Chapter 9: The rain in the shower
The meal was a quiet affair, slabs of seasoned meat and coarse bread that Jin ate without tasting. The fortress kitchen, all cold stone and dying embers, offered no comfort. His body hummed, a strange, wired exhaustion layered over a deep, satiated ache. He knew it wasn’t over. The look in Sori’s eyes when he’d finally collapsed beside her hadn’t been an ending. It had been an ellipsis.
He returned to the chamber they shared. The heavy oak door to the bathing suite stood ajar, a plume of warm, soap-scented steam curling into the cooler bedroom air. The sound of splashing water and a low, contented chuffing noise echoed from within.
Jin pushed the door open.
The vast, sunken marble bathtub was a frothing sea of iridescent bubbles. Ueno cut through them with swift, joyful arcs, his sleek grey back occasionally breaking the surface before he submerged again, sending a wave of suds over the rim. The air smelled of lavender and expensive almond-oil soap. The land shark ignored him completely, chasing a floating bar of shampoo around the tub.
Through an archway veiled by more steam, Jin saw the shower room. It was a tiled cavern, one wall open to a chiseled drain, with multiple bronze showerheads pouring down hot, relentless rain.
Sori stood under one of the streams, her silver hair plastered to the curve of her spine, water sluicing down the pale contours of her body. She turned her head, her profile sharp and beautiful in the mist.
“You’re back,” she called, her voice cutting through the hiss of water. “Come. We’re both sticky.”
The order was casual, but her eyes held that familiar, challenging gleam. Jin said nothing. He untied the sash of his robe, let the fabric slump to the damp floor. The cool air, and then the billow of steam, prickled against his skin. The three leather rings were still locked snug around the base of his shaft, a constant, possessive pressure he was now accustomed to.
He walked past Ueno’s aquatic playground and stepped into the shower’s downpour. The water was almost scalding, a sharp counterpoint to the fortress’s usual chill. It plastered his brown hair to his skull and ran in rivulets over the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.
Sori reached for him, her hands slick and warm. She guided him under a showerhead. “See? Practical.”
Her voice was light, but her touch wasn’t. It was possessive, mapping the territory she’d claimed. Jin let her lather the soap across his shoulders, her fingers kneading the muscle. He turned to face her, water coursing between them.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice a low, steady rumble that carried the earnest weight of a promise. It was the husband’s voice, responsible, tender. “We could just wash.”
She laughed, a bright, knowing sound swallowed by the steam. “Oh, my prince. We are washing.” Her hands slid down his back, over the curve of his ass, pulling him firmly against her. The obsessive lover in him stirred, a dark, answering current beneath his calm tone.
The first round was against the slick tile wall. It was fast, a reclamation. Water poured over their joined bodies as he drove into her, his movements deliberate, deep, and utterly controlled. His voice, close to her ear, was a soft murmur. “Is this what you wanted? This… cleanliness?”
Her answer was a gasp, then a bitten-off moan. Her nails scored his back. He felt the crest build, a tight, demanding coil behind the rings. When he released, it was with a guttural sound lost to the shower’s roar. Five thick spurts, each one a potent, pulsing jet of roughly 4 milliliters, hot against her inner walls, a stark contrast to the cool tile at her back.
They didn’t stop. The water washed nothing away, just mingled with sweat and other fluids.
He turned her around, bent her over a low marble bench. The conversational dance continued, even as his hips snapped forward.
“You’ve had kings,” Jin grunted, his tone still that strange, caring cadence.
“I’ve had everything,” Sori panted, pushing back against him. “None with your… conviction.”
He chuckled, a dark, breathless sound. “Is that what this is?”
This climax was longer. Eight spurts, each a distinct, throbbing rope of 5 milliliters, a volley that made her cry out, her body clenching around him rhythmically.
Round three was slower, him sitting on the bench, her straddling him, controlling the pace as the water cascaded over both their heads. They were kissing, deep, searching kisses that tasted of steam and salt.
“Why keep me here?” Jin asked against her mouth, his hands framing her face, a gentle, thumb-stroking gesture that belied the intensity of their union.
“Because you’re interesting,” she whispered, rocking against him. “You’re a puzzle. Duty and desire, all knotted up so tight.”
“You’re unknotting it.”
“Am I?”
He came inside her with a series of six prolonged, shuddering releases, each about 4.5 milliliters, a slow flood that had her trembling.
He didn’t let her rest. He lifted her, her legs around his waist, and braced himself against the wall. The physicality was fierce, animalistic, a counterpoint to the quiet words.
“You killed a demon not to save anyone,” he said, his breath ragged. “Why?”
“It was in my way,” she gasped, her head thrown back.
“Am I in your way?”
Her blue eyes met his, sharp and clear even in the steam. “You’re on my path.”
Seven spurts this time, forceful, each one a 5-milliliter punch that made his knees buckle.
They slid to the wet floor, a tangle of limbs under the direct spray. He was on top again, the pace relentless. He spoke of trivial things—the taste of the meal, the chill of the fortress halls—in that devoted, intimate voice, while his body spoke a language of pure, driving need.
The fifth release was a massive, pent-up explosion. Eight heavy spurts, each a full 6 milliliters, so copious it spilled out of her, immediately diluted and swept away by the endless stream from above.
“You can’t keep this up,” Sori taunted breathlessly, her body arching.
“Watch me,” Jin replied, his voice soft, even loving, as he flipped her over once more.
Round six was against the drain, the water swirling around their ankles. Round seven was her on her knees, him behind her, one hand fisted gently in her hair. The conversations grew fragmented, lost to gasps and moans. Questions about his kingdom, her past, all broken by the primal rhythm of their bodies.
The eighth and final round found him spent yet unwavering, leaning back against the wall as she rode him with a slow, grinding finality. The obsessive energy had mellowed into a deep, resonant thrum of satisfaction. The husband’s voice was gone, replaced by raw, honest silence.
His last climax was not a burst, but a profound, emptying pulse. It went on and on, six vast, surrendering surges, each one depositing a staggering 7 milliliters of seed deep within her, a final, claiming offering. It seemed to last for minutes, draining him of everything—strength, thought, resistance.
The hot water finally began to cool. The steam thinned.
Jin slid down the wall, pulling her with him, both of them panting, water now falling cool on their overheated skin. Ueno had stopped splashing. Silence settled, broken only by the drip of water and their slowing breaths.
Sori traced a finger through the mess on her thigh, before the shower washed it clean. She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “See?”
But Jin, through the haze of utter depletion, knew better. They weren’t clean. They were simply marked by something water couldn’t touch. He had given her everything he had, in every way she demanded. And the terrifying part, the part that seeped into his bones colder than the failing water, was that he’d wanted to.