Off The Record Ch. 04

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All characters are over 18.

***

Morgan was in an awful mood.

She blew out a breath as she passed her glass between her hands, watching the fancy ice spheres drift from side to side.

Why she had agreed to this tonight was anyone's guess.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true--there was one reason she'd agreed to it. And that reason had pretty hazel eyes, lightly freckled cheeks, and a body to die for.

When Harper had mentioned that she would be covering some of the themed nights at the club, Morgan certainly hadn't expected her to invite her out with her.

Tonight's theme was cocktail hour.

Very original.

But it was the first night on the docket for a weeklong promotion being run by Lavender, with a different theme each night of the week to kick off October, and despite it being a Tuesday night, the club was vibrating with energy.

Harper had explained that the plan was to bump up business for the entire month, with the goal of hosting a raging Halloween party in a few weeks that, with any luck, would bring in a massive horde of customers to really showcase the club's potential.

Morgan had actually been enjoying herself tonight at first, chatting with Harper about her trial preparation, drinking in the rapt attention that she was getting from her, those sharp eyes locked in on her.

But then the nightclub manager--Alyssa, apparently--had personally brought them a round of drinks on the house. And it would have been a kind gesture, had it not been clear that Alyssa had ulterior motives.

Motives that involved a certain journalist.

Morgan had watched with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw as Alyssa spent a suspiciously long amount of time lingering by their table, gushing to Harper about how the article she'd written about the club had helped business skyrocket, and that she owed it all to her.

Really, all she was missing was a set of cartoon heart eyes bulging out of her head to go with the long eyelashes that fluttered down at Harper while she flirted with her.

With every schoolgirl giggle and playful touch to Harper's shoulder, Morgan's vision grew darker around the edges, narrowing in on the target of her rage.

And maybe Morgan was paranoid, but she could have sworn that she caught Alyssa throwing some not-so-subtle glares of annoyance her way as well.

What the hell did she do? She didn't even know this woman, with her stylish, chic outfit and perfectly styled platinum blonde hair.

Because, much to Morgan's dismay, she was, unfortunately, very pretty.

But Morgan recognized her type and the subtle, hungry, vulture-like glances Alyssa was giving Harper when she thought the younger woman wasn't looking, letting her eyes rake down Harper's form.

Morgan recognized these glances because she had been giving Harper similar ones all night, ever since she'd first laid eyes on the skintight, little black dress that was clinging to Harper as though it had been designed with the exact contours of her body in mind.

It looked like it had been poured over her, hugging her body like a glove. For the past twenty minutes, Morgan's thoughts had been consumed by trying to think of what she wouldn't give to peel it off with her teeth.

Shaking herself out of her own thoughts and tuning back into the conversation, it was all Morgan could do not to roll her eyes at the bubbly laugh Alyssa let out at a joke Harper made, opting to bury her expression in her drink while she swallowed the bitterness climbing up her throat.

Just then, Harper broke free from the conversation with Alyssa, announcing that she was going to dance.

"Alone? In that dress?" Alyssa had thrown all attempts at subtlety out the window, brazenly letting her eyes take Harper in, giving her a once over full of heat and barely concealed desire.

"There's nothing wrong with dancing by yourself," Harper said, a small smile quirking the corner of her lips.

"It's a shame I'm working. I'd love to join you." Alyssa's wolfish grin fed that viper in Morgan's stomach.

This time, Morgan was sure she was unable to stop her eyes from rolling to the back of her head. If she was working so hard, she wouldn't have been able to spend a half hour bullshitting at their table, now would she?

"I think I'll be alright on my own," Harper said.

Harper's eyes caught Morgan's. She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to join me?"

Alyssa's expression tightened, forcing a smile to her face. Her icy gaze settled on Morgan.

And as much as Morgan would have loved nothing more than to join Harper and see the look on Alyssa's face as they went off together, it was too risky.

Dancing meant closeness and touching and body heat and eye contact and everything that Morgan was actively avoiding while she navigated this little crush she'd developed on Harper.

"Maybe in a little bit," Morgan said, gently.

