I stare at the commit message: Reverted Jane's changes.

Done by Mark, timestamped from the evening before.

Mark has done some things that drive me crazy, but this takes the cake.

I see him across the office, standing around laughing with some people, so I leave my desk and interrupt the conversation, “Hey Mark, could I talk to you for a sec?”

He responds with an offhand, “Sure.”

I try to rein in my anger as I lead the way out of the main office into the small, closet-sized office room down the hall that is sometimes used for one-on-ones. I close the door behind us, look at him, and try to nicely ask why he deleted my code the night before.

I can barely hear him, I am so upset. And the reason is just not good enough.

So I launch into a tirade, finally releasing all of my pent-up frustrations.

We end up closer together, glaring at one another.

Then, I see him glance at my lips. 

My stomach drops to the floor and I back up, feeling confused and suddenly noticing how green his eyes are, staring at me. I stumble over my words, thank him for talking with me, and back out of the room.

I don’t talk to him the rest of the day.

That night, I have a dream. For some reason, there is a game where Mark has to kiss everyone on the cheek.

When he gets to me, he puts his lips just at the corner of my mouth. Without thought, I open my own lips slightly and move them against his skin, turning the peck into a lingering movement and not pulling away. He doesn't pull away either; he turns his head, just a little, to meet my mouth fully. He very gently kisses me back, his mouth opening as well, and when the wetness of his tongue touches mine, the sensation is intense and almost overbearing. Our movements are still slow. The kiss lasts maybe fifteen seconds, but people notice and look off in the other direction, not saying anything.

Somehow, I squeeze my hand between us, out of view of everyone, and briefly run my hand over his pants. He is hard. When we do pull apart, we both stare at each other for a few seconds, and I see his cheeks are flushed and he is breathing heavily. 

Then I wake up.

I'm so turned on, I can't think of anything to do but grab my vibrator. I come within two minutes, my mind filled with green eyes and glistening lips.

When I go to work, I can't look at Mark. I avoid him and respond to conversation demurely and without argument.

This lasts several days.

Then he is the one to ask to speak to me, and we end up back in the same tiny room. I can't bring my eyes to his face, so I stare at the floor.

"What the hell, Jane?” he starts off.

I don't respond. My mind races and my mouth refuses to form words.

He continues, “Where did you go? Don't do that. Wake up and.. and, go back to the way you were. Are you sick? What's wrong with you? Where's the incredible developer that yells at me to fix my array methods?"

At the words “incredible developer,” I can't help but peer up at his face, shocked. He seems genuinely frustrated.

"What?" I say, momentarily stupefied.

"You–ever since we worked out the dialog box issue, you've barely talked to anyone, and you haven't said two words to me. I don't like it. I want to talk code with you, but you won't even look at me. Did I do something?"

"You–you want to talk code with me?"

"Uh yeah, duh. You're the best on the team."

"What?” I am flabbergasted. “I thought you hate me–you pick on my code and never give me any praise like you give everyone else."

"Obviously, when I give praise like that, it's fake because I'm trying to get them to get their shit together. You don't need that because you already know what you're doing, so I'm able to be honest with you. Or at least, I thought I was. I don't hate you–what–why would you think that? Obviously I–or at least I thought it was obvious that I–but I can't…." He trails off.

"Can't what, Mark?" I hang onto his words.

"I've tried to be really careful. I don't want to be inappropriate in the workplace."

"What…" I manage with astonishment.

"Yeah, I don't want to get hit with a sexual harassment charge, right? But, like, I thought it was obvious, anyway." 

"Are you saying–are you saying you feel the opposite of hating me?"

He looks at me with a helpless expression, his hands open and shrugging slightly.

I sag against the door, my thoughts whirling.

"Mark, I…I don't know how to say this, and I guess following your lead I shouldn't be saying this at work, but the reason I stopped talking to you was because–" I swallow, "well, it was because I um, well, I had a dream…about–well about you. And me. And I couldn't look at you without…anyway."

"Are you saying you had a dream that…you had that kind of dream?"

I nod slowly.

We both stand there, microexpressions flitting across our faces as we work through our own thoughts.

"Jane, do you think–do you think we could take a walk after work, before you go home?"

I nod again.

"Okay. Okay, cool. Yeah. So I'll come meet you at your desk, at five?”

"Okay." I feel the word whoosh quietly from my mouth.

He gestures for me to exit the room first, and we walk silently back to our desks.

