Derek

“What are we doing down here?” Serena shivers at the foot of the basement stairs. We’re surrounded by cinderblock walls, concrete floors, and floor joists; the underbelly of the little ranch house Royal and Demi rent.

“Take your top off.” I point to the dryer.

Serena’s delicate, shivering fingers work the beaded pearl buttons of her light-colored blouse, and I do the same. “How long will this take? It’s freezing down here.”

She tugs the soaked fabric from her body, her bra just as saturated.

“You’re going to have to give me that too,” I say, pretending like it doesn’t give me great pleasure to see her incredibly sexy body all over again.

Serena’s hands cover her lace cups. “Why?”

“Your bra is wet. If you put your dry shirt on, it’ll just soak through.”

Her bright blue eyes roll, and she reaches behind her back, unfastening the clasps and slipping the satin straps off her soft shoulders.

“Fine. Here.” She covers her breasts with one arm, handing it to me. “It’s actually a line dry only item, but . . .”

“We don’t have time to line dry your lingerie.”

“Thank you for that tidbit of information, Counselor Obvious.”

I pop her items along with my shirt into Demi’s dryer and turn it to the high-heat, quick-dry cycle. The timer reads twenty minutes. If we’re lucky, no one will come looking for us in that time. Serena Randall, topless in someone’s damp basement, isn’t something I want to be responsible for.

Although to be fair, I kind of am.

But she started it.

Just so happens that I intend to finish it.

“Why are you covering up?” I lean against the washer, arms crossed and eyes feasting. “I fucked you last night and now you want to be shy?”

Serena’s tongue grazes her lower lip and she holds her head high. “I’m just being modest and respectful in your sister’s home. And this isn’t a sexual moment for me.”

I laugh, moving toward her. “It isn’t?”

She swallows, eyes fixed on mine. “No.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I thought you didn’t do repeats?”

“I don’t. I also don’t work on Saturdays, I don’t bring clients home with me, and I sure as hell don’t bring clients over for dinner at my sister’s place.”

“So what are you saying?”

She breathes me in, and my fingers crawl with every intention of touching every part of her all over again.

My hand cups the side of her face, our lips lined up. Every ounce of self-control I’ve ever owned is rising to the surface and evaporating like it never existed in the first place.

“I’m saying that I’ve been breaking all the rules with you,” I breathe my words against her bee-stung mouth, seconds from owning it.

“Why?” Her lashes flutter slowly. “Why me?”

“I wish I fucking knew.” I crush her parted lips with a kiss, and she moans into my mouth as if she needed the release more than I did.

I spent the better part of today at the office, staring off into space, daydreaming about the night we shared and wondering why, for the first time in years, I couldn’t wait to touch her again. To experience it all over again.

And again.

And again.

My hands slip to her waist, and I hoist her up onto the humming, vibrating dryer, spreading her thighs apart until they’re straddling my waist. Her arms hook around my shoulders, her fingers trickling up the nape of my neck and getting lost in my hair as our tongues meet between frenzied kisses.

Her breasts press against my chest, her rosy nipples alive and peaked, tracing along my skin as she moves.

Her skin is nothing but goosebumps, but she’s warming by the second.

My mouth abandons hers, and I deposit a trail of biting kisses down her neck until her head falls back and her nails dig into the flesh of my shoulders. I devour her sweet skin, lowering myself between her breasts and circling my tongue around a pert nipple.

The basement is cool and dank, but all the warmth we need encircles us in a cloud of our own lust. My hands crawl up her thighs, working the buttons of her jeans and pulling them down.

The dryer rumbles beneath her, and she leans back, her hands braced as I drag a finger along the wet crotch of her silk panties. Shoving the soaked fabric aside, I crave her taste on my tongue.

My head between the apex of her thighs, I drag my tongue along her seam before circling her swollen clit.

Serena moans, and I lift my hand to her mouth. We have to be quiet. And quick.

The clock is ticking.

She takes my finger between her mouth, lightly biting and sucking as I devour her swollen, slick pussy, and my cock throbs when I appreciate the fact that her body wants mine.

The dryer hums, and Serena’s thighs shake. Her breath quickens, and she drives a hand through my hair, pulling a fistful as she climaxes against my mouth in quivering waves.

When she’s finished, I rise, tugging her off the dryer and into my arms.

Her hand presses into her chest, and she’s just as breathless as she was last night.

“Holy shit, Derek.” Her words are exasperated sighs. “I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I.”

The dryer buzzes, rudely interrupting whatever the fuck this was, and I catch a hint of disappointment in her deliriously satisfied expression.

I reach past her, yanking the door open and grabbing our warm shirts. By the time we dress and head upstairs, Demi has commandeered our abandoned dish job, working frantically at the sink and avoiding eye contact at all costs.