She came out in a short black shirt. She hardly ever wore a skirt. Her bare legs glowed in the soft light from the window. He smiled, looking her over with hungry eyes. In one moment he imagined several erotic scenes. Kissing her, sliding his hand up her inner thigh, finding her without panties and wet. Bending her over a chair, a desk, a table; pulling the skirt up and taking her hard and fast from behind. Against the wall, he'd lift her, his pants around his ankles.
He let his breath out. The hot air, leaving his lungs. Then he gasped a few breathes in. He'd been so wrapped up in his appreciation that he'd forgotten to breath.
Without a word, he moved his body into hers. His hand caressed her neck, while his mouth possessed hers. His tongue swirled around her mouth- tasting, taking, holding her. His hands came around her breasts, moulding them. he felt her nipples go hard against the fabric of her shirt, while she tried to pull away from his kiss.
The blood pounded in his ears. Reluctant, he let go of her.
"Slow down," she said. "It's early and we are late."
"That's not my fault," he said, kissing her bare shoulder. He took another step back and took in her shirt for the first time. It was white and thin, low in the front. The back was a scrap of fabric wrapped around her waist. It tied around her neck. But his main concern was that the shirt was transparent. And she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Go put the black on one," he said. "You are not going out like that." She opened her mouth to protest. He waved his hand. "We could stay in if you prefer." There was a glint in his eyes, as he played out several more scenes in his mind. This time involving her being bent over, the skirt around her waist and him holding a cane or a whip. He waited for her to move ...