Page 20 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

I open the industrial washer,crouching down to peer in. The laundry room here is huge, and none of the machines are designed for less than about five regular loads of laundry. I feel like I’ve been shrunk to half-size when I come in here, but it’s also the warmest room in the whole place, so I like it.

We have to do our own laundry and cleaning, obviously, so right now I’m doing two weeks’ worth of sheets and towels, and they’re all knotted together in the bottom of the washing machine in a heavy, sodden mess. I try tugging on one, but the whole knot just keeps coming out, and the thing must weigh fifty pounds.

I’m about ready to sacrifice all of them to the laundry gods and just start over with fresh sheets when the door opens and Cash walks in, carrying his own laundry.

“Howdy,” he says, and winks. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I’m still crouched by the washing machine, pulling futilely at my sheets.

“I’m starting to feel like I’ll never leave,” I say, pulling at the knot. Instead of one sheet, fifty pounds of wet sheets come out and flop on the floor, and I land on my butt.

I sigh.

“This is what I get for waiting,” I say, pushing myself up.

Cash is already next to me, offering me his hand. I take it: strong and warm, calloused, and he pulls me to my feet like I weigh nothing. I stumble forward slightly at the top, with too much momentum, and he catches me.

“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to launch you.”

Now he’s got me by the arms, both my hands on his chest. Today he’s just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and I can feel the thick muscles of his chest flexing as he holds me, his voice vibrating through me.

Without moving, I look up at him, at the smile playing around his lips. Instantly I think of us in the sauna again, about the electricity that sizzled between us when he fixed my towel. I think of willing his towel to fall off, even though it never did.

His hands are on my back now. I’m not even sure how they got there, but they’re warm and big and they’re pulling me ever so slightly in toward him as I gaze up at his incredibly handsome face.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

Don’t let him kiss you. Don’t let him kiss you.

“I should, um, finish doing my laundry,” I say, not making a single move to let Cash go. “It’s still wet.”

“Is it?” he asks, a glint coming into one eye. “Wet, that is.”

I blush.Hard. I’m pretty sure I turn pink all the way down to my navel, because we both know that he’s not actually inquiring about my laundry.

“How wet?” he asks. “Sopping wet? Dripping?”

I’m pressing myself against him now, my body betraying me. He’s thick and hard, the lump in his jeans already pressing against me. The mere thought of it makes my mouth go dry, and I take a deep breath.

Don’t play along, just do your laundry and run before you make this artist residency even more awkward than it already is.

Then I think:It’s not actually awkward, though.

Cash leans down until his lips are by my ear, his voice nothing but a husky growl.

“Is your wet laundry in desperate need of release?” he asks, and it would be ridiculous if it weren’t sohot.

Because he’s right. I mean, my laundry’s wet, sure, but I’m aching, dripping, my panties already probably soaked through and we’re both still clothed. We’re in the laundry room, for the love of God, supposedly talking about laundry and yet I’m ready to rip Cash’s clothes off and fuck him on the table.

“It really needs to go in the dryer,” I whisper-moan.

Cash just chuckles and bites my earlobe, swiping his tongue over it. Sparks cascade down my back as he kisses my jawline slowly, until he’s made his way to my mouth.

He claims me. There’s no other way to put it, his strong hand on my jaw, his mouth unrelenting and wonderful. He kisses me like I’m already his and I’ve been his forever; he kisses me like there’s no one else in the world.

I open my mouth under his, fighting a moan, and his tongue slips inside, seeking mine out. He walks me backward until I’m pinned against the table, and then he grabs my ass and lifts me onto it, pulling my knees open and wrapping my legs around him.

I put both my hands around his head, fingers sliding through his hair, and I squeeze my legs, relishing the friction of our bodies together. His hands dig into my hips as he pulls me forward, all our pent-up frustration being taken out in this moment.

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