The Hum

"Hey," Her voice was a soft breath against his ear, a deliberate contrast to the click-clack of his keyboard. "Busy?"

He flinched, just a little, the cursor on his screen blinking patiently. "Uh, yeah, a bit. This report isn't going to write itself, unfortunately." He didn't turn around. Good. This was better.

She leaned in, her lips finding the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, a soft, lingering kiss. Just enough. He smelled like his usual soap and a faint trace of the coffee he’d made hours ago. Comforting. Familiar. But her intent today was anything but. His shoulders tensed under her touch as her fingers started a slow, circular massage there, working out kinks he probably didn't even know he had.

"Just for a second," she murmured, her chest brushing his back. She could feel the slight hitch in his breathing. Got him. "You work too hard."

"Mmm," was his only reply, a noncommittal sound, but his typing had stopped. Her fingers smoothed over the slope of his shoulders, down the hard lines of his upper arms, biceps solid even when relaxed. All that time at the gym paying off for both of us. A small, private smile touched her lips. She let her hands trail away, a feather-light touch, and pulled back before he could fully register what she was doing, or more importantly, what she wanted.

Later, she was curled up on the couch, lost in a book, or so it seemed. His favorite faded blue shirt hung loose on her, gaping a little at the neck, the hem riding high on her thighs. No bra, of course. Bare legs, folded beneath her. She felt his gaze from the doorway as he finally emerged from his office cave. She didn't look up, just shifted, a purely 'accidental' movement that made the worn cotton slide just that little bit further, offering a sliver more of her thigh, a hint of the curve of her hip.

The air crackled, or maybe that was just the static from the cheap throw blanket. He’s watching. Oh, he’s definitely watching.

He cleared his throat. "Babe? You, uh, you okay?"

She finally lifted her eyes from her book, a slow, languid movement. "Hmm? Oh, hey. Yeah, perfect. Just reading." She offered a lazy smile. "Long day?"

"Something like that." He walked into the kitchen, the pull of the fridge a temporary distraction. She heard him rummaging. Perfect.

A few minutes later, she padded after him, the worn floorboards cool beneath her bare feet. He was staring into the open fridge, one hand on his hip. She came up behind him, her voice pitched low, intimate. "Can you… zip me up?"

He turned, eyebrows raised. There was no zipper. He knew there was no zipper. His eyes did a slow crawl down the front of her – his shirt – lingering where the fabric gaped. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

She just smiled, a soft, innocent thing. "Oh, wait. Wrong outfit memory." A small, self-deprecating laugh. "My bad." Her gaze drifted to the counter. "Made that lemon cake you like. Want some?"

His eyes were still on her, darker now. "Cake?" he echoed, his voice a little rough.

"Mmm-hmm." She turned, ostensibly to get a plate, letting the shirt sway around her. She cut a slice, the knife sliding through the soft sponge. She brought a small piece to her own lips on the tip of the knife, humming, a tiny, involuntary sound of pleasure. "Mmm… this is so good." She licked a stray crumb from her lip, her eyes meeting his over the small gesture. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, felt heavy.

She touched it, tucking a strand behind her ear, a slow, deliberate movement, relaxing into the simple pleasure of the moment, drawing it out. The words, the sounds – they weren't dirty. Just soft, honest little truths, wrapped in layers of what she wasn't saying. She knew those little things landed right in his gut and stayed there.

He moved then, stepping closer, boxing her in against the counter. Not touching, not yet. But close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. "Babe," he said, his voice low, a warning and a promise.

"Yeah," she replied, equally soft, a tiny smile playing on her lips. She didn't back away, didn't react much at all, just held his gaze. Let him work for it. Let him want it.

He leaned in, his breath warm on her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "What are you doing?" he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe.

A soft groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her. His hand came up, thumb tracing the line of her collarbone, visible where the shirt dipped. Then, his fingers brushed the side of her breast, a whisper of a touch over the thin cotton, directly over her nipple. It peaked instantly. There we go.

She tilted her head back slightly, exposing her throat. "The weather is so nice today," she breathed, as if oblivious. "I feel so good."

A dark chuckle rumbled from him. "I feel good right here, too," he growled, his voice thick, his nose nudging her jawline, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below her ear. He kissed her there, a slow, wet open-mouthed kiss that made her knees weak. His hand slid from her breast, down her stomach, under the hem of his shirt.

His palm, warm and slightly rough, on the bare skin of her hip.

Then, he was dropping to his knees. Just like that. Her breath hitched. His hands were on her thighs, pushing them apart gently. He looked up at her, his eyes molten. "Is your pussy feeling good too?"

