Steam blurred the mirror and wrapped the room in heat. She pressed her palms flat to the tile, spray streaming over her shoulders. His hands moved slow across her back, soapy hands sliding in careful circles.
“You plan on washing me,” she said over her shoulder, “or just petting me until the water runs cold?”
His mouth curved hot against her neck, lips grazing damp skin, each breath fanning warmth through the steam. His hands slid down to her hips, then swept back up the length of her side in slow, claiming strokes.
“Petting seems to be working,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement.
His fingers drifted forward, brushing until they found the tight peaks of her breasts. He rolled them lightly between thumb and forefinger, teasing in deliberate circles that sent a tremor rippling through her body. His mouth stayed at her nape, wet hair pushed aside, while his chest pressed hard to her back until they were nearly fused, slick skin against slick skin.
His touch shifted again, gliding from stiffened peaks to trace the swells of her breasts. His palms cupped and kneaded with firm, coaxing pressure, heat building under every squeeze, while his mouth closed on the curve of her ear, teeth catching lightly as her breathing became more shallow.
She let out a breathy moan, low and unsteady, but the sound fractured when his fingers slid lower, skimming the slippery edge of where she needed him. He lingered there, maddeningly close, the promise of more without giving it. Her entire body tightened, every muscle drawn tense with anticipation that refused to break.
“You’re cruel,” she whispered, arching back into him, the words shaky, more plea than protest.
“Not cruel,” he corrected softly, his thumb drawing measured, merciless circles that wound her tighter. The touch was deceptively tender, almost reverent, but laced with restraint sharp enough to make her ache. “Just patient.”
The contradiction unraveled her, soft strokes that soothed and tortured in the same breath. She pressed against him, desperate for friction, for more, but he held steady. Heat pooled low in her belly, coiling tighter with every second he made her wait. Her nails scraped lightly at the tile, fighting the urge to beg, fighting the part of her that wanted to give him the victory of hearing her break.
The silence between them grew thick, her breath quickening, body trembling in his hold. And just when she thought she couldn’t take another moment of his restraint…
When he finally gave her more, she inhaled sharply, her body bowing under the relentless rhythm of his hand. One arm stayed firm around her waist, steadying her against the slick tile, the other tracing as his fingers found her. They circled gently, coaxing her into tremors. Her knees weakened, but he held her close, keeping her safe even as he unraveled her.
‘Careful,’ he murmured against her ear, a grin in his voice, fingers still expertly working at a steady pace. ‘Can’t have you sliding down the wall on me.’ His arm tightened, holding her upright through the shocks that shook her entire body as she reached her peak.
As she finally caught her breath, he kissed her neck tenderly and whispered, low and certain, ‘Just a preview.’
She turned him to under the spray, pressing the soap into her palms until it slipped slick between her fingers.
“Your turn,” she said, voice low but edged with mischief.
She smoothed her hands across his chest first, slow circles gliding over slick skin, her nails tracing faint, teasing lines that left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Her fingertips shifted between gentle sweeps and sharper grazes, mapping the hard lines of muscle beneath the lather. She dragged lightly along the curve of his pecs, then followed the slope of his shoulders, palms kneading before her nails skimmed down the length of his arms. Each stroke was deliberate, equal parts caress and claim, leaving his skin tingling where she lingered.
Her hands drifted lower, fingers spreading wide as if she meant to be thorough, her palms gliding over the ridges of his stomach. Her nails traced faint trails through the soap, circling his navel before dragging down in slow, deliberate lines that left his muscles tightening under her touch.
By the time she reached his hips, her touch had shifted, no longer practical, no longer about cleansing. Her hands framed him there, thumbs pressing into the sharp cut of bone while her fingertips slipped lower, brushing the edge of him with feather light teases. The lather made every stroke glide effortlessly, her movements shamelessly indulgent, each stroke weighted with more intent more claiming.
His breath caught, chest rising sharper against the steam. He pressed back into the wall, a low sound rumbled in his throat, half groan, half warning, and his body arched toward her touch as if every nerve leaned into her. She felt the taut pull of muscle under her palms, the faint quiver of restraint as he fought not to thrust into her hand too soon.