I can't see him from my desk, but I can see the clock on the wall. 3 PM, 4 PM…. The minute hand is obnoxiously slow. At a quarter to, I give up trying to concentrate. I start committing and pushing my branch, powering down my computer, and packing my bag. I'm just closing the zipper when Mark shows up around the corner. I glance at the clock–it's only 4:50.

"Oh good," he says. "I just couldn't wait any longer. You–ah–you ready to go?"

"Um yeah, I think so," I answer nervously. 

I grab my bag and we wordlessly take the elevator down and exit the building. We walk one block, two blocks, to a small park nearby. Neither discussing where we are going, we both seem to know where we are headed: a small bench completely hidden by some trees and out of view of the rest of the park. I sit down, and he says, "So, you had a dream? About–"

I cut him off. "It was a sex dream, Mark. I had a sex dream about you."

His mouth works and then he breathes out, "Oh thank god. I mean, I'm assuming, it was… it was pleasant?"

I respond, bemused. "Yes, Mark, it was pleasant. It was so 'pleasant'"–I use air quotes–"that I grabbed my vibrator and came, thinking about how pleasant it was."

He gapes for a moment.

"That's the fucking sexiest thing I've ever heard," he says in a rush.

I break into a smile at that. "Really?"

He nods. "My god Jane, do you know how long I've wanted to be pleasant to you, so deep and so hard neither of us can remember our own names?"

My mouth drops open. "Are we talking about?"

"Fucking, Jane. I want to fuck you into next week. I want to grab that cute ass and slam you down onto my cock,"–I inhale sharply–"watch those amazing tits bounce on my chest while you tell me just how bad my functions are, how mangled and messy my service is and how much you want to rename all of my variables."

I can feel how hot my cheeks are at this point. "That's–specific."

"God, I'm sorry, but if you give me even an inch, I can't help but tell you exactly how much and how badly I want you."

I'm amazed. "Mark, I had no idea. How long…?"

"Oh, probably since the first time you came to my desk to ask me about my pull request."

"Mark, I've done that dozens of times–" 

"You had pigtails and your shirt said ‘Hot Coder Alert’."

"Oh my god, that's my laundry day shirt! What?" I exclaim.

"I remember it had inched up your back so that when you turned and left, I could see your skin there, and I just wanted to jump up after you and ask you to come back and find more bugs in my code, so that maybe I could somehow get my hand on that sliver of glorious skin…"

"I–Mark, that must have been over a year ago."

"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know."

"I had no idea."

"Well, we did go through that harassment training, and I didn't want to be that dick, but if you are saying maybe you have some feelings in return…"

"I don’t know, Mark. I thought I hated you–"

"Ouch"

"–but I think I just wanted your good opinion, and seeing you be nice to everyone else…"

"Jane, I always thought you were amazing. I didn't think you needed anyone to tell you that, and I had to watch every word I said. I thought…anything I said to you would immediately come out as…harassment, that anyone could tell I was, well, hitting on you. I didn't know how to give you a compliment without being obvious how much…. I'm sorry. I can see that it, it must have hurt that I didn't try to butter you up the way I do with most people."

"Yeah. I, I appreciate that. I wouldn't have minded some buttering."

"God and you're so funny too. I love that about you. I lie awake sometimes, thinking about your mouth and the funny things that come out of it, the smart things, the little smiles…I…I'm so sorry, I know for sure I'm coming on too strong now, I should probably shut up"

“Oh no, don’t–you are doing great. I… I… fuck, you talking about my mouth just reminds me of the things I’d love to do with it…to you. To you and on you and on your cock.”

“Oh my god you–wow. Fuck.” At that, he reaches for my arm and draws me closer to him, puts his hands at my lower back and presses his pelvis to me. His face is an inch away from mine, and I look up at him with wide eyes at the feel of his cock against my stomach. He utters in a low voice, “You feel that? You feel what you do to me? Fuuuuck.” That last word is accompanied by a firm and sure thrust against my body, his cock digging almost painfully into my belly but so deliciously I can do nothing but press right back into him.

“Please. Please can I take you home with me?” He begs in a harsh whisper.

Feeling how hard he is renders any refusal impossible. “Yeah. Yes. I want you. I want…I want to please you.”

His expression grows sensual and focused.

“Damn, Jane…you’d better choose your words carefully. It almost sounds like you might want me to, uh, run some linting on your classes.”

I flush and am speechless for a moment. Then I mutter, “You may need to do some reformatting, yes. Just tell me what syntax works best for you. I'll do whatever you–”

He cuts me off. “Shut the fuck up. Don't say another word. Come with me.”

