balance. It’s all edge, no center.”

“Kind of like you,” Rio murmurs.

Agatha stills.

She meets Rio’s gaze, and the silence between them is no longer professional. No longer safe.

Rio doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t apologise. She just sits there, soft and certain, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You assume I have no center,” Agatha says, her voice low. “That’s bold.”

“I don’t assume anything,” Rio replies, sweet as a knife. “I observe.”

Agatha leans in slightly, enough to let their shoulders touch again - this time with intention. “And what have you observed, Miss Vidal?”

Rio’s smile is slow, blooming. “That you’re not nearly as untouchable as you want to be.”

For a moment, neither of them moves.

Then Agatha shifts back just an inch - enough to break the tension, but not deflate it. She turns the page, feigning focus.

“Let’s stay on task,” she says, though her voice is rougher than before.

Rio’s grin lingers. “Of course, Professor.”

**********

Agatha commands a room without trying.

She doesn’t pace. She doesn’t raise her voice. She stands still behind the lectern, spine straight, voice sharp, every word landing like it was carved from something older and less forgiving than time. The lecture hall isn’t large, but it’s full - half the students leaning forward, half scribbling furiously, all of them listening.

No one dares interrupt.

The slide on the screen behind her reads:

“Symbolism and Subversion: Witchcraft as Metaphor in 19th Century Literature”

She gestures once - measured, elegant. “To be clear, the witch is not just a woman punished for power. She’s a symbol of resistance, of deviance, yes, but also of control. And those who write her - burn her - fear her precisely because they recognize what she mirrors back.”

A rustle at the back of the hall.

The door opens quietly. Rio steps in.

She’s dressed differently today - still radiant, but toned down for the chill in the air. Cropped wool coat, wine-coloured lipstick, hair loose around her shoulders. She lingers in the back, careful not to draw attention, but Agatha sees her instantly.

Doesn’t show it.

Barely a shift of the eyes. Barely a pause.

But something in her spine goes straighter. Her tone sharpens. She leans forward, hands braced on the podium like she’s daring the world to disagree with her.

“The literary witch,” she continues, eyes never leaving the room, “is often written with one of two fates: destruction or domestication. Rarely is she allowed to exist on her own terms. That’s the threat - an untethered woman. A woman no longer asking permission.”

Rio exhales slowly, arms crossed over her chest.

She’s not taking notes. She’s watching.

Watching the way Agatha handles silence. The way she uses it, lets it build tension before breaking it with a single line.

The students don’t even fidget. They’re pulled in - charmed, maybe. But Rio knows better. This isn’t charm. This is power.

And Agatha wears it well.

The last slide fades. The room begins to stir - papers shuffling, bags zipping, a low murmur of voices. Agatha closes her laptop with a soft click, already halfway turned toward the door when she sees her.

Rio’s still lingering at the back, leaning casually against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other like she’s waiting for the perfect moment to be noticed.

Agatha notices.

Rio waits until the last student filters out, then approaches with that familiar, deliberate grace - like everything about her is designed to be watched.

“That was...” Rio’s voice is soft, thoughtful. “Impressive. You really know how to hold a room.”

Agatha’s brow lifts. “Is that a compliment, Miss Vidal?”

“It’s an observation. You don’t teach so much as…seduce.”

Agatha’s lips twitch, just barely. “Careful. That kind of language gets people into trouble.”

Rio steps closer, close enough now that her perfume teases at the air between them. “Only if you mind being seen for what you are.”

Agatha lets the silence stretch, her gaze sharp and unreadable. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“A woman who doesn’t ask permission,” Rio says. “Just like your witches.”

Agatha’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You should be careful with your metaphors. They tend to burn.”

Rio smiles back, a little too sweet. “Maybe I like the heat.”

Agatha doesn't answer right away.

Instead, she turns back to the lectern, methodical as ever - zipping up her laptop, gathering her notes. But her movements are slower now. Not distracted, exactly. Just…thoughtful.

Rio watches from the first row, now seated in a chair that was meant for someone else. Her legs are crossed, one heeled boot tapping softly in the quiet. She rests her chin in her palm like she has all the time in the world.

“I didn’t expect to find you so captivating,” Rio says.

Agatha exhales, amused despite herself. “Is that another observation?”

“It’s a revelation,” Rio replies. “Unfortunate, really. I had such a clean boundary going.”

“Funny,” Agatha murmurs, sliding her notes into her bag. “You don’t strike me as someone particularly interested in boundaries.”

“I am,” Rio says, leaning forward just slightly. “I just like knowing exactly where they are…so I can step over them on purpose.”

Agatha looks up.

And there it is - that moment where her restraint falters. Just a crack. Her eyes dip briefly to Rio’s mouth, then flick back up with razor focus.

“Why are you really here?”

Rio doesn’t pretend not to understand.

“I wanted to see what you’re like when you’re not playing defense.”

Agatha tilts her head. “And?”

Rio’s smile is slow and molten. “You’re worse. In the best way.”

Silence blooms between them. Not awkward - just thick with something unspoken. Something waiting.

Agatha finally steps around the lectern and down the aisle, coming to stand beside Rio’s chair. She stops just short of encroachment, just shy of too close.

