Housework

Ulla drops the damn mop, shoulders aching from all that sweeping and wiping. She knows exactly what she wants next. Timothy shows up right on cue, cocky grin already twitching at his lips. She gets him hard before either of them says a word, just slides her hand down the front of his jeans and feels him throb against her palm. He doesn’t hold back either; he bends her over the kitchen counter, yanks her pants to her knees, and drives inside with one rough push. Every thrust knocks something else off the countertop, but she couldn’t care less. She keeps pushing her ass back to take him deeper, grunting loud every time his hips smack hers. The kitchen smells like sweat and sex now, louder than any vacuum. She tells him she wants another round before he even pulls out, already hungry for more, and he laughs like the cocky bastard he is because they both know she’ll get it.