Chapter 5: Steam and Surrender
The elevator ride up was a study in tension. Not the bad kind. The air between them hummed, thick with unsaid things and the lingering heat from the couch. Rio had simply taken Agatha’s hand, pulled her up, and wordlessly led her toward the bedroom. But they’d passed the open door to the bathroom, and Rio had paused, her gaze swinging from the opulent, tiled space back to Agatha’s rain-damp clothes.
“First,” she’d said, a new, pragmatic note in her voice. “You’re wet.”
Now, under the rainfall showerhead, Agatha understood the double meaning. The water was scalding, a shocking paradise that pounded the tension from her shoulders. Steam clouded the sleek glass enclosure, sealing them in a private, liquid world.
Rio stood behind her, hands splayed on Agatha’s stomach, pulling her back against a body that was all firm muscle and slick skin. Her mouth found the sensitive juncture where Agatha’s neck met her shoulder, not a kiss but a slow, open-mouthed drag of teeth that made Agatha’s knees buckle.
“You have no idea,” Rio murmured into her skin, her voice a vibration Agatha felt in her marrow, “how long I’ve wanted to ruin this cynical, smart mouth of yours.”
Her hands moved, one sliding up to cup a breast, thumb roughly circling a nipple already pebbled tight from the heat and the attention. The other hand slid down, through the slick thatch of curls, and didn’t hesitate.
“Christ, you’re soaked,” Rio growled, the crude observation a compliment. Her fingers parted Agatha, found her clit, and applied a direct, perfect pressure.
Agatha’s head fell back against Rio’s shoulder. A strangled gasp was all she could manage, her hands flying back to grip Rio’s thighs for support. Words were impossible. Thought was impossible. There was only the boiling water and the ruthless, knowing hand between her legs.
“Think you can come just from this?” Rio’s breath was hot in her ear. Her fingers moved in tight, relentless circles. “I bet you can. I bet you’re so wound up you’ll shatter from a touch.”
Agatha was close, horrifyingly, embarrassingly close. The orgasm built like a wave, fast and terrifying in its intensity. She nodded frantically, a helpless, jerking motion.
“No,” Rio said, and stopped.
The denial was a physical blow. Agatha whimpered, a raw, desperate sound she didn’t recognize as her own.
Rio turned her, hands firm on her hips, pressing Agatha’s back against the cold, riverstone tile. The shock of the cold against her overheated skin made her cry out. Rio’s eyes, dark and consuming through the steam, held hers.
“Open,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.
Agatha’s legs trembled but she obeyed, shifting her stance. The approving noise Rio made was a low growl. She dropped to her knees on the shower floor, the water cascading over her dark hair, plastering it to her skull as she looked up, her gaze predatory.
She didn’t kiss her there. She examined her, as if admiring artistry. Then she leaned in and licked, one long, flat, devastating stroke from bottom to top.
Agatha screamed. Her hands scrabbled against the slick tile, finding no purchase.
Rio groaned against her, the vibration sheer bliss. “Fuck, you taste good.” She said it like a fact, a discovery. Then she dove in, her mouth voracious, her tongue a relentless, clever instrument. She ate Agatha with a single-minded focus that was almost frightening, one hand hooking under Agatha’s thigh to hold her open, the other pinning her hip to the wall.
Agatha was babbling, a broken stream of “Oh god,” and “please,” and “Rio, please.” Her hips jerked, seeking more, chasing the punishing, beautiful rhythm of Rio’s tongue. The world narrowed to that point of contact, to the building, unsustainable pressure.
“I’m gonna— I can’t—” Agatha choked out.
Rio pulled back, her chin glistening. “Not yet.” She surged up, kissing Agatha hard, letting her taste herself on Rio’s tongue. Then her hand was back, fingers sliding through the drenched folds before pushing inside, two fingers, deep and curling.
Agatha sobbed. It was too much. It was everything.
“Now,” Rio snarled, her mouth sealing over a nipple, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, as her fingers pumped, ruthlessly finding a spot inside that made Agatha see white. “Come now. Scream it out.”
The command broke her. The orgasm detonated, a silent, shocking implosion for half a second before the sound followed. It was a ragged, torn-from-the-chest scream that echoed off the glass and tile, a raw sound of pure release. Her body convulsed, clutching around Rio’s fingers, her vision blurring as the water beat down on them.
Rio held her through it, working her gently, coaxing every last shudder. When Agatha finally sagged, boneless and trembling, Rio carefully withdrew her fingers and stood, catching her against her body.
“There,” Rio whispered into her hair, her own breathing ragged. “That’s one.”
Agatha could only gasp, her system utterly overloaded.
