The Other Woman |Charlie Barber x Reader|

~Session One~

The wood of the desk is cold against your skin. It practically burns through the delicate flesh of your forearms. Hard and uncomfortable, your elbows grind against the curved edge. There is a sense of nervousness hanging in the air; you could feel the sweat beading at your temple.

Though, that might have come from the harsh intensity of the lights above you.

You squint up, frowning deeply at the sight of multiple stage lights being pointed at you from the rafters. As you shift your weight, the stage creaks just slightly beneath your feet. Although you try to stare out into the audience, you are only met with a blurry sea of darkness, hidden away by the burning bulbs above your head.

The lights are warm. Their rays burn against the bare skin of your back. Though the stage is cold beneath your bare feet, you only feel the heat. The heat of the stage lights and the heat of arousal between your legs. As you shift, you feel wetness coating your thighs.

You flinch slightly as a hand suddenly falls against the skin of your lower back. The palm is warm and big, fingers rugged and strong. You inhale sharply as they begin to trail gently down your spine, delicately coasting down along the curve of your back.

The hand finds solace on the curve of your ass for a moment, lingering just long enough to create sparks of electricity between you. You gasp softly as the hand finally finds its treasure between your legs.

Another hand finds your hip, pulling you backwards. Your back meets fabric and the warmth of a broad chest. A soft, pleading whine falls from your lips as the fingers trail along your slit.

"Shh," a deep, commanding voice hushes you. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear."

You tremble in his grasp, biting hard on your bottom lip to stifle a moan when his fingers find your clit. Though you had not been gifted with the sight of a face or an identity, the name that falls from your lips is a familiar one that seems to stem from a place of intuition.

"Charlie..."

"Good girl," he praises quietly. "So wet for me already. Bend over your desk."

You comply without hesitation. As the wood of the table meets your arms again, you recognize the desk immediately as the one living in your office. You feel his hips push against yours, letting you sense the size of his arousal pushing against you. His fingers find your clit again, teasingly brushing over it and making you jump.

"So sensitive..." he says softly to himself.

Your brow furrows at the sound of soft beeping in your left ear. The bothersome noise grows louder and louder, drawing you straight from your fantasy. His hands leave you as your eyes snap towards an alarm clock now sitting on the desk. Curiously, you reach for it, determined to silence the noise and enjoy this man's company.

Your eyes open.

A groan of discontent leaves your lips as you roll over, slamming your fist far too aggressively against your alarm clock. That was what it deserved for ruining your dream.

A dream—morally—that you shouldn't have been having. You sit up in bed, completely aware of how much discomfort you felt between your legs. Your impulses were practically screaming at you to touch yourself, but the logical part of your brain was winning. And it was arguing that touching yourself at the thought of Charlie Barber was only digging yourself a deeper grave.