Fuck. His words.

She didn't need to be told twice. Her hands found his hair as his head dipped. Oh... here we go.

His mouth found her clit through the thin barrier of her panties. Soft at first. A gentle pressure, a warm huff of breath that made her gasp. Then firmer. Lapping.

Circling. Fuck… his tongue… ah. He nudged the fabric aside with his nose, his tongue finding her bare. It flicked, a quick, sharp, delightful shock.

"Ah - babe..." she gasped, her hips instinctively trying to meet his mouth. He pinned her thighs gently but firmly with his hands, his thumbs stroking the insides, keeping her right where he wanted her.

"Mmm. Fuck. Your pussy is feeling good. Fuck, look at that." he growled against her, his voice muffled, hot.

He sucked her clit into his mouth, a strong, rhythmic pull that sent lightning bolts straight to her core. He was hungry. He was truly - hungry.

His tongue was relentless, a perfect, tireless machine. She moaned, a low, keening sound, fingers tightening in his hair. Oh god, his tongue… mmmm… he’s so fucking good.

"You wanna be fucked real bad don't you?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his eyes blazing up at her. "Tell me."

"Yes… fuck, yes… so good…" she panted, voice trembling. "Don’t stop… please…"

He grinned, a predatory, satisfied look, then dived back in, harder this time, his fingers now sliding under the waistband of her panties, seeking. One slipped inside her. Then two. Curling, pressing that perfect spot. Oh. My. God.

His mouth working her clit into a frenzy, his fingers fucking her slow and deep. She was coming... fuck.. but she wanted more, so much more.

Suddenly, he stopped.
Her whine was instant. "Babe - "

He looked up, breathing hard, his pupils blown wide. "Oh, I'm not stopping, princess," he said, his voice a low, rough growl that vibrated through her. "We're just… changing venues."

Before she could process, he was standing, hooking an arm under her knees, another around her back, and lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Holy shit. His arms. He carried her out of the kitchen. She clung to him, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, the thin shirt riding up, completely exposing her.

He didn't head for the bedroom. He kicked open the door to the laundry room, the scent of detergent and warm linen hitting her. He set her down, not on her feet, but onto the washing machine. It was cold metal against her bare ass. And then he was yanking the dial. The machine lurched to life with a low hum, then a rhythmic thump-thump-thump as it started a spin cycle. The vibrations traveled up through her, directly between her legs, an unexpected, thrumming pulse against her already screamingly sensitive flesh. What the—? Oh. My. God. This is… whoa.

"Babe!" she gasped, half shock, half pure, unadulterated arousal.

His eyes were wild. "Hold on," he bit out, then he was between her spread legs again, one hand splayed on the vibrating machine beside her hip, the other gripping her thigh, pulling her closer to the edge. The cool metal, the aggressive vibration, his returning mouth - it was too much.

His tongue was back on her clit, savage now, while the machine’s rhythm amplified every sensation, every suck, every flick. He bit down, gently, then harder, a shocking pleasure - pain that made her scream.

"Fuck! Babe, I - "

He covered her mouth with his hand, not hard, but firm, silencing her. His eyes bored into hers. "You want the neighbors to hear how you're coming apart for me on the washing machine, Yeah? Or should I shut you up properly?"

Her answer was a choked sob against his palm. He took it as a yes to the latter, grinding his hips forward slightly, his own erection thick and hard against her belly through his jeans. "Fuck..." He exclaimed.

His thumb pressed into her mouth, replacing his palm, as his fingers dove back inside her, two, then three, stretching her, filling her, while his thumb on her mouth stopped any sound beyond muffled whimpers. The other hand shot up, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her head back as his mouth left her clit and latched onto her breast, sucking hard, biting at her nipple through the thin cotton of his shirt she still wore.

She was thrashing, a wild, puppet-on-strings dance against the vibrating machine, her core clenching, waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. He’s… fuck, he’s everywhere… his mouth, his fingers, this fucking machine…

He pulled his mouth from her breast, both panting. His thumb was still in her mouth, slick with her spit. "Look at you," he rasped, his eyes devouring her, face flushed, hair a mess. "Fucking wrecked. On a fucking washing machine." He punctuated the last word with a hard thrust of his fingers. "You want more?" He looked into her eyes while he thrusted harder. "Yeah?"

She bucked with moans, "yes... daddy. yes."

Then they heard it – the distinct rumble of their neighbor's ancient pickup truck pulling into the driveway next door. Close. Too close.