With one more small smile, Harper shrugged as if to say 'oh well' and went on her way while Morgan resolutely did not stare at her ass.

"You are out of your fucking mind," Alyssa said, whistling as Harper walked away. "Fucking look at her."

Morgan grunted, crossing her arms across her chest. "You know, if you hurry, I'm sure you could catch her and objectify her one more time before you have to get back to work." She infused her words with as much venom as she could.

Alyssa gave her a condescending smirk. "Oh, please. Get off your high horse. You know you want her."

Without waiting for a response, Alyssa took off in the direction of the bar, leaving Morgan with her thoughts.

Alone at the table, Morgan took her opportunity to continue wallowing in her own self-pity.

She hated feeling this way, hated feeling such intense dislike toward a woman who probably didn't really deserve it. She knew that she was projecting, but that didn't make any of this any easier to come to terms with.

Because if she forced herself to look inward, she knew deep down that what was really irritating her was the fact that she had no right to feel this ugly, blinding jealousy that was coiling in the pit of her stomach like a viper, ready to strike.

Harper wasn't hers. In fact, there was no way Harper could be hers. Not in the situation they'd currently found themselves in.

So why had Morgan agreed to go out to the club with her, knowing that it would test her in every way imaginable?

Because she was a masochist, apparently.

She thought it might help, forcing herself into a situation where she and Harper could behave as nothing more than friends, and maybe even kickstart a normal, platonic relationship that might take the place of the charged flirtation that usually accompanied their interactions.

Having Harper over to her apartment for their meeting the week prior had been a mistake. That had become glaringly obvious the second Morgan had felt Harper's hands against her abdomen when she'd been admiring her tattoo. While it had been clear that Harper hadn't meant anything by the innocent touch, Morgan's resulting thoughts following the interaction had been anything but innocent.

Meeting up in public was just better. Better for Morgan, who had no choice but to rein in her seemingly insatiable attraction to Harper, and better for Harper, who likely had no idea just how close Morgan came to devouring her every time they saw one another.

So, now, here she was, pouting in a booth at the nightclub.

Unfortunately, Morgan hadn't thought her plan through entirely, clearly forgetting about how seeing Harper in that cocktail dress was going to drive her thoughts in a direction that was decidedly not platonic.

In fact, every thought she'd had in the past hour included some variation of her dragging Harper into the bathroom and pressing her up against the wall while she kissed her like her life depended on it.

Especially now, when she was watching her dance in that dress from across the room, her eyes locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile.

She was exquisite. Stunning. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Chef's fucking kiss.

But despite her dour mood, Morgan couldn't help but smile at seeing a more carefree Harper rather than the anxious Harper who stressed herself out constantly and overthought literally everything.

At that moment, Harper caught her eye, and Morgan gave her a little wave and a smile. Harper beamed back at her, and Morgan breathed through the tightness in her chest.

Harper tilted her head at her for a moment, her stillness at odds with the thrumming crowd surrounding her, and then walked toward Morgan with purpose, like she'd made up her mind about something.

"Come on, gorgeous," Harper said when she reached her, extending her hand out to Morgan. Her cheeks were flushed and she sounded out of breath.

At Morgan's blank stare, Harper moved closer, reaching for the hand Morgan had laying on the table. "Dance with me."

Morgan brushed her thumb across the back of Harper's hand. "I don't really dance, Cassidy," she said, smiling up at her apologetically.

"Not even with me?" Harper asked, widening her eyes and fluttering her lashes in a way that told Morgan that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Morgan just gave her a look.

"It's criminal to look the way you do tonight and not dance," Harper said, a sweet smile curving her lips as hazel eyes tracked down Morgan's body.

Morgan was about to resist again when she realized that Alyssa was right about one thing--she would be a complete idiot to refuse a dance with the goddess in front of her. She may as well embrace her new self-imposed title as a masochist.

She flexed her hand where it lay in Harper's, squeezing gently. "Lead the way," she said.

And with that, Morgan allowed Harper to draw her into the mass of bodies on the dance floor, keeping her eyes firmly on the lean muscle of Harper's calves, visible in the flashes from the DJ's light show.