Holding my hand, he takes me to his car.

“Get in.”

I do, without protest.

My skin feels sensitive and the car seat cover feels overly rough to my touch. I put my seatbelt on, and even that small restraint feels sexual.

He starts driving, and I feel how excited and nervous I am at the same time.

“You like it, don't you, when I command you like this.”

I am silent, unable to form a response.

“Because if I did that at work, you would have ripped me a new one.”

I swallow. He is spot on. I would never allow him to tell me to shut up in the office. But for some reason, my lips–both upper and lower–have stayed clenched since he said those words to me.

“You listen extremely well, don't you?”

I don't answer.

“Very good, Jane. Verrry nice. You may speak when I ask you a question.”

My mouth relaxes a bit, while my pussy stays relentlessly taught.

“I think you’re right, Mark.”

He stays insistent. “What am I right about? Tell me explicitly.”

“I…. I like when you tell me what to do with my body. It makes me…eager. It makes me…” I trail off. How do I explain what is happening in my pants at this moment?

“It makes you fucking compliant, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes!” I moan this time. “I want to… I want to do what you ask. I want you. I want to present my body to you, to please you. I want you to command me and teach me how to make you cum. Please.”

“Shit, Jane. Fuck!” He hits the steering wheel with his palm and drives faster. I feel the slap in my bones and shiver in anticipation.

We are silent for the remainder of the ride. It feels like an eternity, but when he pulls into a parking spot, a quick glance at the car display tells me that we arrived in only seven minutes. Seven minutes of heaven or of hell? I think.

Mark guides me into his home and offers me a drink. I gratefully request water, which I chug down after he hands it to me. He watches me drain the glass.

“All right, that’s enough. Come with me.” 

I follow him docilely to his bedroom. He has books lining the walls and strewn on his nightstand. The four poster bed snags my attention. It has a metal frame with intricate patterns weaved into the headboard. The bedsheets are blue.

On his pillow is a single book with the words “Introduction to the Theory of Computation” on the cover. I swallow and eye it.

Mark follows my gaze.

“You read it before?” He walks to the bed and picks up the book. I shake my head.

“Open it,“ he commands in a firm voice, handing it to me.

I take it from him and gingerly crack the spine open. The chapter headings swim before me, and I feel heady. The first chapter is numbered at zero rather than one, which makes me absurdly happy.

“You like looking at that, don’t you?” he breaks through my reverie.

I try to nod, but he forces me to use my voice with a sharp command. So I respond with, “Yes, I like it. I like the numbers, and the code… the structure. The structure makes me feel…”

“Peaceful?” He supplies.

“Yes. How did you…?”

“I know how happy you get when you make your bullet-pointed lists. You sigh, like you are perfectly content. Your brain…. You fascinate me.”

He takes the book back from me and sets it aside.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore, Jane,” he remarks.

I watch him. 

“I want you. I want your body. I want to touch you.” He pauses before requesting, “May I?”

“Yes. Please.” I answer immediately.

At last, he reaches for me, and I collapse into his arms. We both let out moans of satisfaction as our lips meet. We kiss for endless moments, and his hands end up on either side of my head, holding my skull in place. I love the firm feel of his fingers tilting my head to just the right angle.

But after a while, it is no longer enough. I want to touch him, get closer to him.

I start trying to get my fingers under his shirt.

Mark groans and shoves me until my back hits the wall. His movements and expressions make my pussy fill with moisture. I moan helplessly at his manhandling.

“Take this off,“ he says, pulling at my dress. I eagerly pull it over my head, revealing my black bra and underwear.

“Oh my god,” he swears. 

He takes a step back to just look at me. I fight the urge to cover myself. 

“I’m going to touch you now,” he says, giving me a chance to back out. When I say nothing, he yanks my bra cups down and squeezes my breasts roughly.

“Fuck!” I yelp.

“Oh Jane, yes, these are fucking…. I’m going to own these. I’m going to own you, Jane. You know that? I won’t take no for an answer. You are mine now.”

I practically melt. I luxuriate in the feel of his fingers gripping my tits, and I reach yet again for his shirt. This time, he yanks it off, bearing a slightly rounded stomach covered in light brown hair. His nipples are dark. And his chest–his chest is now pressed against mine, squishing the flesh of my breasts between our bodies.

I know at this point that my panties will need a very thorough cleaning after today.

I want more; I want closer. Even though I love the feeling of his chest pressed into my soft skin, I abandon it to slide down the wall to my knees and start fiddling with his belt.

