Two nights had passed since Mr. Blackwell fixed my sink, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head.

I’d touched myself raw that same evening after he left — twice on the couch, once in the shower, and again before bed. Each orgasm left me shaking, but the hunger only grew deeper.

I felt like a woman possessed.

I tried to distract myself. I worked late, binge-watched shows, even went for a run around the block. Nothing worked. My pussy stayed in a constant state of low-grade ache, slick and sensitive.

I kept replaying how that thick bulge had twitched and shifted while he lay under my sink....