Her smile curved against his damp skin, savoring the way his composure cracked, every measured breath giving way to something rawer, harder to hold back.
His body moved in rhythm under her hands, and she leaned closer, mouth brushing his shoulder as she whispered, “Maybe I should take my time with this spot.”
Her soapy hands slid lower, each stroke stretching into a slower drag until she heard his breath catch, then quicken sharp and uneven. His palm pressed hard to the tile, muscles straining as his body arched helplessly toward her hand, chasing the relief she kept just out of reach.
She looked up through the mist, catching the raw edge of hunger etched across his face. A sly smile touched her lips as she pressed her mouth to his damp skin. “Not here,” she murmured, drawing one last deliberate, agonizing sweep of her hand before slipping away. Her fingers lingered a fraction too long, the withdrawal its own torment. “You don’t get to finish in the shower.”
He groaned low in his throat, half frustration, half laugh, and dragged her against him, lips finding her ear. “That’s cruel.”
“Not cruel,” she whispered, licking a stray bead of water from his chest. “Just pacing. Women aren’t one and done like men. I need you to last awhile longer.”
His hands closed firm on her hips. “Then I hope you’re ready for round after round.”
The water slowed to a drizzle before he finally reached past her to shut it off. He snagged a towel, wrapping it around her shoulders, but his hands lingered longer than the fabric.
She reached for her own towel, dragging it across his chest in slow strokes, but the drying soon gave way to touch. Their hands kept finding bare skin instead of cotton, and the towels slipped forgotten to the floor.
He leaned close, lips skimming her collarbone, catching on the last bead of water she’d missed. “Still not dry,” he murmured, tongue chasing the drop.
Her laugh caught in her throat, shaky, as he steadied her with a palm at the small of her back. Step by step, he pressed her gently toward the bedroom.
The bedroom was dim, only the faintest glow spilling across the room, and the air felt cooler after the steam, raising goosebumps across her skin as he eased her back onto the bed. He leaned down, pressing kisses across her damp collarbone, then lower, tracing each drop of water the towel had missed.
She shivered under him, but not from want alone. “I’m cold,” she whispered, though her hands still clung at his shoulders.
He smiled, pulling her closer, chest to chest, his body heat wrapping hers. “Then I’ll keep you warm,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth before rolling them sideways, tucking her into his arms. He pulled the blanket over them both.
She curled against him, bare legs tangling with his, their breath mingling in the dim flicker of candlelight. The soft hush of fabric, the faint weight of the blankets, made it feel secret. Like the world outside had vanished.
The kisses started slow, unhurried, his mouth brushing hers as though savoring the first taste. He deepened it gradually, lips coaxing hers open until their breaths mingled in a languid rhythm. His tongue traced hers with patient strokes, every movement deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The softness of it made her melt into him, the kiss unfurling like silk between them.
But beneath the tenderness lay a simmering pull, a quiet hunger pressing closer with every lingering pass of his mouth. When he finally broke away, it was only to trail lower, gliding from the corner of her lips to the curve of her cheek, then down the slope of her throat. She sighed, tilting her head to offer him more, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as his lips lingered at her pulse. Every kiss was paired with his hand, sliding beneath the blanket, palm warming her hip, her ribs, the swell of her breast.
“Mmm… getting warm now,” she murmured, curling in close, her voice low and lazy. Her hand slid across his chest, fingers gliding in slow, idle sweeps. Her nails followed after, light and deliberate, dragging faint lines that barely broke the surface but left his skin alive beneath her touch.
She let her palm settle over the steady beat of his heart, lingering just long enough to feel it shift. Then she drifted lower, no rush in her movements, just quiet intent, as if exploring terrain she already knew but still loved to map. Her fingers traced the dips of his abdomen, drawing soft, aimless shapes until her hand dipped farther.
When she found him, her touch barely grazed at first, teasing the heat that already pulsed there. He swelled quickly beneath her hand, thickening as her fingers wrapped around him in a rhythm that didn’t try to finish anything, just feel it. She stroked him slow, steady, letting him grow harder with each pass, savoring how his breath changed, how his chest rose sharp under hers.
