Whispers Over Champagne

The champagne in Topanga’s office was the kind that made your tongue tingle. Dry, crisp, with just enough bubbles to remind you that indulgence was allowed. The three of them had spent the last hour hunched over spreadsheets, their fingers brushing against glossy bank statements as they traced the financial veins of the Rilaya Foundation.

Numbers had a way of making everything feel sterile, but the air in the room was anything but. It was thick with the kind of tension that came from shared secrets, from the unspoken understanding that they were all complicit in something deliciously illicit.

Maya leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her as she stretched her arms overhead. The movement pulled her blouse taut across her chest, the fabric straining just enough to tease. Riley’s gaze flicked to the sliver of skin exposed at her waist, the way her hips rolled slightly as she arched. She knew that look. Hungry, restless, the same one Maya got whenever she was about to dive into something reckless.

Topanga swirled her champagne, the flute catching the light as she set it down with a soft clink. Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind that suggested she already knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

"Alright," she said, voice smooth as the alcohol in her glass. "Since we’re all done here, and since I *did* just help you account for the profits from your little… *entertainment/publishing venture*, I think I deserve a story." She tilted her head, eyes flicking between them. "Maya. Tell me. In explicit detail. When, where, and how you got Riley naked and fucked her for the first time."

Riley’s breath hitched. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, her fingers tightening around her own glass. Maya, ever the performer, didn’t even flinch. She just grinned, slow and wicked, like she’d been waiting for this question all night.

"Oh, you want the unedited version?" Maya purred, leaning forward. Her knee brushed against Riley’s under the table, a deliberate tease. "Not the one we tell at parties, where it was all romantic and spontaneous?"

Topanga laughed, low and knowing. "Darling, I’ve seen your Gazette. I know exactly how unromantic you two can be." Maya’s grin widened. "Fair." She took a slow sip of champagne, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make Riley squirm. Then she set her glass down and began.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been naked together. That had happened months before, during a game of strip poker that had spiraled into something far more interesting. But the first time Maya had fucked her, really fucked her, the kind that left bruises and bite marks and the kind of satisfaction that made your legs shake—had been in the backroom of Harperella’s.

They’d been working on the first issue of the AIT Gazette, the one that would launch their little empire. Maya had been sketching, her fingers smudged with charcoal as she captured the sharp angles of the stage performers from their last event. Riley had been writing, her laptop open, fingers flying over the keys as she spun stories that were just this side of plausible deniability. The air had been thick with the scent of ink and sweat and the kind of creative energy that made your skin hum. Tight jeans, a cropped top that showed off the dip of her waist, her hair pulled into a messy bun that begged to be tugged. But it was the way she was biting her lip, her eyes dark as she watched Riley, that had done it. That look had always been Riley’s undoing.

"You’re staring," Maya had said, not looking up from her sketch. Riley had swallowed. "You’re drawing me staring." Maya’s lips had quirked. "Maybe I am."

That had been the moment. The one where Riley had realized that the tension between them wasn’t just creative—it was hungry. She’d stood up, her chair scraping against the concrete floor, and walked over to Maya’s side of the table. The other woman had watched her approach, her pencil stilling.

Riley had reached out, her fingers brushing against Maya’s wrist. "You ever think about how easy it would be to just take what you want?" Maya’s breath had hitched. Then she’d smirked. "I know how easy it would be." That had been all the invitation Riley needed.

She’d grabbed Maya’s chair and spun it around, her hands gripping the arms as she leaned down, caging her in. Maya’s eyes had flashed, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Riley had kissed her then, hard and demanding, her tongue sweeping into Maya’s mouth like she was claiming something that had always been hers. Maya had moaned into the kiss, her hands flying to Riley’s hips, pulling her closer.

They’d stumbled into the backroom, the one with the velvet couch and the dim lighting and the kind of privacy that made reckless things feel inevitable. Riley had pushed Maya onto the couch, her hands already working at the button of her jeans. Maya had lifted her hips, helping her shove them down, her breath coming in sharp little gasps.

"Fuck, you’re wet," Riley had growled, her fingers sliding through Maya’s folds, already slick and ready. Maya had whimpered, her back arching. "I’ve been wet since you walked over here." Riley had grinned, wicked and hungry, before sinking two fingers inside her. Maya had cried out, her nails digging into Riley’s shoulders. She’d been tight, so tight, her walls clenching around Riley’s fingers as she fucked her slow and deep.

Maya had reached for Riley’s belt then, her fingers fumbling in her haste. Riley had helped her, shoving her own jeans down, kicking them off before straddling Maya’s lap. The other woman’s hands had gripped her hips, pulling her down, and then Maya had fucked her. It had been rough, desperate, the kind of sex that left you breathless and aching. Maya had used her fingers, her tongue, her teeth, marking Riley in ways that made her feel owned. Riley had come with a cry, her body shuddering as Maya had kept going, drawing out her orgasm until she was a trembling mess.

And then Maya had flipped her onto her back, her fingers finding Riley’s clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles until Riley had come again, her vision whiting out as pleasure crashed over her. Maya paused in her storytelling, her eyes dark as she looked at Riley. The other woman was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her fingers white-knuckled around her champagne flute.

Topanga let out a low whistle. "Damn. And here I thought the Gazette was just a side hustle." Maya smirked, her gaze never leaving Riley’s. "Oh, it was definitely a side hustle." Riley licked her lips, her voice rough when she spoke. "You left out the part where you begged me to fuck you again the next night."

Maya’s grin turned feral. "Did I?" Topanga laughed, raising her glass. "To the AIT Gazette—may it always be as profitable as it is inspiring." Maya and Riley clinked their glasses against hers, the sound sharp and bright in the quiet office. The champagne was gone too soon, but the night was far from over.

And as Maya’s hand found Riley’s under the table, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against her thigh, Riley knew one thing for certain: They were just getting started.