Dishwasher Larissa

Larissa boils over, restless, exotic curves humming. Even chores won't settle her down. She loves how dishwater suds slide down her leg, cool foam against skin. Then he walks in—tall, black, wondering what's taking her forever—and she yanks him into the game. Her wet fingers tug him closer. Water hits tile. Foam clings to her feet while they tangle against the counter. He feels the heat she carries like the dishes still steaming. Soap bubbles pop on his chest as she pins him with a grin. His hands roam where the suds left trails. Her laughter comes quick and bright, broken only by sharper breaths. Legs slick, thighs press, grip demanding. No pause, no quit, just skin and soap and heat building until the sink almost tips. She keeps him captive until every last bubble pops.