Morgan blew out a distracted breath. She was pretty sure she'd happily follow those legs to her death if that's where they led her.

They reached the center of the dance floor, and the flirty little smirk Harper wore as she turned around and pulled Morgan in was almost as intoxicating as the liquor she'd consumed tonight, a coy smile playing at those pink, full lips that never failed to capture Morgan's attention.

And that was all it took for Morgan to drop her guard and loosen up, the tension from the Alyssa of it all leaving her shoulders.

In one smooth motion, Harper spun her, laughing brightly at the surprised look on Morgan's face when she was back in Harper's arms.

Morgan leaned in, bringing her lips to the shell of Harper's ear. "You're good at this," she said, just loud enough for the two of them to hear over the heavy bass of the music.

Harper's breath ghosted across her jawline and Morgan's eyes shuttered closed at the feeling that spread through her at their proximity. She hadn't been this close to Harper since the night they'd met, and she'd almost forgotten how exhilarating it was.

Harper was a little bit taller tonight, having worn a pair of heels that put her closer to Morgan's level, and she could tell that Harper liked having better access to her.

She simply hummed at Morgan's compliment, murmuring, "Turn around," in her ear.

When Morgan pulled back with an eyebrow raised in question, Harper just sighed and gave her an exasperated smile before twirling her again. But this time, halfway through the turn, Morgan felt herself being tugged backward, her back colliding with Harper's chest so that they were flush against each other.

Morgan gasped when she felt strong, confident hands plant themselves on her waist, guiding her movements so that her ass was grinding up against Harper.

Morgan felt like she was being lit on fire from the inside out. For a fleeting moment, she thought that maybe burning alive wasn't so bad after all.

"I can see the appeal of being this tall," Harper purred in her ear. As if to emphasize her point, she drove her hips forward, pressing herself into Morgan.

"Jesus," Morgan mumbled, mostly to herself. Was she imagining it, or could she feel the heat of Harper through that thin, silky material of her dress? She was probably mistaking it for the heat that was pooling between her own legs, more turned on with every second she spent with Harper on this dance floor.

"You don't need to be jealous, you know."

Morgan's breath caught in her throat.

She turned her head sharply to look at Harper, catching her eye over her shoulder. "What?"

Harper laughed low in her throat. "Come on, Morgan. You were gripping your glass so tightly back at the table that I thought you were going to shatter it."

Her fingertips brushed the sides of Morgan's breasts, quickly enough that it could have been unintentional. Still, the touch sent a shiver down Morgan's spine.

"Alyssa is a professional acquaintance," Harper said softly. "Nothing more."

Morgan scoffed. "Yeah, so am I."

She hated that she could hear the bitterness in her voice. Because even though she was the one grinding up against Harper like this under the protection of darkness, the fact of the matter was that this was as far as anything would ever go between them. In a worst-case scenario, this could be explained away as two female friends having a fun night out together, their inhibitions lowering as they got drunk off of alcohol and music.

But Harper could have Alyssa if she really wanted her. She could have any fucking woman in the building, looking the way she looked right now.

Any woman except for Morgan. And that made her blood boil.

Why did the universe hate her?

"You are," Harper sighed into Morgan's ear, "but the difference is that I don't want to tear Alyssa's clothes off every time I see her."

Her hands glided down Morgan's body again, and this time there was no mistaking the lingering touch along the swell of her breasts as accidental. Morgan let out a soft gasp as her thumb narrowly missed her right nipple.

"Seeing you in this dress earlier and not being able to touch you was like my own personal hell."

Morgan could hear her heart beating erratically as she took in Harper's words. She would be lying if she said she hadn't purposely chosen the strapless, crimson dress that she'd worn out tonight with Harper in mind.

"I didn't think you could get any hotter, but it turns out a little bit of jealousy really works on you." Harper laughed again, her hands tightening on her waist. "It's ridiculous, really. The idea of you being jealous of anyone, with the way you look." Roaming hands once again sent a bolt of lightning between Morgan's thighs. "The way you feel."

Delicate fingers swept Morgan's hair away from her shoulders. She hoped the music was loud enough to drown out the involuntary whimper that left her when she felt Harper's lips press against the side of her neck.

