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“What about them?” she tosses back at me.
“I can’t put them in the dryer if they’re still on you.”
“True.”
She undoes the button and zipper and then goes about the process of peeling wet denim from her skin. As if in a trance, my body floats toward hers, standing behind her, and somehow my hands are on her bare hips, holding her steady though she doesn’t need me to since one of her hands is holding onto the stair railing.
My thumbs drag up and down her cool, damp skin and then slide up along her ribs. She frees herself from her jeans and panties, standing beautifully naked in front of me.
Her breath hitches when my hands start massaging the globes of her ass. One finger slides down the center of her cheeks, going lower, all the way down until I reach her opening.
“Let’s see if you’re wet enough for my cock.” I slip a finger inside her and pump it in and out. She emits a breathy hum from the back of her throat. “Close. But I want you wetter. I want this pussy to be dripping before I slide inside of it.”
She gasps when I push a second finger in only to immediately pull them back out. I slip them into my mouth and suck her off them as I bring my mouth to her ear.
“Go up the stairs. I want to watch from this angle.”
She moans, but wordlessly does what I ask, making a fucking meal out of it as she sways her hips with every step. I have the best view of her pussy from this angle—pink, wet lips, and a tight hole.
God, she’s pretty.
I slip out of my clothes, leaving on my boxer briefs, and then pick up her discarded items. I pull the condom out and then toss my wallet on the table near the stairs. Then, like an anxious schoolboy, I jog up the steps to her, losing my cool with every second I see her like this.
“Which way?” she asks, and I point to my right.
I have an idea. Something I’ve never done before but suspect she’ll be up for since she seems to be up for anything and everything.
She turns and immediately heads in that direction, her tits bouncing slightly as she goes. I open the door to my laundry room for her, guiding her over to the machines. Opening the empty dryer, I throw our stuff in and turn it on, the gentle hum filling the room.
“You’re very neat and organized.”
I chuckle lightly as I take her hips and pick her up, dropping her on top of the washing machine. “My father was an Army doctor for thirty years. Neat and organized was ingrained in me from birth.”
I part her legs and step in between them. The height is perfect. “What are you—”
I turn on the washing machine to a spin cycle even though it’s empty.
“Oh!” Her eyes widen and a stunning smile spreads her lips. “I’ve never done this.”
“Me either. How does it feel?”
She giggles as the drum inside the machine starts spinning around. “It tickles.”
I spread her legs wider, opening her up for me, and my thumb starts to trace her swollen clit. “And now?”
Her eyes close and she licks her lips. “Now it feels really good. It’s vibrating through me and with you doing that?” A gasp escapes from her lips as the washer picks up speed. “Fuck, that feels so good.”
Bending down I flick her clit with my tongue and her hand shoots out, grasping my hair and holding me there. She’s dripping now. I can see it on top of my washing machine and it’s so fucking hot my cock jerks in my briefs.
I give it an impatient rub, needing contact, needing her.
“Ah! Callan! Yes! God, yes. Please don’t stop.” She rocks into me, wiggling and pressing herself deeper against the washing machine, wanting more of the vibrations. I eat her, play with her, touch her, working her up higher and higher.
“I want to watch you come like this. All over my washing machine. And then I’m going to slide my cock in you and fuck you on top of it.”
That does it. My dirty words and my tongue and the machine set her off and she comes on a loud cry, her head back and her pussy grinding against my mouth. I’ve been with plenty of women over the years. Many put on shows for me, thinking that’s what I wanted, or were so nervous or unsure of themselves that they just took whatever I gave them.
Layla knows who she is.
