Doing the laundry

Sorting laundry leaves little to the imagination. She sits on the bed in a tangle of T-shirts and shorts, skirt hitched up, panties already peeled to one ankle. Her fingers move slow at first—long strokes, shallow circles—then faster, pushing deeper until the wet sound rises above the hum of the dryer. Blond hair spills over one shoulder while a darker strand clings to her lip, and she doesn’t brush it away; she’s too busy chasing the next shiver that tightens her thighs around her own wrist.