(1) Unread Message

Tags aren't decoration. I always label my stories properly, so if you're not into something, check the tags before you read, because some stories include themes that aren't to everyone's taste. Don't go in cold and get caught off guard.

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The office buzzed along in its usual post weekend hum, voices bouncing between desks, screens glowing with storyboards and edits. Sophie settled into her chair, looking over the latest batch of problems to land on her desk. Costumes were late, a location shoot had fallen through, and the production assistant for the reality show had quit mid-shift. Another week at the circus. She didn't mind it. Sophie liked the quiet power of being the one who sorted things out, liked knowing the place ran because she made it run.

Mid-morning rolled in with the usual grumbling crowd filling the glass-walled meeting room. Production heads flopped into their chairs, some younger staff trailing in after them. Sophie skimmed the meeting agenda, already picking out the problem points, ready to cut through the nonsense.

Gavin opened the meeting by indicating the woman sat across from him. "Before we start, I'd like to introduce Belle Parker. She's been brought in as a consultant on the new project, helping streamline a few things."

Sophie's pen hovered. Her gaze lifted across the table.

Belle stood slowly, pushing back her chair and scanning the room without any sign of first day nervousness. She looked to be in her early thirties, skin fresh, eyes clear, a cascade of dark hair. Her light green blouse pinched in at the waist, accentuated her bust, probably intended to distract from the fullness of her frame. Her hips were pressed into tailored black trousers. The American lilt in her voice was noticeable but not harsh.

"Hi, everyone. I'm here to get a feel for the production flow and see where we can make improvements. I'm not here to step on toes. I'm excited to work with you all." Her smile was easy, someone who didn't need to fight for attention.

The table made a few polite noises in response, a couple of the younger ones openly staring. Belle lowered herself back into her seat, arms resting loosely on the table. She didn't fiddle or fumble, didn't fill the air with nervous chatter. She just... sat. Comfortable and unbothered.

It irritated Sophie almost instantly.

Gavin led the meeting, rattling through project updates. Belle chipped in here and there. Quiet observations, suggestions for smoothing out bloated post-production schedules, a quick idea for fixing a cut that had been a headache for weeks.

Sophie sat back, her lips pressed thin. Maybe it was the way Belle's eyes lingered after she spoke, maybe the way she didn't second-guess herself. She seemed too calm, too comfortable for a stranger in the room. Sophie's chest felt tight, jaw locking harder each time Belle's soft voice drifted over the table.

She scribbled a few half-hearted notes, not really listening anymore, her focus caught on the way Belle's thighs shifted easily in the chair, settled like she belonged.

The rain started around two, light at first, then building to a steady patter that made the roof in Studio Three sound like a leaking gutter. Sophie had been pinned in the editing bay since midday, coaxing a lifeless promo into something passable. She'd almost finished when the door nudged open.

Belle stepped inside, damp hair curling slightly at the edges, a clipboard tucked under one arm. She had that same calm smile, soft but confident, not even blinking when Sophie didn't bother to stand.

"Hiya," Belle said lightly, closing the door behind her. "Gavin asked me to sit in on this cut. Apparently you're the person who knows how to rescue it."

Sophie didn't respond straight away. She turned back to the monitor and idly adjusted the timeline. She could feel Belle moving behind her, the faint brush of air as she leaned in to glance at the screen.

"Right," Sophie said, forcing her tone neutral. "It's a mess. Half the footage is off-speed, sound's garbage, the interviewee's got the personality of a house brick."

Belle made a soft humming noise, stepping forward, slow and unhurried. Her body came closer than Sophie expected, crowding slightly against the desk. She leaned her hip lazily against the edge, arms folding over the soft curve of her middle, eyes flicking over the edit.

"Mind running me through it?"

Sophie's jaw tightened. Why was she interfering? She kept her focus on the monitor. "You'll get bored."

Belle's voice stayed warm and unbothered. "Humour me."

Sophie swallowed the retort sitting on her tongue and clicked play. The grainy footage ran through, awkward answers to bad questions, flat sound, too many jump cuts. Sophie pointed out the worst bits, her tone sharp, no-nonsense. Belle stayed quiet, listening properly, which only irritated Sophie more. No stupid questions, no interrupting with clueless suggestions. Just that bloody relaxed silence, nodding every so often, leaning forward to watch, her sleeve brushing lightly over Sophie's elbow when she pointed at the timeline.

