Page 53 of Rumi: The Hawthornes

“Yeah, but Brody painted, and he’s kind of precious about shit like that.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded.

“And Icanfix it,” Rumi said wickedly, tilting his head from one side to the other. “But I knew you were coming over tonight, so I left it.”

“You want to have sex on this washing machine, don’t you?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I really, really do.”

“And you realize that real life isn’t like movies, correct?”

“I am aware of that, yes,” he said with a chuckle.

“Okay, then.” I shrugged and reached for my shirt, pulling it over my head. “Let’s do it.”

“You are my best friend in the entire world,” he said quickly, tearing his shirt over his head. “Have I told you that? Because you are.”

“Yep,” I replied, sliding off the washing machine so I could take off the rest of my clothes. Once I was fully naked, I hopped back onto the washing machine and leaned behind me to start the cycle again.

“What are you doing?” I spun my hand in a circle, gesturing for Rumi to hurry up.

“I am taking a snapshot,” he said quietly, his eyes slightly glazed.

“You’re what?” I laughed a little because the look on his face was so goofy.

He reached out and spread my thighs and then reached for my arms, sliding his hands down until he could brace my hands slightly behind my hips. Then he stepped back and stared.

“I’m assuming I can’t take a photo.”

“You’re goddamn right about that,” I shot back simply.

“So,” he continued like I hadn’t interrupted. “I’m taking a mental snapshot because I think this might be the sexiest thing I’ll ever see in my entire life.”

“You’ve got a weird hang up with laundry,” I murmured, but I couldn’t help the little zing of pleasure that made my cheeks warm.

“You’re just—” He shook his head. “I don’t know where to start.”

I lifted my hand and tapped my index finger against my chin like I was thinking hard. “On your knees,” I finally said, using my hand to brace myself again.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes to his knees and I burst out laughing until his lips met the inside of my thigh.

The juxtaposition of the cold metal washing machine beneath my thighs and ass and Rumi’s hot mouth between my legs seemed to heighten every sensation. It wasn’t long before I came, embarrassingly short, actually, but Rumi didn’t care. He was stoked. He reached behind me and pushed some button on the washing machine before rolling a condom on as he stepped between my legs.

“Lean back a little, baby,” he murmured, gently bracing me as I scooted my arms back until they were on the little ledge of the back of the washing machine that held the controls. “Just like that.”

It took a few minutes to get the rhythm right because the washing machine’s thunks weren’t quite the same distance apart, but eventually everything moved as one. Every time the washing machine moved back against the wall, Rumi pulled out and every time it shifted toward him, he slammed back inside and it felt fucking fantastic, but it wasn’t quite right. I didn’t want to burst his bubble, though, so I didn’t say anything.

Which was silly, because of course heknew. He lifted his head, letting my nipple come out of his mouth with a little pop, and smiled.

“Fuck this shit,” he said with a grin. Wrapping one arm around my back and one under my ass, he lifted me off the washer and carried me toward his bedroom.

“Damn,” I murmured halfway there as he slid out of me. I ran my tongue up his neck and pulled his earlobe between my lips.

“Sorry,” he said with a breathless laugh.

“Didn’t like the washing machine?” I asked playfully.

“It was better in fantasy than reality.”

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