Missus Fix-It

Whitney Wright opens her door expecting some tired old guy with a wrench. Instead Scarlett Alexis stands there, toolbox in hand. Hot enough to knock the breath out of her chest. Scarlett says the landlord is her dad and he's slowing down, so she runs his repair calls now. Whitney swallows the surprise, shrugs, and waves her inside. They head to the bathroom. Talk stays light—work, old pipes, the weather—until Scarlett slides under the sink and that ass fills out her jeans like it was poured in. Whitney leans on the doorframe, eyes dropping, pulse kicking up. A pipe splits. Cold water explodes, slapping Scarlett straight in the chest. Her white T-shirt clings, tits bare underneath, nipples cutting through the cotton. Whitney freezes, then lunges for the shutoff. When she turns back, Scarlett's still dripping, breathing hard. Whitney grabs a towel and presses it against those wet curves. Too close. Fingers slip, fabric peels, and Scarlett’s skin feels warm, electric. The air flips, heavy, quiet. No words. Scarlett drops the wrench, Whitney tosses the towel. They hit the bathroom wall hard, mouths crashing, hands shoving clothes out of the way. Scarlett spins Whitney around, yanks her shorts down, tongue sliding up the inside of her thigh. Whitney gasps, grabs the edge of the sink, and Scarlett eats her like she’s starving, fingers curling inside while water still trickles down the pipe. They slide to the floor, slick tiles under skin, legs tangled. Scarlett rides Whitney’s thigh, grinding until her breath breaks, while Whitney’s mouth works her nipples, sucking hard, tasting coppery skin and leftover water. Time stops. Nothing but wet sounds and bitten-off moans bouncing off the tiles until they both come shaking and spend.