After ten minutes, Belle tapped the edge of the desk, voice low but steady. "There's good footage here, it's just buried."

Sophie snorted. "Buried in what? Dog shite?"

Belle grinned. "Exactly. You dig it out, I'll polish it."

Sophie hated how easy the laugh came out of Belle's mouth, how her round cheeks lifted, how she settled in like they were friends already. She didn't respond, clicking through the next segment, trying hard not to let it get under her skin. Belle lingered anyway, warm and solid, not shifting, not awkward.

The silence stretched, just long enough to feel intentional. Sophie could sense the weight of Belle's gaze. She turned slightly, keeping her tone flat. "Are you actually watching this?"

Belle smiled again, soft and unbothered. "I'm observing. I'm fascinated actually."

What? Sophie felt her neck flush, fingers twitching slightly on the mouse.

"Right," she said, standing suddenly. "I think that's enough for now."

Belle sat back, not surprised, not bothered. "Sure," she said, light as anything, as if Sophie hadn't just yanked herself away. "Let me know when you're ready to pick it back up."

Sophie didn't answer. She closed the timeline, snapped her laptop shut, and walked out.

~~~~

The next day she started early, hoping to get the edit finished before having to deal with Belle's annoying competence again.

Belle arrived late, carrying a milky takeaway coffee and some sugar-loaded pastries that she left in a paper bag crumpled on the desk.

"Morning," Belle said easily, settling in beside her. "Been here long?"

Sophie didn't look up from the screen. "Since seven."

Belle unwrapped a pastry, fingers sticky, half-smiling. "Early bird, huh."

Sophie shrugged. "Someone has to get the work done."

Belle's laugh was low and easy, the sort that didn't push too hard. She took a bite, chewed lazily, then leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath her. "So, what's your setup? Family, partner, cat that ignores you?"

Sophie blinked, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I... no. I don't think that's any of your business."

Belle tilted her head slightly, curious but not pushing. "Nobody special?"

"Not anymore," Sophie muttered, adjusting a clip on the timeline. "Just me. Quiet flat. Long hours."

Belle chewed another mouthful, nodding slowly. "Quiet can be dangerous. Makes space for all the things you try not to think about."

Sophie didn't answer straight away then cleared her throat and clicked play on the edit. "Let's stick to the footage."

Belle smiled to herself, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and leaned forward, letting her soft arm press just lightly against Sophie's. Close enough to be felt, not enough to warrant a complaint. "Sure thing, baby," she said, tone light but loaded. "We'll stick to work."

But she stayed right there, close and unbothered, and Sophie felt the flicker of something shift beneath her skin, enough to make her forget the next edit point.

That evening, after the edit was finally completed, largely thanks to Belle's persistence, Sophie sat stiff-backed at her desk. She was probably the last person in the building, rubbing her eyes as she squinted at the final clip of the day. Grudgingly, silently, she admitted: they'd actually pulled it off.

Minutes later her laptop pinged, sharp against the hush. She sighed, flexed her fingers, expecting some last-minute crisis from scheduling.

'(1) Unread Message' read the notification. No subject line, no sender name. Just an attachment.

Her stomach dipped, brows knitting together. She clicked, more annoyed than anything else, already planning to delete it.

The attachment opened.

A single photo filled her screen. It was sharp and clear, a close-up of a woman's broad, creamy thighs. The soft flesh parted just enough to frame the centrepiece: her sex, closed and untouched. Smooth skin dressed in curls, light brown and natural. The labia sat in a neat, perfectly vertical line, delicate folds tight together, everything clean and waiting like an invitation not yet answered. No face, no hand, nothing but that quiet, shameless display.

Below the image, plain black text:

'Kiss it. Don't stop.'

Sophie's throat tightened. She shifted back in her chair, her chest rising sharp and quick. She blinked, closed the email then opened it again. The same photo, the same message. She glanced over her shoulder but of course, there was no one there. Just the steady tap of rain against the high window.

Her face burned. She clicked out of it, fingers trembling in a way that annoyed her, her jaw tight. It was a prank. Someone's stupid joke. She would delete it in a minute.

But her eyes kept drifting back to the corner of her screen. One click would open it again.

She closed the laptop harder than she meant to, the slap of plastic sharp in the empty office. Her hand hovered over the desk phone for a few seconds, ready to dial the HR extension. She imagined the message she would leave, rehearsed the words: 'inappropriate, offensive material, anonymous address'. But her hand stayed where it was.

It was probably Belle playing some crude joke, testing her boundaries. Or maybe one of the younger lot pissing about after hours, trying to wind her up. Pathetic and unprofessional.

She grabbed her bag, shut off the lights and locked the office, boots clicking down the stairwell with the same measured pace.

The drive back was slow. As usual the traffic was thick near the bypass. The rain, heavier now, streaked the windscreen in messy arcs. She sat hunched behind the wheel, fingers drumming the steering wheel, her mind working faster than she liked.

Kiss it.

Her lip twitched, a quiet breath escaping through her nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. It wasn't the sort of thing she thought about. Not really. Not for years. Fifty years old, one divorce, a great job, sensible car, and a quiet life. Those thoughts belonged to someone else. Someone younger, bolder. Maybe to the woman she'd been on that southern coast all those years ago. Four weeks of sun-warmed skin on cool bedsheets, trading saltwater kisses with a girl who made her forget to be sensible. The girl had been bold, sure of herself, always showing her what to do, and something in Belle's voice, her gaze, echoed that same impossible confidence.

And now... her hand shifted on the gearstick, her thighs pressed gently together, entirely uninvited.

It was just the picture, so bare, so blunt. But not vulgar. Soft. Hair grown naturally, pale skin, lips closed, neat and private.

Don't stop.

Sophie chewed her bottom lip, forehead pulling tight. She didn't look at women that way. She didn't go examining people's privates. She didn't... kiss them. Her jaw clenched tighter on the thought. I wouldn't even remember how. She gripped the steering wheel harder.

But her mind kept circling. The weight of those thighs. The soft fold of hair. The words sat heavy in her head, every slow mile home pressing it deeper into her chest.

Kiss it. Don't stop.

Her knuckles whitened on the wheel. She told herself she'd forget it by morning.