He tensed, one hand catching at her hip like he needed something to anchor him. His voice was thick with need, strained at the edge. “Careful. You’ll get me worked up too fast.”
Her satisfied smile brushed his throat, her lips kissing, tongue snaking out to taste his skin, her hand still moving with infuriating calm. “Isn’t that the point?” she whispered.
A sound rumbled out of him, deep and guttural, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull her in or push her back. His restraint cracked just enough to let the heat show through, but he was still holding the line. Barely.
He pulled her tighter beneath the covers, his hands roaming with wordless promise.
For a moment, they didn’t move. Heat pulsed between them, not in urgency but in something heavier, something suspended, like the whole room was holding its breath with them.
The moment stretched, balanced in that hush between foreplay and comfort, her legs sliding around his, breath mingling in the quiet dim. Every kiss deepened. Every stroke of his hands grew more certain, more reverent, until warmth built low and steady inside her.
She crested without warning, sudden waves breaking over her one after the other, rolling and slow. Her body tightened against his, thighs trembling, voice cracking somewhere between a moan and a whisper. He held her close through it, the rhythm of his hands steady, his presence anchoring.
And just as her lungs began to fill again, he found her with the same quiet purpose, fingers circling low, never stopping, drawing what still quivered in her even further back to the surface. The second climax stole through her faster, sharper, crashing into the first before it even had time to fade. She tensed, hips lifting into his hand, broken sounds spilling from her as her body arched and crumpled all at once.
He didn’t speak. He leaned in and kissed her, deep yet soft, like he was still securing her through it, like she hadn’t stopped shuddering and he didn’t want her to. His arm tightened around her back, the other hand gentle between them, easing her down in gentle, persuading strokes until the tension gave way to something quiet, something tender. Her breath came in shallow bursts, forehead pressed to his throat, and he just held her, firm, tender, unmoving except to breathe with her.
And then, without urgency, he began again.
Skin to skin, their breathing synced, the steady press of his hand anchoring her. His thumb traced small, coaxing circles, every touch whispering patience, every touch pulling her back into the heat blooming low in her belly. He steadied her when her body trembled, whispered nothing, just stayed present, unshaken, letting her rise again at her own pace.
And rise she did.
She crested again without warning, sensation swelling slow, then tipping hard. Sudden waves broke over her one after the other, aching and slow. Her body locked against his, thighs tensing, breath catching sharp as he held her through it, rhythm steady, touch unwavering.
The aftershocks still rippled through her, her body twitching against him, breath coming in soft, shattered gasps. He held her close, one hand steady at her hip, the other still between her legs, moving, slow and certain. Drawing out the last of it.
She barely had time to recover when he moved.
He kissed her once, slow, claiming, and then shifted, easing her gently onto her back. The blanket slipped down as cool air kissed her flushed skin. He trailed down her body with reverence, mouth brushing her collarbone, her ribs, the soft dip of her stomach. When he reached her thighs, he didn’t pause. He didn’t ask. He simply continued.
His mouth met her with warmth and certainty, tongue stroking in slow, deliberate circles. His fingers slid into her, one pressing in deep, curling just enough to find what he was after. He built her again with the same patience, the same unrelenting calm that had wrecked her the first time.
Her hand searched for something to hold. She fisted the sheets, her breath stuttering as he worked her, mouth and hand in perfect rhythm. Controlled. Expert. Worshipful.
The pressure was too much and not enough, that maddening place just before the fall. Her thighs tensed, her hips jerking in small, reflexive movements, but she wasn’t pulling him in this time.
And still, he didn’t stop.
When she started to squirm, he caught her thighs and lifted, hooked one, then the other, over his shoulders. The angle shifted everything. He leaned in deeper, his arms locking her hips down as his mouth worked her over like he had all night left to do it.
She tried to pull back, instinct, not intent,but he was stronger. Focused. Unrelenting.
“Please….” she gasped desperately, breath ragged. “I...I..can’t….oh my god, give me a second, please…”
But he didn’t let go.
He tightened his hold.