“Yesss, Jane. You my little code slut? You just know everything about fixing things, don’t you?”

“Mark…” I moan, struggling to pull the tight belt off. He helps me out, and before I know what is happening, his cock is in my face.

He is so hard. Seeing the darker skin of penis, stretched over the shaft, turns me on so much I feel like I’m going to jump out of my own skin. I want every inch of it inside me, but first, I must taste it.

“I think I’ll die if I don’t taste this. Please? Please may I suck your cock?” I look up at him from my vantage point on the floor.

“Take it.”

I delve right in, pulling his dick all the way to my throat in one thrust. He stumbles away and shouts, “Fuck!” I follow right after him, wrap my arms around his legs so my breasts are flattened against his thighs, and draw his cock back in, not letting him leave. My lips stretch around his skin, and I focus on keeping my teeth out of the way. I allow my saliva to gather under my tongue and then start fucking his cock with my head. I want as much as I can take. I taste every ridge and bump with my sensitive tongue. He groans his appreciation, egging me on even more. Once I know he isn’t going anywhere, I release his legs and let my hands join in. I stroke the base of his cock with one hand and play with his balls with the other, my spit already leaking out and coating them. Desperate, I pop my mouth off his cock and suck on his balls instead.

“Shit, Jane, oh my god. Oh my god, how do you….” I shut him up by sliding both hands along his shaft while I draw zig zags with my tongue along the loose skin of his sack.

But soon I can't help but go back to sucking his cock. When I do, I realize that my tongue can just about reach his balls when his cock is buried deep enough down my throat. So every time I inhale his cock down, I flick my tongue out to touch them. Half of my attempts are successful. I hope that he can feel it.

I gag multiple times, but keep going. Knowing my spit is about to reach my chest, I use my hands to unclip my bra and toss it aside. Then I let his cock slip from my mouth. I allow my saliva to drip from my chin, and I sit up further on my heels so I can wrap my breasts around his cock. It disappears between my tits, giving me immense satisfaction. I start bouncing on my heels, watching the tight head of his cock appear and disappear as I titty fuck him. I lean my head down to suck the head every time it slides up, filling the room with a popping sound every time the suction from my lips is released.

By this time, my clit is full in my panties, desperate to be touched. But the feeling of pleasuring Mark, knowing that I am the cause of the course sounds he is making, is hard to give up.

He makes the decision for me.

“Get up, Jane. Get on the fucking bed. Get that ass–yes. Yes. You know what I’m going to do to you?”

I shake my head from my new position on the bed.

“God damnit, I don’t even know. I’m going to maul you or something. Fuck, I want you. Your mouth…oh my god. Your body, and those tits. Fuck. I’m going to use you until you have nothing left, you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes I want you. I want you so….”

He pounces on top of me, jerks my panties off, and hovers on his knees before me. I yelp when he yanks my whole body up. He hooks my legs over his shoulders so my back is to his front, my ass is against his chest, and my head is pressed into the bed. Then he places his mouth on my pussy with one long swipe of his tongue.

“Ohhhh Mark! Ohmgod.” It is hard to even say words with my neck bent at that awkward angle, so I shut up, focused on being able to breathe and on feeling the agonizingly soft touches of his lips against my pussy.

After a minute, I can’t take it anymore. I’m already strung so tight, and all I want is to feel shoved between my legs what I tasted just before.

“I’m ready!” I manage to squeak out.

He growls at me in response, rumbling against my clit.

He pulls out from behind me, lets my body drop to the bed, and then crawls on top of me. He drags my hands above my head and holds them down with one of his own, making me moan in pleasure.

His other hand goes straight to my pussy, teasing through my folds while he holds my gaze, until he is satisfied he knows where my entrance is. I feel my eyebrows rise and my mouth open soundlessly.

Then I feel the head of his cock probe me. I bite my lip, the anticipation building to an unbearable pitch. He has me completely pinned down.

“Fuck, Jane. Fuck you are so wet. Look at you. Your eyes…yes look at me, just like that…”

He pushes inexorably deeper, stretching my pussy. He is right; I’m so wet that there is little to no resistance. He uses tiny nudges to close the remaining gap between our bodies, until he is indelibly embedded to the hilt.

“YES,” he yells, his expression almost pained. “You are mine. You are fucking mine, you hear me?”

“Yesss, yes…I want…I need…oh god, Mark.”

“And I take”–he pulls out an inch and slams back in, moving my entire body with the force of the shove–“what’s”–another slam–”mine.”

