There's time.

He's in the shower. That's twenty minutes of utterly dangerous alone time. Power ballads from the 80's are playing and she cranks up the volume to the dirty dancing theme tune like a woman on hyper-drive. Ripping her own clothes off, casting what's on the bed aside, work can wait, she's already wasted four minutes, how long will he really take? Fifteen, half an hour tops! That's long enough when she's felt hot all damn day. She throws herself across the bed, and ear trained on the door if he gets out early. She needs this private moment, she needs to get the job done herself and quickly if he's going to be too busy for a few days. Some things need to happen or you'll go crazy. You'll end up getting ratty.
She rushes the first one, working herself up and hurrying it along with the practiced thrumming of her fingers, the brief thought of 'why didn't I ever learn to play guitar' scattering across her heated brains. She thinks about a desk, it's always a favourite, a hard wooden desk and a pencil skirt, he rips the skirt in half tearing the slit at the back until he has full access to all regions. Her breasts are spilling out into his hands as he fucks her from behind and she bends over the desk embracing it for support like an old friend. harder, harder, and breathe....
She takes a few minutes to relax, lounging on the bed, giggling in the badness of it. On his bed, in his room, a little secret.
 Is there time? There must be time, the second time was a little slower, better, no need for the fantasy this time just a few dirty sentences whispered in her mind she craves, filthy, dirty, no choice about it sentences. Through two doors she can't hear the water running, she's no idea if he's doing the same thing to himself in there. The thought pushes her over the edge and she comes gripping the pillow and stifles a groan.

Afterwards she gets up and stretches, always feeling sexy in front of the mirror afterwards, never before but afterwards...she drinks orange juice from a wine glass and eats a bite of chocolate walking around the bed and catches a glimpse of her half naked form in the mirror. She laughs at the wine glass, and recklessly turns her attention back to the computer. A good seven or so minutes goes by of cooling down from the high before he comes back in wearing a towel, smelling of fresh summer scents. He disturbs the peace but it doesn't matter. She tries not to laugh because he doesn't know and its fun. The next time he wants her she'll be overwhelmingly into it, she always is after she's touched herself. Touching herself makes her feel sexy. And she thinks...thank god for that.