Fingers curled deep inside her, tongue focusing her into sharp, purposeful circles, dragging her straight into her next orgasm with no room to breathe. It came jagged, violent in how fast it overtook her. Her body twisted against the bed, thighs clenching, her cry cracking open in the center as if it had nowhere to go.
Still, he didn’t let up.
Her body was moving, breath coming in sharp bursts, raw moans from the sheer intensity of it all. It was too much, but it was still happening, and her body couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
She whimpered, a raw, ruined sound, and he kept going. His tongue slowed just enough to build her again. Fingers never leaving her. Her legs were trembling on his shoulders now, twitching from sheer overstimulation, her throat too raw to beg again.
It didn’t matter.
He knew what she needed.
And then the next came, harder than all the rest. Her body seized around it, a full-body spasm, helpless and wild. She didn’t moan, she cried out, sharp and strangled, like her breath had nowhere to go but out. The sound punched straight from her chest, raw and involuntary. Her legs jerked against his shoulders, one final twitch before her whole body seized. Her fingers curled tight into the sheets, back arching, and then she shattered, utterly, completely, coming undone in his hands like her body had given up holding anything back. Only when she went completely limp beneath him did he slow.
Not stop. Just soften. His mouth gentled, his fingers easing as he kissed her inner thigh, then lower belly, then up, soft reverence where there had been pure devotion.
By the time he reached her again, she could barely breathe, eyes glassy and half lidded. He lay beside her and pulled her into his arms, easing her gently against his chest. She melted into him, limp and trembling, her breath still catching in shallow waves.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, slow, unrushed, and let his hand drift in quiet circles along her back.
“My baby,” he murmured, voice barely more than breath. “Love it when you surrender like that.”
“I can’t feel my legs,” she whispered, dazed and wrecked. “You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer, just kissed her slow. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him close. They stayed like that for a while, trading kisses and gentle touches, her breathing slowly finding a steadier rhythm.
Then she slid down beneath the covers, every movement still trembling, but now her smile carried intent.
“My turn,” she murmured.
The warmth shifted with her, the blanket draping heavy across her back as she pressed kisses along his stomach, lower, until her mouth found him.
His groan rumbled through the low lit room, his hand settling at the back of her head, fingers threading firm and steady. She took her time, tongue tracing deliberate circles, hands moving in rhythm with her mouth, unhurried, but relentless.
His breathing changed, first steady, then rougher, jagged. Each exhale heavier than the last. She felt the tension coil tight in his body, hips lifting to meet her mouth, seeking more even as she kept the pace maddeningly slow.
The sound of him, those low groans breaking into harsher gasps, only spurred her on. His hand tightened, fingers flexing like he didn’t know whether to guide her or surrender. She gave him neither. She just kept going, savoring every crack in his restraint, every moment he tried to speak and couldn’t.
When he finally started to quiver, his grip tightening, breath catching sharp and uneven, she drew back deliberately, lips trailing the last inch before slipping free.
Her smile curved, slow and sly, eyes glinting as she wiped a bead of moisture from her mouth with the back of her hand. Without missing a beat, she slid back up the length of him, skin to skin, trailing kisses up his chest as she climbed, pausing at his throat, then his mouth.
His hands found her hips instinctively, fingers tightening just enough, guiding her into place.
She straddled him, thighs braced against his sides, the covers slipping low enough to frame them in shadow and candlelight. He tilted his head into the pillow, eyes locked on hers.
His hands lifted her with effortless strength, steadying her rhythm.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, guiding her down, slow, careful, until he was fully seated inside her.
She let out a long, unsteady breath, hands clinging to his chest, the heat of him filling her to the edge of ache and pleasure all at once.
He held her there. Just held her. Giving her time to adjust. To savor.
When she began to move, the first motions were shallow, but his hands kept her steady, rocking her hips with gentle insistence, moving her into a rhythm she could keep. The blankets tangled around their legs, trapping them in their own warmth, every motion contained in that secret cocoon.
Her palms pressed flat to his chest for balance, nails grazing his skin as her head tipped back. He shifted beneath her, then sat up suddenly, pulling her with him so their chests pressed tight. His arms wrapped around her back, steadying her as she clung to his shoulders. Her breath stuttered when his mouth found her collarbone, then her lips, kissing her through every broken sound.
