“I’m serious. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even give myself what I deserve.”
“I don’t need you to give me anything.” I move closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “I just need you to let me be here. Let me help. Let me show you that you’re not alone in this.”
“Theo—”
I kiss her.
Soft at first. Careful. Giving her a chance to pull away, to tell me this is a mistake, to remember all the reasons this shouldn’t happen.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she kisses me back. Hard. Desperate. Like she’s been holding herself together for three days, and this is the moment she finally lets go.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping tight enough to sting. The laundry table digs into my back, but I don’t care. All I care about is her mouthon mine and the way she’s kissing me like I’m the only solid thing in her collapsing world.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Jake won’t be back for hours.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I lift her onto the folding table like she weighs nothing. Her thighs spread wide on instinct, soft gray sweats shoved down to her knees, bunching at the ankles. The second her ass hits the metal surface, she yanks my hips forward, nails digging into my belt loops, pulling me between her legs like she’s starving.
I rip her panties to the side, the elastic snapping against her hip. She gasps, back arching, and I swallow the sound with my mouth. My tongue fucks into her, deep and filthy, tasting the desperation she’s been hiding behind short texts and “fine.” She moans into me, hips rolling, trying to ride my face right there on the table.
I fist her messy bun, yanking her head back hard enough to bare her throat. My teeth sink into the soft skin just below her jaw (hard, claiming), and she whimpers, thighs trembling around my ears. The washer kicks into spin cycle, the table rattling beneath her, and she grinds down harder, chasing friction.
Dropping to my knees, I shove her legs wider, shoulders wedging between them. No teasing. My tongue spears inside her, onelong, greedy lick from entrance to clit, lapping up every drop like I’ve been dying for this taste. She’s slick, swollen, dripping down my chin. I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking fast, merciless, while two fingers plunge deep and curl hard against her front wall.
“Theo—” Her voice cracks, hands clawing at the dryer door, knuckles white. The machine’s thump-thump-thump syncs with my tongue, and she’s riding my face in rhythm, hips bucking, thighs clamping around my head. I don’t let her breathe. I don’t let her think. Just devour her like she’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I yank her off the table so fast the metal legs screech across the tile. She’s still clenching around nothing, thighs slick, eyes glassy with need. I spin her, shove her down—face-first into a pile of Tommy’s clean towels, ass up, back arched like an offering.
I don’t give her time to breathe.
One hand fists her hair, the other spreads her open—wide—and I slam back in. The angle’s brutal, deeper than before, the head of my cock dragging against her front wall with every thrust.
She screams into the towels, muffled and raw, her whole body jerking forward with the force. The washer’s still spinning, thumping in time with my hips, and I use it—fuck, I use it—driving into her so hard the vibrations travel up her spine and make her clit throb against the machine’s edge.
“Hold on,” I snarl, voice shredded.
She claws at the towels, knuckles white, trying to anchor herself. I pull out slow, just the tip, thenslamback in, bottoming out, balls slapping her swollen clit. Again. Again. Again. Each thrust is a punishment, a claim, a prayer. Her pussy flutters around me, milking me, and I can feel her climbing, climbing, climbing.
I flip her onto her back without pulling out and hook her knees over my elbows. Fold her in half. Her ankles dangle by my ears, thighs trembling, and Idrive—long, punishing strokes that make her tits bounce under the t-shirt, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. The dryer door bangs open with every thrust, metal clanging, and I don’t care. Let it break.
“Look at me,” I growl.
Her eyes snap open—green, wild, wrecked. I lean down, bite her lower lip, taste blood and her. “You’re gonna come on this cock. You’re gonnasquirtall over me. And then I’m gonna fill you up until it leaks down your thighs for days.”
She sobs—"Yes, Theo, please.”
I angle my hips, grinding against her clit with every thrust. The pressure builds, her walls fluttering, and I feel it—the moment she breaks. Her back arches off the floor, pussy clamping down so hard I see stars, and shesquirts—hot, wet, gushing around my cock, soaking my jeans, the towels, the tile. The sound is filthy, obscene, perfect.
I don’t stop.
Ican’t.
I fuck her through it, hips snapping, chasing my own release. One hand slides between us, thumb circling her clit in tight, ruthless circles, and she comesagainharder, her whole body seizing, nails raking down my back, drawing blood. The pain shoves me over the edge.