He didn’t even flinch. If anything, his gaze intensified, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

He leaned in, his voice a guttural whisper against her ear, his fingers still moving, his body caging hers against the juddering machine. "Don't make a sound, baby. Let's see if you can take it quietly while our dear neighbour putters around his garden, hmm?"

The thrill of it, the sheer audacity, sent another violent shiver through her. He was right. This was what she did to him. And fuck, she loved it. Loved this raw, possessive side of him she’d so deliberately poked awake.

He watched her, his thumb still a silencer in her mouth as he worked her with his fingers, the machine a relentless metronome under her. He held her gaze, a dark promise in his. "You're done already?" he murmured, his thumb rubbing small circles. She could only nod frantically, eyes wide. "Come on. Ask me to finish you."

She whimpered around his thumb. He eased the pressure slightly.

"Please," she choked out, barely a breath. "Babe… please… fuck… I need…"

His grin was pure predator. He replaced his thumb with his mouth, kissing her hard, deep, swallowing her moans as his fingers found that magic rhythm again, fast and sure. The washing machine hit its peak spin. The world narrowed to the vibrations, his invading mouth, his relentless fingers. She shattered, a silent, internal explosion that ripped through her, making her body arch and spasm against him, against the cold, thrumming metal. He held her tight, riding out her orgasm, his own breathing harsh and ragged against her neck.

When the last tremors finally subsided, he slowly eased his fingers out, his mouth softening against hers into something less devouring, more possessive. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting. The washing machine clicked off, plunging them into a sudden, shocking quiet.

"Fuck, Babe," he breathed, his voice hoarse. "That was fucking good."

She let out a shaky laugh, a little wild. "yes it was."

He pulled back enough to look at her, a dazed, almost stunned expression on his face that quickly hardened with intent again. "You think?" He smirked, then his eyes dropped to her shirt, still damp, still clinging. He tugged at the hem. "Let's get this off you. Properly."

He didn't wait for an answer, pulling it over her head, his eyes burning over her exposed skin. She shivered, not from cold.

He kissed her then, a deep, bruising kiss, full of all the pent-up energy, the raw hunger she’d unleashed. It was like she'd waited all day, all week, for this exact taste of him. She made soft, needy sounds into his mouth, little whimpers and sighs, until she felt a shudder wrack his frame.

He backed her out of the laundry room, his hands already unbuckling his belt, his jeans. "Bedroom. Come on," he growled.

He practically threw her onto the bed, following her down, caging her. He was all coiled energy, movements urgent. When he tried to thrust into her too fast, a primal need to fill her, she put her hands on his face, gently but firmly.

"Babe," she whispered, her voice still shaky but regaining a sliver of her planned control. He stilled, looking down at her, confused, wanting.

Her thumb traced his kiss-swollen lip. "My man," she breathed, her eyes locking with his, a small, knowing smile touching her lips before she pulled his head down and kissed him again, slow and deep this time, staking her claim in a different way.

He groaned, a sound torn from deep within him. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. The tables had turned, then turned again. This wildness, this possessive edge – she’d sought it. And he’d more than delivered.

His control snapped. He plunged into her with a roar, filling her completely. Hands everywhere. His mouth devouring hers, then her neck, her breasts. One of his hands tangled in her hair, holding her still, while the other gripped her hip, tilting her, taking her deeper, harder.

"Ah... yes...Ah!" Her hips bucked to meet his every thrust. This. This is what I wanted.

He was relentless, his pace furious, almost punishing, but in a way that screamed of desperate need. He gripped her throat, not painfully, but firmly, his hips still moving, a primal rhythm. "You like this, Hun?" he rasped, his eyes burning into hers.

"You like me rough?"
She could only gasp, nod, her body arching.

"I'm being honest," he bit out, his thrusts deeper. "This is what you do to me. Always."

His confession, raw and possessive, sent another wave of heat through her. He pumped into her, his name a broken prayer on her lips, her own sounds swallowed by his. He rode her until they were both slick with sweat, breathless, trembling on the edge. He slowed then, just a fraction, drawing it out, teasing.

"You ready to beg me again, princess?" he whispered, his lips by her ear, his breath hot.

"Ah.. ye-," she choked out, and then he let them both fall, tumbling into a searing, shared release that left them clinging together, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in unison, the remnants of her careful seduction scattered like shrapnel around them, replaced by something far more potent, far more real.

He collapsed onto her, burying his face in her neck, his body still trembling. She held him, stroking his sweat-slicked hair, a triumphant, utterly satisfied smile spreading across her face in the dim light.

She’d won. Oh, how she’d won.