Rule Four of the Lease Said No Overnight Guests novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: Tuesday Laundry

The dryer was shaking so hard that the whole basement hummed.

It was Tuesday at seven in the evening.

I sat on top of the dryer with my bare thighs spread and my skirt bunched around my waist.

My laundry basket stood forgotten on the concrete floor.

Lena knelt in front of me, in her flannel, with her hands on my knees.

"Rule Seven," she said. "The tenant carries the basket down in person."

"I carried it."

"You carried it slowly."

"There were four flights."

"That's a violation of the spirit of the rule." Her thumbs stroked the insides of my knees. "I'm going to enforce it."

The dryer was running on high, and the metal vibrated through my ass and my back and the backs of my legs.

My panties were already on the floor.

Overhead, a floorboard creaked, and then footsteps crossed the ceiling.

"That's Unit Three," I whispered.

"Yes."

"They could come down."

"They could." Lena slid her hands up my thighs. "Be quiet, then."

"You said I could be loud."

"Not in the basement."

She leaned in and put her mouth on me.

I bit my lip so hard that I tasted copper.

Her tongue slid up through my folds, slow and flat and warm.

The vibration of the machine ran through both of us.

I put my hands on her short hair.

"Lena."

"Hush."

She ate me in long lazy strokes that built into short fast flicks over my clit.

My heels dug into her back.

The dryer shuddered, and every pulse of it went straight into me.

I couldn't tell where the machine ended and her tongue began.

She sucked my clit gently, and I tipped my head back against the wall.

"Oh my God."

The footsteps overhead moved toward the stairs.

I froze.

Lena didn't.

She slid two fingers into me, deep, and curled them forward, and I almost bit through my lip.

The footsteps stopped on the landing, and a door opened and closed upstairs.

A shudder broke through me that was half a sob.

Lena glanced up from between my thighs, and her eyes were glittering.

"Almost," she said.

"You're terrible."

"I'm thorough."

She went back to work, harder.

Her tongue pressed flat to my clit, and her fingers drove into me in time with the machine.

I came with my face in my own sleeve.

It tore through me in a long, silent convulsion, and my thighs locked around her head.

She didn't stop, and she didn't slow.

She kept her mouth on me through it, and then past it, until the next wave started to build.

"Lena. I can't."

"Count," she said, against my skin.

"What?"

"Count your orgasms. Out loud. Whisper it."

"One," I breathed.

"Good girl."

She added a third finger, and I groaned.

She stretched me and filled me, her hand moving fast, her mouth on my clit, and the dryer shook me from underneath.

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