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“Now go get in the shower. I want you fresh and clean tonight.” He waits while I get my things out of my suitcase, stroking himself as he watches. My heart is hammering, my stomach in knots, and I can’t believe I’m actually going through with it.
But why not? I said I wanted a new life, didn’t I? This is as good a way to usher that in as any, I guess.
He follows me into the luxurious room, where I step into the glass-walled shower and place my toiletries on a shelf. Am I dreaming? I can’t be. I feel the water under my feet from when he showered, and I hear his deep, rasping breathing on the other side of the glass partition. He perches on the edge of the tub, and the sight of him is almost enough to make me forget my nerves.
He’s beautiful, perfect, chiseled, tanned, and completely focused on me.
“Get started,” he growls. “I want you shaved smooth.”
It’s a good thing I already prefer to be smooth, or else this would take a lot longer. I turn on the water and wait until it goes warm before letting it run over me, closing my eyes, and forcing a deep breath. I can do this. I’m going to do this. All it’s going to take is forgetting who I used to be and stepping into who I want to be.
First, I wash up, pouring body wash onto a cloth before I begin to run it over my arms. “Use your hands,” he instructs. “I want to watch you touching your body.” The dark, throbbing need in his voice makes my pulse race faster than ever.
It makes me bolder, too, allowing me the courage to put myself on display, to run my soapy hands over my neck, shoulders, and chest.
“Play with them.”
Jesus. He’s going to force me to break down every last one of my fears, isn’t he? Every last bit of my shyness.
I hold my breath as I take my breasts in my hands, squeezing a little, and soapy water sluices through my fingers. When I dare take a look at him, I find him stroking faster than before, his lips parted, his eyes glued to the soapy, glistening globes in my hands.
I lift them a little, like I’m offering them to him, and he shudders. Am I really doing this to him? I barely know myself, the girl who now soaps her hands up again, this time to slide them over her stomach and down her hips.
“Make sure your ass is nice and clean.” I take this as an instruction, turning around and bending at the waist. Holy hell, I’m actually about to do this, aren’t I? While he watches, I slide a hand between my cheeks, soaping my crack.
“Fuck, yeah,” he groans, and the almost helpless sound of it makes me move slower, my touches more deliberate now. My pussy is in agony, hot and swollen and so wet. Every stroke of my fingers leaves me wanting more.
Leaves me wishing he was the one touching me this way.
And all the while, all I can do is imagine what I would have thought back in school if anybody told me this would happen one day.
After a minute or so, I straighten up and turn around, soaping up my legs and feet, before pulling out my razor and touching up what I already shaved this morning. I save my pussy for last, my back to the wall, legs spread, crouching slightly.
He stands and steps up closer to the glass separating us. “That’s right. Get it smooth for me.”
It’s not like I didn’t think that’s where this was eventually going to go but hearing him say it out loud—that he plans on having me—makes a desperate craving explode in my core and reverberate through me until all I can do is moan softly, watching him watch me.
“Now touch yourself.” His voice is quiet, deep, shaking with need. “I want to see you play with that gorgeous pussy. Show me what you like.”
Nothing in the world could stop me because I’m hot enough that it almost hurts. I’ve never felt this way.
Like if I don’t come soon, I’ll die from it.
There is something insanely dirty about this, which is probably what leaves me hanging on the edge, just short of falling into what I know will be bliss. I run the tip of my forefinger over my clit while, with the other hand, I massage my breasts, pinching my nipples until I whimper in frustration because, god, I need to come. I need to come for him.
“Look at me.” I have no choice but to open my eyes and stare back at Colton, now rocking his hips slightly as he fucks his own fist.
“You’re gonna come with me,” he commands through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna come for me right now.”
And he’s right, I am; it hits me all at once. The tension and the throbbing and the sight of him so close to the edge all comes together at once and leaves me howling, almost afraid of the intensity of sensations that race through me, the familiar clenching of my pussy stronger than ever before, the shower spinning around me while all I can do is lean against the wall for support.
And the sight of Colton finding his own release makes it even better, drags it out, wave after wave rolling over me while I watch him shoot his cum across the glass. One, two, three, each splash runs slowly down the wall until he slows his stroking and lets his head fall back with a sigh.
Holy shit. What happens now? Funny how what seemed sensible—even necessary—a minute ago is now shocking. Why did I ever think that was a good idea? Now I have to face him. As if things weren’t awkward enough.
He lifts his head, straightening his posture, and for a breathless moment, I’m sure he’ll laugh at me. At how easy it was to get me to do everything he said—touching myself until I howled like an animal. I already wish I’d left the room in disgust when he made his little offer. I’d rather spend the night in my car than be laughed at now.
Only he’s not laughing when he grabs a fluffy towel, opens the shower door, and hands it to me. “That was very nice. And promising,” he adds, snickering as I begin drying off. “I have high hopes for the rest of the night.”
