He kisses down my leg, my ankle, my foot, finally stepping back, closer to the shower, and leaving me slack-jawed on the counter. I’m about to protest when he drops his shorts, removes his socks, and starts to walk backwards to the shower entrance. I want him to come back, but I have no clothes to grab and drag him back by.
He continues to back up, a tempting smirk on his face, until he’s in the shower. He doesn’t close the door, but stands under the stream and waits for me, raising an eyebrow. I hop off the counter and discard my remaining clothes as fast as I can.
He lets me stand under the stream of water first, and for a second, I forget that we were in the middle of something. I let the warm water wash away the sweat and rain. I close my eyes, letting the water warm me. With my arms raised, running them over my hair, I feel a light touch on my ribcage where my tattoois. A shape he’s traced a few times today. I was relieved he hadn’t seen it before today, and even felt embarrassed when he found it initially, but turns out I didn’t need to feel that way. He seemed genuinely touched by its existence. And his reaction made me glad I’d kept it all this time.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” Miles says, both hands tracing over my ribs, my waist, my hips. He steps in close to press the length of his body against mine.
The edges of my lips tug into an involuntary smile. There’s no doubt my cheeks are pink, but the heat of the shower is probably hiding that.
He hooks a finger under my chin and brings my gaze up to his. “Take the compliment,” he says.
“You’re so bossy,” I say.
“You like it.”
“Do I?”
“Let’s find out,” he says, a devilish grin on his face. He takes two steps back, the downlighting of the shower highlighting his muscles. Water drips down his body, following the trails those hard lines create as my eyes travel with them. Down his broad chest, his strong but softened belly, down the V-line to his very erect, very hard cock.
With one hand he starts to stroke himself, never taking his eyes off me. It feels lewd, and also incredibly sexy. Just watching him is getting me going. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, my eyes bouncing between his pumping hand and his eyes.
“You want this?” he asks, his voice low and inviting.
I nod, at a complete loss for words.
“On your knees.”
Without thinking about it, I comply. I’m on my knees, my hands reaching out to hold his thighs. I look up at him, waiting.
“Now be a good girl and put your mouth on my cock.”
I don’t hesitate. I take him in my mouth and revel in the groan he makes as he moves his hand from himself to the back of my head. I don’t even care that he’s proving himself right. I do think it’s hot when he’s bossy. I do like it when he tells me what to do. He likes to be in charge, he knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to ask for it or take it.
And if what Miles wants is me…well, right now the answer is yes.
I run my tongue along his shaft, enclosing his head fully in my mouth. The noise he makes gives me so much satisfaction, knowing I’m bringing him as much pleasure as he’s brought me. It encourages me to keep going, to give him more. I bob my head on him, using my hand to pump the rest of him because he’s too much for me to take fully in my mouth. He seems to appreciate the double effort, groaning and tilting his head back.
He rests both of his hands on my head, not pushing on me or forcing me, but holding me. A tender cradling of my head as it moves, working him to a frenzy.
“Fuck, Abby…it’s so good. That mouth is heaven.”
I dig my fingers into his thighs in response, enjoying the way the ridges and texture of his shaft feel on my tongue as I lick from the base to the tip, closing my mouth around him again. He groans appreciatively.
“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth like that.”
He runs his fingers through my hair.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, and I nod in response, not taking my mouth away from him. I’d forgotten how sexy I feel when I pleasure Miles. Hearing him say my name half-moaned doesn’t just make me hornier; it gives me confidence. To bring a person to a state of physical weakness, to elicit the kind of groans Miles is making, it makes me wonder what else I’m capable of. This is what it means to feel powerful.
No man I’ve ever dated has been as vocal or appreciative; none has ever held my head so gently. Miles lets me set the pace and pressure. He might have told me to get on my knees, but he’s handed me the power now, something I don’t often feel I have a grasp of in my own life. To have a safe space to hold power is healing a part of me that has felt helpless in the face of my own body. Having a chronic illness puts me at the mercy of my body, unable to control the pain, grasping at relief. But Miles has put me in charge of his body, of his pleasure, of our pleasure, of my body. He wants me to take whatever I want from him and give whatever I want to him. He’s an eager partner, willing to let me take charge.
I’m eager to exercise my power, and I find the opening when I’m ready to switch activities. I look up at him through my eyelashes from my place on the shower floor.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say, clearly and decisively.
“Now who’s bossy?” he says with a smirk, but helps me to stand, moving us like dance partners so he’s in the water stream.
“You like it,” I say as he spins me, pretzeling my arms across my own body, my back pressed against his chest. The hard length of him presses against the seam of my ass and I arch into him. He nuzzles his mouth into the crook of my neck. Miles’s body blocks most of the water, but it sprays around me in a warm mist.