“You’re charming,” she says, voice low, unreadable. “But be careful not to mistake fascination for safety.”

Rio looks up at her - chin still tilted, gaze still soft, but steady. “What if I don’t want safe?”

Agatha breathes out a quiet sound - nearly a laugh. Or a warning.

“Then you’re exactly as foolish as I hoped you’d be.”

She turns before Rio can answer, gliding up the steps of the hall with unhurried grace.

Rio watches her disappear through the exit, heart tapping a little faster.

She’s not sure who won that round.

But she knows there’ll be another.

**********

The reception is a low hum of polite conversation, clinking glasses, and quiet laughter.

Agatha moves through the crowd with a practiced ease - her presence commanding, yet deliberately unapproachable. She carries a glass of deep red wine like a weapon, eyes scanning, always observing.

Rio arrives moments later, the soft sway of her hips and the shimmer of her statement earrings immediately catching attention. She’s dressed in a sleek, emerald dress that hugs curves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing here.

Their eyes meet across the room.

Agatha’s lips twitch into a small, knowing smile.

Rio approaches slowly, a deliberate crossing of the floor that cuts through the murmur like a whispered secret.

“Professor,” Rio says, voice low but carrying just enough amusement to turn heads. “You do clean up nicely.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens. “Miss Vidal, you’re far too generous. Or perhaps just distracting.”

“Maybe both,” Rio replies, tilting her head. Her fingers brush lightly against Agatha’s arm - a fleeting contact, charged and electric.

The room seems to shrink around them, the noise fading to a distant buzz. Neither speaks for a beat, just lets the air thicken between them.

A colleague interrupts with a question about the latest syllabus changes, breaking the spell.

Agatha steps back, smoothly slipping into the role of the engaged academic.

“Let me know if you need a break from the politics,” Rio murmurs as she moves away, lips curving with promise.

Agatha’s eyes follow her retreating figure.

This game - this dance - has only just begun.

**********

The night air is cool, a soft breeze tangling Rio’s hair as she leans against the railing.

Agatha steps out behind her, the door clicking shut with a muffled thud.

Neither says anything at first.

Just the quiet city skyline, the distant murmur of the party behind them.

Rio glances over her shoulder, eyes catching Agatha’s in the moonlight. “You know, I’m starting to think you like this game as much as I do.”

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle. “Perhaps. But I play to win.”

Rio’s smile is slow, predatory. “Then maybe you should stop holding back.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens, stepping closer until there’s no space left between them.

“For someone who claims to know boundaries,” she murmurs, “you’re awfully good at pushing mine.”

Rio’s fingers trace a light line down Agatha’s arm, a touch so deliberate it sends a shiver under her skin.

“And you’re not nearly as untouchable as you pretend.”

Agatha’s breath catches.

The game -this slow, delicious game - has just turned real.

The city lights flicker beneath them like distant stars, but all Agatha sees is Rio - close, too close, the faint scent of jasmine and something warmer wrapped around her.

Rio’s breath hitches as her fingers trail from Agatha’s arm to the back of her hand, squeezing gently. The heat pulses through Agatha’s skin, the cold night air forgotten.

“You always play so controlled,” Rio whispers, voice low and teasing. “What happens when you lose control?”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens, but there’s a flicker - a crack in the armor. “I don’t lose.”

Rio leans in, her lips barely brushing the shell of Agatha’s ear. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right opponent.”

The space between them collapses.

Agatha’s hand lifts, sliding up beneath Rio’s hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. The world narrows to the warmth of her skin, the pulse beating wild beneath her touch.

Her voice is a rough whisper. “Maybe I want to lose.”

Rio’s eyes darken, lips parting just enough to invite, and with a soft, deliberate motion, she closes the distance - lips meeting Agatha’s in a slow, searing kiss that tastes like promise and fire.

The balcony falls away.

All that exists is the electric charge between them - fragile, dangerous, and utterly inevitable.

Their lips linger, soft and searching, as if memorizing a secret only they share. Agatha’s fingers thread deeper into Rio’s hair, pulling her closer, tasting the subtle sweetness of her breath.

The city’s night air wraps around them, cool and sharp against the heat building between their bodies.

Rio’s hands rest lightly on Agatha’s waist, grounding her in the moment, steady yet electric.

For a breath, time stretches - suspended between want and restraint, between the thrill of crossing a line and the danger waiting on the other side.

But then-

“Rio? Agatha? You two out here?”*

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, pulling them apart like a sudden gust.

Agatha steps back first, her breath shallow, eyes flashing with something fierce and unreadable.

Rio blinks, still caught between the pulse of the kiss and the intrusion, a slow smile curving her lips despite herself.

“It’s just Professor Kale,” Rio murmurs, nodding toward the doorway where a middle-aged woman stands, glass in hand, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

Agatha straightens, regaining her cool in a practiced heartbeat. “We were just…getting some fresh air.”

Kale chuckles, oblivious to the tension crackling beneath their words. “Well, don’t stay out here too long. The party’s still going strong.”

With a nod, she disappears back inside.