Rio reached for a bottle, squeezing citrus-scented soap into her hands. She began washing Agatha slowly, methodically, as if bathing a precious object. Her touch was gentle now, soothing the marks her mouth had left. The contrast was profound. Agatha felt hollowed out, purified.
Then Rio’s hands drifted lower again, massaging soap between her thighs, over the sensitive, throbbing flesh. A new, impossible spark ignited. Agatha flinched.
“Sensitive?” Rio asked, a smile in her voice.
“You’re fucking cruel,” Agatha breathed, but she was leaning into the touch.
“I’m thorough.”
They were kissing again, a slower, deeper tangle of tongues and shared breath, when a heavy fist slammed against the bathroom wall, making the glass shower wall shudder.
“Hey! Keep down in there! Some of us are trying to sleep” The voice was a man’s, gruff and irritated, presumably from a neighboring apartment. The spell shuddered but didn't break.
Rio broke the kiss, her eyes blazing with mischief and defiance. She called out, her voice loud and clear, “Fuck off, Shane!’
The banging came again, more insistent. “I’m not kidding, Rio! I’ll file a compliant again!”
Inside the shower, Rio’s hand was back between Agatha’s legs, fingers slipping inside her with obscene ease. Agatha cried out, the sound stifled against Rio’s wet shoulder.
“He wants quiet,” Rio murmured, her lips against Agatha’s ear as her fingers moved in a slow, deep rhythm. “But I don’t think you’re done being loud, are you?”
“No,” Agatha moaned, the embarrassment morphing into a new, reckless thrill. Every pound on the door seemed to sync with the pounding of her blood. It was a defiant, filthy counterpoint.
“Good.” Rio’s fingers curled, her thumb finding Agatha’s clit again. “Then let’s give him a real show. Come for me again. Right now. Let him hear exactly what he’s missing.”
It was a different climb this time, slower, deeper, an ache growing in the base of her spine. She was raw, oversensitive, every touch amplified. Rio read her body perfectly, adjusting pressure, pace, kissing her to swallow her cries until she couldn’t anymore.
The second orgasm was a deep, grinding wave, less a scream and more a guttural, continuous sob of pleasure that Agatha felt in her teeth. It went on and on, relentlessly pulled from her by Rio’s miraculous, demanding hands.
The banging on the door stopped.
In the sudden quiet, broken only by the rush of water and their ragged breath, they clung to each other. Agatha was crying, she realized. Silent, cleansing tears mixing with the shower spray.
Rio turned off the water. The silence was absolute. She slid open the door, grabbed a large, plum-colored towel, and wrapped it around Agatha, then one around herself.
She led a shaky Agatha out of the bathroom, past the offended, silent door of the apartment, and into the cool, dark bedroom. The city lights below cast shifting patterns on the walls.
Rio toweled Agatha’s hair with a surprising tenderness, then guided her down onto the expansive bed. She pulled the duvet over them both, gathering Agatha against her, skin to skin in the darkness.
For a long time, neither spoke. Agatha listened to the steady rhythm of Rio’s heart under her ear, felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
Finally, Rio’s voice, rough and quiet, broke the silence. “So?”
Agatha smiled against her skin. It felt strange on her face, unused. “So.”
“Was I right?”
“About what?”
“About you being loud.”
Agatha’s laugh was a hoarse, broken thing. “Yeah. You were right.”
Rio shifted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Good.”
Outside, a siren wailed somewhere in the rainy night, a faint echo of the tumult inside. Agatha closed her eyes. The fortress was in ruins. And for the first time in years, the quiet felt like peace, not loneliness.
And for the first time in years, the quiet felt like peace, not loneliness.
It was a fragile thing, that quiet. The city’s muted rumble through the glass was a distant ocean. Agatha’s skin hummed, every nerve ending singing a receding anthem of recent violence. She was aware of every point of contact: her cheek on Rio’s sternum, the solid weight of an arm around her, the rough texture of the towel beneath her back.
“My clothes,” Agatha murmured into the dark, her voice raspy from screaming. “They’re in your bathroom. Soaked.”
Rio’s chest vibrated with a low laugh. “So?”
“So, I don’t have any clothes.” Agatha lifted her head, propping herself on an elbow. The duvet slipped, revealing the pale slope of her shoulder in the ambient light.
Rio’s smile was a white flash. She traced a fingertip from Agatha’s collarbone down to her nipple, watching it tighten under the mere suggestion of touch. “You won’t need any clothes.”
Agatha chuckled, a genuine, rusty sound. She captured Rio’s wandering hand, lacing their fingers together. She studied their joined hands—her chipped black polish against Rio’s clean, short nails. A tangible connection in the aftermath of the storm.
