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It’s when I dip between my thighs, my small hands stroking intently against my pussy, that he breaks from his motionless stance and steps into me, pushing me against all that white subway tile and pressing his mouth to mine again.
The way his body feels against mine—hard, wet, slick with soap—is unreal. When he dips down so his dick is pressed between my legs, rubbing back and forth between my lower lips and putting friction and pressure against my clit, I can’t help but let out a deep moan.
God, it feels so good, the way he just keeps stroking and stroking, over and over.
I told Boyd I’ve never had an orgasm before, and it’s true. I’ve also never felt this keyed up before, never felt like I’m a cord pulled taut and ready to snap at any second.
“Boyd.” I breathe out his name, unable to say anything else.
“You gonna come for me?” he asks, his mouth dropping to suck on my neck.
“I don’t know.”
It’s the only thing I can say in response, because I really don’t know. This feels so much bigger than the meager little tremblings I’ve felt at my own hands in my bed as I’ve tried to figure out my orgasm in the past. It’s like I’m chugging up the ramp on a roller coaster, getting ready to crest the top and fall over.
It almost feels too big. Too much. Too deep, even though he’s not even inside of me. I keep squirming, my breaths coming faster and my cries harder to hold back.
“Boyd, I can’t,” I say, realizing with desperation that I probably won’t ever reach the top.
His motions stutter at my words and his head comes back so we’re looking at each other.
“You can.”
I shake my head and close my eyes.
It still feels so good, but I can’t look at him while I’m like this, wound so tight with nowhere to go.
“It’s okay,” I say, my hands halting his motions between my legs, his body coming to a standstill.
Boyd’s brow furrows as his eyes take in the expression on my face. The last thing I want is for him to turn this into something where he focuses on trying to get me off when I know it’s not going to happen.
Other men have done that in the past, and it does the exact opposite of what they want it to do. Instead of making me feel good, it sucks away the good I’ve enjoyed so far.
So, instead of allowing him to focus on me, I take his dick in my hand, stroking him. His eyes shut and his jaw tenses as he lets out another of those moans I’m quickly becoming addicted to.
I keep him like that until he’s thrusting into my hand, the overhead water washing the soap off of us. Then I drop to my knees, intent on him remembering this as the time he got sucked off in the shower and not as the time he couldn’t make Ruby come.
His eyes fly open and he looks down at me, his jaw slack and his breathing heavy as I suck him between my lips and stroke him with my tongue. I use my hand to wrap around the part of him I can’t fit into my mouth, pumping him as I lick and suck, never letting my eyes look away from his.
“Fuck, Ruby,” he moans, his hand resting on the side of my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.
It’s when I use my other hand to tug on his balls that I feel him wobble a little bit on his feet, and I use that knowledge against him. I fondle his heavy sac, rolling him in my hand, never letting up on where I’m sucking.
Until his head tilts back and he tells me he’s coming.
I pull my mouth off, watching his entire body tense, his hands bracing against the shower walls as he comes hard. The evidence quickly swishes down the shower drain, but I’ll never forget the look on Boyd’s face as he rests his forehead against his bicep, his breath coming in pants.
I stand, my own desire still buzzing in my lower stomach, the space between my thighs aching at how sexy he looks when he comes.
“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard,” he says, finally standing up straight and looking at me with a smile. “Shit, Ruby.”
Then he steps closer and pulls me in for a deep kiss.
I could quickly become addicted to these, to the feel of his warm mouth and slick tongue, the pressure of his lips against mine.
But the longer we kiss, the more I can feel his hands shifting toward my center again, and I know he’s wanting to return his attention to my body. To my ache, my need.
Stepping back, I smile at him. “Now that we’ve gotten a little dirty, let’s get actual clean,” I say with a smile, trying to redirect as I spin around and focus my attention on the bottle of shampoo in the corner.