"Harper..." she said in weak protest, even as she tilted her head back to lean into the contact, desperate for more.

They shouldn't be doing this...right?

It definitely felt right.

Harper's left hand gripped her hip tightly while the other snaked around to rest against Morgan's stomach, just below her navel.

"You are the sexiest woman in every room you walk into." The feeling of Harper's mouth moving against her skin was dizzying, all of her blood rushing lower, the ache becoming nearly unbearable.

The hand on her stomach moved imperceptibly lower, but it was enough for Morgan's breath to stagger.

"Harper," she tried again. "What if someone sees?" They were in public, after all, in front of hundreds of strangers. "I'm not sure we should--"

"You're not sure we should, what?" Harper asked, nipping her teeth into the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder.

Her hand moved lower still, the backs of her knuckles brushing against the thin fabric of Morgan's dress, low enough that her wandering fingertips met the bare skin of her thigh.

At this point, Morgan was uncomfortably wet, probably already dripping down her legs in her very short dress.

"Let them watch," Harper whispered.

She was inches away from feeling just how badly Morgan needed her.

It was almost embarrassing how wet she was after just a few minutes of dancing like this. But it made sense because it was Harper, who she had been lusting after for weeks now, ever since she'd seen her in this very club.

Morgan reached up and interlaced her fingers with the hand resting on her thigh. "I need--" she rasped out, ready to beg for it if necessary.

She could feel Harper smile against her throat. "What do you need, baby?"

Fuck, she just needed something--anything--to relieve the pressure that was building between her thighs.

With the grip she had on Harper's hand, she guided her fingertips upward, relishing Harper's quiet gasp against her ear when she felt the wetness already coating Morgan's inner thighs.

"You poor thing," Harper said, her breath coming faster now. "Have you been this wet for me all night?"

"I've been this wet for you for weeks," she growled.

She'd had enough of the teasing.

Morgan turned her head, her lips brushing against Harper's as Harper pushed her useless, soaked thong to the side and stroked her once, twice, swallowing the moan that Morgan breathed into her mouth--

Morgan shot up in bed, gasping for air.

Jesus Christ.

She gathered herself for a few seconds as her heart rate returned to normal, confirming that she was, in fact, in her bedroom at her apartment. She rubbed at her eyes, the strangest mixture of relief and frustration flooding through her as she realized that it had all been a dream.

So, she was having dreams about Harper now.

Great.

She'd known this woman for a little over a month, and she was having a wet dream about her like some horny teenage boy?

Morgan was twenty-nine years old, for fuck's sake. She had never been unable to control herself when it came to someone she was attracted to.

Until now, apparently.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" She whispered into the silent darkness of her bedroom.

Maybe it was because Harper was the first woman she wanted but couldn't truly have.

Maybe it was because when Harper had mentioned Alyssa in a passing comment earlier that day, she'd been so consumed by jealousy that she hadn't been able to see straight.

Apparently, she had been so subconsciously hung up on her attraction to Harper that her brain had conjured up a fantasy that she didn't even know she had until now.

Public sex on the middle of a nightclub dance floor? Really? What the fuck was that about?

It was inappropriate and voyeuristic and wrong and...hot.

So, so fucking hot.

And it didn't help that she could still feel herself fucking throbbing. Morgan squeezed her thighs together to ward off the aching need pulsing through her clit as she ran her hands through her hair.

This was torture.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to convince herself that she would under no circumstances fuck herself while thinking about Harper, no matter how badly she needed it.

It had been like that for the past few weeks. With the stress of work bogging her down, Morgan had tried and failed on multiple occasions to relieve some of the tension she'd been feeling with some solo sex. But every time she started to really get into it, Harper would enter her mind.

In her bed, fantasies of Harper moving Morgan's hand away from herself to take over for her. In the shower, thoughts of Harper on her knees, hazel eyes looking up at her while she fucked Morgan with her tongue.

Morgan must have set a record for the number of times she'd gotten herself right to the edge of orgasm only to force herself to stop, leaving herself so much more frustrated and stressed than she'd been when she started.

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