Nicole Needs a Quick Fix

Nicole Luva walks into the garage in shorts that barely count as clothing, already chewing on a popsicle. Her eyes land on Jack Vegas halfway under the sink, tools scattered, ass in the air like the universe wrote the joke just for her. She bites down, sucks slow, and lets the stick drop right beside his boot. He comes out wiping his hands and she just smiles, pops the door shut behind her and steps closer. The fridge hum rattles. Jack raises an eyebrow like he already knows the punchline. Nicole drops to her knees on the linoleum and gets to work like it's five o'clock quitting time. She licks first, all the way from the base up, saliva shining, then pulls him into her mouth until her nose brushes fabric. Jack laughs under his breath, mutters "kids these days" and steadies a hand on the cabinet while she hums around the head like she's found her favorite song. Drool slides down her chin in a lazy line, drips onto the floor, and she doesn't care; she just readjusts her grip, pops her jaw, and takes him deeper, eyes tearing at the corners from the stretch but the look in them says she planned this all along. Every suck sounds obscene over the fridge noise. Jack exhales through his teeth and finally puts a hand on the back of her head, guiding the tempo like he's tightening a bolt. Nicole swallows around him, throat working, determined to finish the job herself before mom gets home. He warns her once, twice, hips twitching. She only answers with a weter, greedy gulp and holds him there until he spills down her throat in hot, heavy pulses. She swallows every drop with a satisfied smirk, licks the corner of her mouth, then stands up and adjusts her shorts like nothing happened. Jack's still catching his breath against the sink when she grabs another popsicle from the freezer and strolls out, whistling.