Laundry room with fluorescent lights and a half-open door—no one to hear but the hum of the dryer. She’s already wet when his hands find her thighs, polka-dot dress riding up past her hips. Fingers work fast, rougher than usual tonight, like she’s been waiting for this all damn week. The way her back arches off that linoleum floor tells you everything: no finesse needed here—just needy, experienced hunger. When he finally drops to his knees between those thick legs, it’s not gentle either; tongue dives deep before she even gets a word out.