Feeling how deep, how hard his cock hits the inside of my body makes me start trembling. The pleasure runs in waves up my spine with every thrust.

He plunges again and again, driving me into the bed, fully impaling my pussy.

The liquid sounds of our fucking fill the bedroom, intermingling with our moans in an obscene symphony. 

“Oh god, oh god, yes, yes, yes,“ I chant. His hand grips my wrists even tighter. I know there will be bruises there later, but the thought only turns me on more.

Then he releases them and my arms feel weightless. They float of their own accord to his face, caressing his hair, then his cheeks. He turns his head to kiss my palm, and I shudder, my mind swirling with pleasure and unsettled emotions.

That small shake sends a zing to my core, and I whimper. Then I do it again, this time on purpose. The same fluttering happens deep in my body. I know it must be stimulation from his cock, somewhere in the recesses of my vagina. But it feels so far up my body I swear it hits my lungs. Most of all, I feel it, impossibly, in my clit.

My pussy is utterly soaked, and I can read the signs. I need to come. I am fucking desperate for it. So I reach between us, slotting my fingers between our bellies.

He immediately shifts back so he is sitting on his knees, my ass in his lap, his cock still buried inside. This lifts my hips and aims his dick in a different, delectable angle. I no longer need to arch for his cock to hit my g-spot; he finds it unerringly every time.

I also now have enough room to drape my hand over my mound and slide a single finger down to my clit. I'm almost shocked by how slippery it is. Almost, but not quite. I try a small swipe and groan.

“Yes, baby,“ he encourages. “Touch yourself. Let me watch as you finger your little clit. Let me see how pretty you are when come on my fucking cock.”

I tighten around him, and stroke faster. I try to tell him that I haven't come without a vibrator in years, that it won't be enough, but I shut my mouth as I realize, impossibly, that I am going to come. I can feel how I'm practically there already. The fluttering near my cervix, the flicking of my finger through the strings of thick fluid gathered on and around my clit, his gaze on me, and–oh god–his large hand moving to grab my breast and then tweak my nipple; everything combines in a haze of pleasure. 

Suddenly, he leans down and presses his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. 

And I shatter. His tongue through my lips breaks through the dam, and my body, which was stretched so incredibly taught, releases in a baffling influx of contractions in my pussy, my ass, my legs, and my back. I jackknife, practically knocking him over, my unearthly screams melting into his open mouth. My pussy clenches and releases, over and over. And fuck him, but he doesn't stop pounding into me. Each thrust triggers another contraction, and the waves are never ending.

Then, before I've even finished coming, I hear Mark moan into my mouth, and then I feel more contractions. It takes the coolness of a rush of liquid leaking from my pussy for me to realize the contractions are not just mine, but his too. Incredibly, the pulses in my body rebound, clenching while his cock is fully drained.

Feeling him twitch and cum inside my body overwhelms me. And as the last rumbles of my orgasm die down, I start crying.

“I'm sorry, “ I gasp, my breath hitching as tears fall down my cheeks.

“No, no, why are you sorry? Fuck.” He presses his cock as deep as he can and groans loudly. Then he moans, “Fuck, I'm still coming. Gahh….” He grips my hips tight as the last drops of his cum are squeezed from his cock. 

After several moments, he slips out, causing me to whimper, before he collapses beside me. He immediately wraps me in his arms.

I nuzzle into him, tears still falling.

I'm fully sated, emotionally overwhelmed and happy. “Mark, I…that was….”

He presses kisses into my hair but his next words tell me he misinterpreted me. “I'm so sorry I didn't last longer. God, I'm such an idiot, I completely ruined it for you. Please. Please don't be upset. Did I hurt you? Please look at me. Oh my god, Jane, I'm so sorry…”

I'm already shaking my head, and I force a smile to my lips despite my fatigue, to let him know I'm okay, even while I'm bawling my eyes out.

“No,” I sniffle. “Mark, these are happy tears. Please believe me. That was”–another sniff–”incredible. I'm crying because I'm happy. I–oh Mark, you are perfect.”

“Oh, thank fuck. Because you are so hot. I couldn't hold on.…”

I giggle, my tears slowing as utter satisfaction fills my chest and drains out to my limbs. I'm boneless in his arms.

I still feel his cum, sticky between my legs, but I don't care. I don't ever want to leave this bed.

“Mark?” I murmur.

“Hm?” He breathes into my hair.

“Next time, ask me before you delete my code?”

He laughs.

Then, a moment later, he responds with, “What'll you do if I don't?”