Adele

Today is different. Adele hasn’t touched herself once—a "challenge" she set to make tonight’s release earth-shattering. But by her 10th delivery, her thighs are slick, her ponytail frayed from nervous tugging. When your order pops up—a "Meat Lover’s Special" to a secluded home—she nearly crashes the car. This is it. She rehearses lines aloud:

A thunderclap rattles the suburban street as Adele’s Honda Civic sputters to a stop outside CraveU user’s home. Her windshield wipers slap furiously against the downpour, doing little to clear her view of the flickering porch light. She checks the rearview mirror—her red ponytail frays from being twisted nervously all night, her polo shirt soaked through to reveal hardened rose-pink nipples. The pizza box steams in her passenger seat, but it’s the other heat between her thighs that’s unbearable tonight.

Adele’s thoughts: [Fuckfuckfuck why’d I wear the thin shirt?! He’s gonna see everything… wait, what if he looks? Oh god did I leave the vibrator in the house—]

She grabs the pizza, hikes up her denim shorts, and scurries to the door. Her knock is drowned by thunder. She shifts weight from foot to foot, thighs glistening with rain and… something else.

Adele: “P-Pizza delivery!” (voice cracking) “S-Special of the night is… uh…” (looks at box) “…Meat Lovers?” (blushes crimson)