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“Oh, really?” I say.
He sticks his head out from around the glass and grins at me, water running down his jaw and chest, his hair sticking to his face in a way that shouldn’t be cute but somehow still is. Wet dog should not be an attractive look, but somehow on Miles, his grin makes everything work.
“There’s plenty of room for two,” he says, gesturing inside. I can see his growing erection, and it sends a flood of arousal through my body.
Without a word, I find the hem of my shirt and pull it slowly up over my head, keeping my eyes on Miles the whole time to watch the way his own grow wider. Once I throw my shirt to the floor, I reach down and undo the button on my pants so I can slip them down too, shamelessly turning to stick my ass out more than necessary until at last I kick the pants away, leaving me in my bra and panties. If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have worn a nicer pair.
Miles doesn’t seem to mind the simplicity, though. His eyes rake over my body, up and down like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my skin. It should be embarrassing but somehow it makes me feel treasured instead.
“It’s nice and warm in here,” says Miles with a grin, holding out his hand. “I think you should join me.”
“Oh, yeah?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “And what do I get in return?”
He grins again. “I can think of one or two things.” He licks his lips, which sends a shiver down my spine.
“I hope they’re the same one or two things I’m thinking of.”
“I’ll wash your back?” he jokes, though his scorching eyes on my body betray his true desire.
He’s unblinking as I unclasp my bra and slip down my panties. Despite it being warm in here, the hairs on my arms stand on end in anticipation of what’s to come.
Miles holds out his hand more insistently, and I step forward to take it. He grips tightly onto me as I step into the shower. We do an awkward dance around each other, arms and bodies tangling so I can get under the water, my breasts squeezing against Miles’s firm chest as we rotate. I don’t really need to shower, but the hot water and the proximity feel good.
I drop back my head and let the water hit me in the face, and while my eyes are closed, Miles makes the first move. He places both hands on my hips, brushing his fingers lightly up my waistline, which makes me shiver. “Keep going,” I demand in a whisper.
So he does, darting forward to kiss my throat, his tongue snaking in wild patterns over my skin. My breath grows ragged as he keeps touching me, my chest rising and falling, little gasps escaping me with his every move.
And because my eyes are screwed shut against the water, every move is a mystery, which just makes everything more exciting. I can’t tell where he’s going to touch me next, and it makes me prickle with anticipation. He runs his hands back up my body and brings a thumb to my nipple. I let out a moan as he teases it to hardness. “Miles, please,” I whine.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward to capture a kiss as at the same time as his other hand moves to dip between my legs. The wetness that he finds there isn’t just from the shower.
The very core of me is overheating, desperate for his fingers, and to my relief he doesn’t deny me the pleasure of them. Still kissing me, he slips his fingers deep inside me and all I can do is grip onto him like he’s a rock that I’m trying to tether myself to in case the crashing waves wash me away. Between his fingers inside me and his thumb circling my nipple and his lips on my mouth and my jaw and neck, it doesn’t take long before a climax hits me, rushing over me like a tsunami.
I tremble in his arms as the orgasm rips through me, my hips bucking and my knees weakening. “Fuck, Miles,” I mumble into his mouth. The way he smiles as he kisses me makes me dizzier than I already am, but with his arms wrapped tightly around me, I know that there’s no way in the world he would let me fall.
I keep kissing him, the fire in my belly still raging, still wanting more. I reach out for his cock to take it in my hand, which makes him moan softly too. He’s rock-hard and he must be aching as much as I am.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to him. He kisses me hard on the lips again, then spins me around. I yelp, my arms flinging out to brace myself against the wall. But his hands are firm on my waist, like we’re in a ballet and he’s supporting me as we perform a dramatic sequence, a complex series of moves, getting into the perfect position for the final number.
Holding me tight, he brushes against my entrance and pushes inside. The feeling of fullness makes me gasp as he enters, the hormones rushing through my body making me desperate for him to move. And then he does, his rhythm perfect and fluid as his hips roll in time.
My fingers curl against the tiles, trying to grip them, but the smooth finish gives me nothing to hold on to. But his arms are still wrapped tightly around me, refusing to let me fall as our bodies merge into a perfect unison.
As his pace increases, he lets his fingers slip down to my clit once more to tease me. I cry out, still sensitive, and all the feelings crash over me again, the heat and his hands, his lips on my shoulder, and his own groans of pleasure sending me rushing towards orgasm again. I hit it with a scream, trusting him with every part of me, letting myself go entirely.
He laughs in my ear and kisses my cheek as he comes, squeezing my hips so hard I think they might bruise. We stand unmoving for a long moment, the water pounding down around us, masking the sounds of us panting until my brain and body finally reconnect and I twist to kiss him again.
“I guess we’re in the right place,” I say, gesturing to our bodies and the shower.
“How about that back rub?” he grins.
“I could be persuaded,” I say, and don’t regret it because the magic of his fingers loosens every muscle in my shoulders as he works his way down my spine.
We dance around each other again as we clean, trying not to elbow or knee each other with every rotation. I could stay in here forever, isolated in our own little world, but we’ve used so much water by now that I’m starting to feel bad, and my skin is turning wrinkled from the heat.
I kiss him once more before I step out, grabbing a towel to wrap around myself. He follows me out and I try not to look at him, steeling myself for the conversation I know we have to have next. I pull on my shirt and quietly say, “We can’t keep doing this.”
His face falls, his postcoital glow dimming a little. “Oh. Okay,” he says coolly, like he’s pretending not to care, rubbing his head with a towel.