Agatha and Rio exchange one last charged glance - part challenge, part promise - before Agatha turns and strides back through the door.

Rio lingers a moment longer, the night air cooling her skin, her pulse still racing.

Then, with a final glance toward the retreating figure, she follows.

**********

The knock comes just after noon.

Agatha doesn’t look up right away - doesn’t need to. She knows that knock now. Knows the cadence of Rio’s steps when she enters without waiting for permission.

Rio closes the door behind her with a soft click.

“You skipped the faculty lunch,” she says, stepping into the room with an easy sway. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Agatha glances up from her desk, unreadable. “Maybe I was.”

Rio smiles, slow and knowing, and perches herself on the edge of the desk - deliberately close. Her heels click softly against the wood. The fabric of her blouse shifts, catching the light just so.

“Too bad,” she says. “I’m not that easy to shake.”

Agatha doesn’t reply.

Instead, she stands - slowly - and walks to the office door. Without a word, she reaches up and twists the lock with a definitive click. Then, one by one, she draws the blinds shut. The light goes soft. Private.

Rio watches her, head tilted, mouth curving with dangerous delight.

Agatha turns back.

And then she moves.

In two strides, she’s between Rio’s legs, her hands braced on either side of the desk. Her mouth crashes into Rio’s with a hunger that’s been coiling beneath her skin for days.

Rio gasps against her lips, fingers tangling in Agatha’s dark hair, pulling her closer. The kiss deepens, all heat and teeth and finally, finally.

Agatha’s hands slide up Rio’s thighs, firm and sure. She presses forward until Rio leans back slightly on her hands, letting herself be taken - the polished wood beneath her cool, the woman above her anything but.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the balcony,” Agatha murmurs against her throat, voice rough with restraint fraying fast.

Rio arches, breath catching. “Then stop thinking.”

Agatha obeys.

Agatha’s mouth finds Rio’s neck, trailing heat in its wake - deliberate, possessive. Her teeth graze the pulse point just beneath Rio’s ear, and Rio exhales a soft moan, fingers tightening in Agatha’s blouse.

“You’re so composed in front of everyone else,” Rio whispers, voice breathless, taunting. “But here - this is what you really want, isn’t it?”

Agatha answers by sliding one hand beneath Rio’s skirt - slow, reverent, claiming.

Rio gasps.

The lace between them is already damp. Agatha’s fingers press over it, firm and knowing, and Rio shudders in response, her thighs parting wider on instinct.

“That time you sat in my classroom,” Agatha murmurs, “crossing your legs like you didn’t want me to look…” Her fingers tease, barely-there pressure that draws a whimper from Rio’s lips. “You were begging for this.”

“Maybe I was,” Rio breathes, lips curling into a defiant smile. “And maybe you were too cowardly to do something about it.”

Agatha growls low in her throat and hooks her fingers into the lace, dragging it down in one sharp, fluid motion.

Her fingers slide over slick heat, slow at first, then deeper - and Rio lets out a strangled cry, hips rising up toward the pressure.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Agatha whispers, voice dark, hungry.

“Good,” Rio gasps, barely holding herself upright now. “Then don’t hold back.”

Agatha presses her fingers inside - two at once, slow and deliberate, feeling the way Rio clenches around her. She watches the younger woman closely, studying every flutter of her lashes, every shift of her breath.

Rio tilts her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her hips roll to meet the thrusts. Her legs part wider along the desk, heels slipping to brace against its polished edge.

Agatha curls her fingers just right - and Rio gasps, sharp and involuntary.

“There,” Agatha murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “Right there.”

Her thumb circles Rio’s clit with slow, steady rhythm. It’s too much and not enough all at once, a perfect torment. Rio grips the edge of the desk now, knuckles white, mouth open in a desperate little gasp.

“You always act so put together,” Agatha whispers, her breath ghosting over Rio’s cheek. “But look at you now…”

She leans in closer, lips brushing Rio’s ear. “Coming undone in my hands.”

Rio whimpers, hips stuttering as Agatha quickens the pace - fingers driving into her with precision, her thumb never easing up. The tension coils tight in Rio’s belly, her moans tumbling freely now, lost in the hush of the office, the blinds shielding them from the world.

“Agatha,” she gasps, voice cracking on her name. “I-please-”

Agatha groans against her skin, lips dragging down her neck. “Let me feel it.”

Rio breaks.

Her body arches, thighs trembling around Agatha’s hand as the orgasm crashes through her - sudden, intense, and all-consuming. She cries out, biting back Agatha’s name like a secret, clinging to her blouse as waves roll through her.

Agatha holds her through it, fingers easing only when Rio starts to twitch from the sensitivity, her breath shuddering with aftershocks.

Then silence.

Heavy. Intimate. Electric.

Rio blinks up at her, flushed and glowing, strands of hair sticking to her cheek.

Agatha draws back slightly, her hand still warm between Rio’s legs, her other resting over the thudding beat of Rio’s heart.

“That was…” Rio breathes, licking her lips slowly. “About time.”

Agatha smiles, dangerous and indulgent. “You have no idea what I’ve been holding back.”

A sharp knock sounds at the office door.

They freeze.

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