She moaned into him, muffled, her hips finding a slower rhythm under the firm guidance of his hands. One anchored her waist, helping her move against him, while the other traced up her spine before sliding lower again, teasing every place he knew would make her shiver.
Every push, every pull was threaded with touch, with breath, with the low hum of his voice reminding her, again and again, that she was his.
Her rhythm faltered, uneven as the pleasure built too fast to hold back. She clutched at him, nails pressing into his shoulders, a breathless moan slipping out of her
“I can’t…” she gasped, shuddering.
“You can,” he murmured, steady and sure, his grip tightening at her hips. He slowed her movements, guiding her into deeper, smoother rolls that dragged her higher without letting her lose herself too soon. “I’ve got you, baby.”
Their bodies moved as one, slick and inevitable, his eyes never leaving hers, even when her head tipped back, even when her moan cracked into something raw.
Her thighs trembled, her whole body quaking as his thumb found a new rhythm, pulling her to the precipice. “That’s it,” he whispered, pressing slow kisses to her lips, steadying her through every broken breath.
And then she broke, body seizing around him as another climax ripped through her. He held her tight, one hand strong at her back, the other keeping her steady through every shudder, until she collapsed, limp and quivering, against his chest.
Her breath came in ragged waves, her body still quaking as his hand stroked soothing lines down her back, calming the storm he’d drawn out of her.
But then he shifted, bracing one arm around her back as he rolled them gently. She gasped, startled, only to find herself cushioned against the mattress, the weight of him pressing her deeper into the sheets without breaking their connection.
The blankets slipped low, half covering, half baring them both to the candlelit room. He kissed her softly, reverently, before sliding lower to taste the salt of her skin along her throat, the hollow of her collarbone. His hand caught beneath her thigh, lifting it high around his waist, opening her to him as he pressed deeper.
She moaned as he pushed deeply into her, the sound muffled against his shoulder, arms winding tight around him. He rocked into her slow at first, each thrust controlled, deliberate, his gaze locked to hers. His pace deepened with each roll of his hips, his hand continuing to hold her thigh high around his waist, anchoring her to him.
Pinned beneath him, she felt utterly surrounded by his weight, his warmth, the blanket cocoon, his mouth capturing hers between every moan. He kissed her through the rising rhythm, every thrust carrying both hunger and tenderness, until her fingers dug into his back.
When he finally let go, it was with a low groan that vibrated through her chest, his whole body shuddering as he pressed her harder into the mattress. His release shuddered through his body, his face buried in the curve of her neck, breath hot and fast against her skin. Her hands tightened around him. She whispered nothing more than soft sounds, her own breathing in his ear, her touch steady while his body slowly came down from the edge.
Even after the last pulse faded, she kept stroking slow lines along his back, fingertips tracing the heat of his skin. He stayed pressed close, heavy and warm above her, and she welcomed the soothing weight, blankets tangled around them, their bodies sealed together, hearts still racing in the same uneven rhythm.
She tilted her head with a grin, voice soft but teasing. “So… was it as good for you as it was for me? All five times?” Then she paused. “Was it five? Six? How many? Did you count? I may have lost count….”
His laugh rumbled low against her skin, lips brushing her neck. “Pretty sure your orgasms are a hell of a lot better than mine.” He paused just long enough to kiss her throat before adding with amusement, “But doesn’t matter. As long as I’m the one pulling them out of you.”
Her laugh broke into a moan as his hands slid lower again, squeezing her hips beneath the blankets. “Cocky,” she whispered, though her smile gave her away.
“Confident,” he corrected, kissing her again, slower this time. “And I’m not done proving it.”
She laughed. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
He nuzzled back into her neck, voice dropping softer. “Not right this second. Later. We’re both worn out. Time to snuggle and sleep.”
He shifted just enough to pull her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin, one arm draped tight around her waist. She sighed into his chest, the last of her laughter slipping into something softer, eyes growing heavy.
Neither spoke again, there was no need. Wrapped in heat and the weight of each other, they drifted together into sleep, the steady rise and fall of their bodies matching under the covering of blankets.
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