~~~~

The week moved on, thick with deadlines and stretched meetings, and the picture drifted to the back of Sophie's mind, dulled by spreadsheets and tedious edits. By Friday morning she'd almost forgotten it entirely.

But at midday, just as she was finishing a dull sandwich at her desk, her inbox pinged.

No subject. No name. Just "see attached."

Her breath hitched, hand hovering over the mouse before she clicked, stomach tightening without reason. The email opened and there it was: another photo.

The same thick thighs, soft pale flesh, light brown curls resting over a neat line of closed lips. Only this time, there was a hand resting just above, fingers wide-spread across the soft mound, not pulling, not pushing, just sitting there. Patient and waiting.

Underneath, four words in the same black text:

'Your mouth here. Now.'

Sophie's throat tightened, her body giving a strange little shudder low in her pelvis, a flutter she couldn't quite catch before it settled deep in her belly. She swallowed, cheeks warming, pulse tapping at her collarbone.

It wasn't crude. It wasn't staged. There was something about it, something simple and quiet and... inviting. The hand wasn't squeezing or forcing. It just... rested. Like it belonged there. Like Sophie belonged there.

She clicked out of it quickly and pushed her chair back too fast. She stood, headed for the loos on automatic, ignoring the voices in the open office, her legs carrying her faster than she meant.

By the time she reached the cubicle, door locked behind her, she was breathing harder than she had any right to. Her hand rested low on her stomach, pressing down, her body warm and trembling.

Mouth. Now.

Her thighs shifted together, the phantom weight of thick flesh and soft curls flickering across her thoughts. It was stupid. It was filthy. It was bloody unnatural.

But her knickers were damp all the same.

She stayed in the cubicle longer than she meant to, hands clenched into fists, breathing through her nose until the flush eased from her cheeks. Ridiculous, she told herself, ridiculous to get worked up over a stupid photo, over a stupid little prank designed to throw her off balance. When her breathing steadied and her legs felt solid again, she straightened her jacket, wiped her palms on her skirt, and walked back into the corridor with her chin up.

The afternoon dragged. Sophie sat stiff at her desk, eyes flicking to her inbox every time it pinged, then hating herself for it. She didn't open it again, not here, not at work where anyone could glance over her shoulder, where she could get caught ogling some anonymous naked photo like some sad teenager hiding in the loos. She forced herself through the minutes, head nodding along through calls, fingers typing reports, but the picture stayed lodged in her brain.