“Can I return the favor?” Agatha asked, her voice gaining strength. She met Rio’s gaze, finding not just hunger there now, but a watchful curiosity. “I’ve had two world-ending orgasms. You’ve had exactly none. That isn’t fair, is it?”
Rio’s eyebrow arched. She didn’t pull her hand away. “Fairness is a tedious concept.”
“Indulge me.” Agatha’s cynicism was gone, burned away, leaving something clearer and more direct in its place. “I want to map you. I want to learn what makes you come apart.”
A slow, dark heat kindled in Rio’s eyes. She’d been the architect, the conductor. Relinquishing control was a different kind of intimacy. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Agatha moved with a newfound purpose. She pushed back the duvet, the cool air pebbling their skin. She swung a leg over Rio’s hips, settling astride her, mirroring their position on the couch but now in the sacred dark of the bedroom. The power dynamic had subtly, irrevocably shifted.
She started with her eyes, drinking in the landscape of Rio’s body: the taut planes of her stomach, the beautiful, heavy curve of her breasts, the dark hair between her legs. She leaned down and kissed her, not with frantic passion, but with a deep, searching intensity. She could taste herself on Rio’s mouth, a tangy, intimate ghost.
“Tell me,” Agatha whispered against her lips, her hand skating down Rio’s side, feeling the muscle jump under her palm. “What you like.”
Rio’s breath hitched. “I like watching you think. I like feeling you want.”
Agatha kissed her way down Rio’s neck, her throat, the hollow between her collarbones. She took her time, learning the taste of Rio’s skin—salt, clean sweat, the faint citrus from the shower gel. When her mouth closed over a nipple, she used her tongue the way Rio had used hers: without mercy, with deliberate, circular pressure.
Rio’s head pushed back into the pillow. A sharp, guttural “fuck” escaped her, her hands coming up to tangle in Agatha’s damp hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Emboldened, Agatha moved lower. Her kisses were a trail of possession down Rio’s abdomen. She felt the muscles quiver under her lips. She hooked her hands under Rio’s thighs, pushing them apart, opening her to the dim light. Rio was already wet, glistening, a stark, beautiful contrast to her skin.
Agatha didn’t dive in. She hovered, her breath warm against Rio’s core. She looked up the length of her body, meeting Rio’s burning, impatient gaze. “You watched me,” Agatha said, her voice thick. “Now watch me.”
Then she lowered her mouth.
The first touch of her tongue was a flat, slow lick from bottom to top. Rio jolted as if electrified, a choked sound ripping from her throat. Agatha learned her by taste and touch, exploring the folds, the hard nub of her clit, the softer, pulsing entrance. She was methodical, attentive, using the lessons Rio had just taught her body.
“Don’t be gentle,” Rio commanded, her voice strangled, her hips arching off the bed. “Don’t you fucking dare be gentle with me.”
Agatha took the instruction and weaponized it. She fastened her mouth over Rio’s clit and sucked, hard, while pushing two fingers inside her. Rio was tight, impossibly hot, and so wet Agatha’s fingers slid in to the knuckle without resistance.
Rio’s curse was a masterpiece of filth, a ragged stream of “yes” and “right there” and “oh god, just like that.” Her heels dug into the mattress, her back bowing. The confident woman from the bar was gone, utterly dismantled by sensation.
Agatha fucked her with her fingers, a relentless, deep rhythm, her thumb pressing circles against her as her mouth worked. She could feel Rio tightening around her, the coil winding to its breaking point. She remembered Rio’s command in the shower, the demand for noise.
She pulled her mouth away, her chin slick. “Come on,” she panted, driving her fingers in deeper, curling them. “I want to hear you. I want everyone to hear you.”
It was the final permission. Rio’s orgasm tore through her with a raw, shattered cry that had nothing to do with performance. It was a release of pure, unfiltered need, a trembling, violent wave that clenched around Agatha’s fingers, her whole body seizing before collapsing back into the mattress, boneless and spent.
Agatha slowly withdrew her hand, bringing her fingers to her own mouth, tasting Rio fully. The salt-bitter tang was a revelation. She crawled back up the bed and lay beside her, both of them breathing in ragged unison.
After a long moment, Rio turned her head on the pillow. Her dark eyes were soft, sated, amazed. “Well,” she breathed, a laugh tangled in the word. “You’re a quick study.”
Agatha smiled, a real, easy smile. “I had a good teacher.”
The peace settled again, deeper this time, shared. It was no longer just the absence of loneliness. It was the presence of something else, something quiet and vast and just beginning. Outside, the rain had stopped. The city, washed clean, glittered below them, holding its breath for what came next.