That neat line of lips, soft curls under the resting hand. Not pornographic but indecent in a way that pressed under her skin. There'd been something almost respectful about it, the way it sat quietly on her screen, demanding her attention without shouting for it.

Her mouth... there.

She shifted in her chair, thighs pressing together, ignoring the slow throb deep in her belly. She forced herself to keep her hands on the keyboard, her eyes on the screen, her expression tight and neutral.

The house was quiet when she got in, heating low, the soft tick of the kitchen clock filling the space. Sophie peeled off her heels in the hallway, toes curling gratefully into the plush carpet. Her bra followed quickly after, tossed onto the arm of the sofa as she padded into the kitchen. She poured herself a large glass of wine and let herself sag into the armchair in the lounge.

She shouldn't have brought the work laptop home, not on a Friday, but it was already sitting on the coffee table, waiting, glowing faintly. Her fingers hovered before she flicked it open, heart tapping faster than it should.

One click, and the picture filled the screen again.

Thick, soft thighs, that quiet spread, the mound cradled beneath gentle fingers, the line of neat lips hidden under curls. No face. No voice. Just her, staring at it like a woman starved.

Her mouth.

Kiss it.

The words looped through her head, steady and low, as her free hand slipped down between her thighs, fingertips sliding under the waistband of her trousers. She was already warm, already soft and slick, breath catching as she pressed her fingers low, brushing against herself with a quiet gasp.

Her thighs shifted wider, one leg slipping off the edge of the chair, hips tilting into her own touch as her eyes stayed fixed on the screen. Her free hand slid up to cup her breast, pinch her nipple. She moved slowly, no rush, stroking lazily, wine glass forgotten on the table, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her chest.

Kiss it.

Now.

Her fingers circled, her body tightening, small quiet sounds slipping from her mouth. She let it build soft and low, a warm curl of pleasure building gently through her hips, winding tighter, until she pushed herself over, thighs trembling, breath shuddering out in a long, shaky sigh.

Her fingers stilled, eyes still on the screen. Then her jaw clenched, a flash of something like shame snapping through her chest. She slammed the laptop shut with a sharp thud, dragging her hand back to wipe her fingers on her thigh.

Enough.

Her cheeks burned in the silence, but her body still felt soft and sated beneath the flush. And deep inside, the ache for touch she had kept buried all these years stirred again, a reminder of how long it had been since anyone had reached for her, or she for them.

The weekend came and went in a blur of household errands and half-hearted attempts at distraction, but by Monday morning Sophie was already tense before stepping through the office doors.

By late morning she was back in the edit room. Belle was already there with sleeves rolled up and her hair pinned lazily off her face. She was dressed casually today, loose trousers, a soft blouse pulling slightly over her chest, the buttons shifting when she leaned forward over the keyboard. There was a faint hint of some kind of piercing. Of course, she tutted to herself.

Sophie tried to focus, tried to keep her tone sharp as they worked through their notes. But Belle sat in the corner of her vision, showing softness and a full curve of flesh. Sophie's eyes flicked down, just for a moment, catching the stretch of fabric where Belle's broad thighs pressed over the chair.

Her stomach twisted, her throat suddenly dry.

The photos hadn't shown a face, but Belle could so easily fit the picture. She imagined soft curls atop pale skin, full thighs heavy and spread, hips settling broad and unbothered.

Sophie caught herself staring too long.

Belle leaned back, one brow arching lazily, a slow smile curling at her mouth. "You listening, or did I lose you?"

Sophie blinked hard, throat tightening. "Listening," she snapped, looking back at the screen, fingers fumbling over the mouse.

Belle didn't move away, just let that grin stay a little longer. Her eyes dropped to her lap briefly, then back to Sophie. "Sure... just looked like you were more interested in something else."

Sophie's cheeks flared, teeth sinking into the inside of her lip, refusing to glance down again.

Belle chuckled softly, then turned back to her notes, the light sway of her hips shifting in the chair, trousers tightening just so.

That evening Sophie paced the kitchen, wine in hand, trying to burn off the restless twitch building low in her belly. She'd held it together all afternoon, ignored the sly curve of Belle's smile, refused to let herself get dragged under again. But when she finally cracked open the work laptop, her inbox was showing '(1) Unread Message' again.