Chapter 17: The Soapy Fuck
The weeks after the shower passed in a dense, viscous fog. Josh performed the motions: painting the nursery a soft grey, assembling a crib with robotic precision, attending childbirth classes where he squeezed Millie’s hand on cue. His mind, however, was a locked room where a single, relentless question echoed: What now? Caitlin’s final words—logistics—buzzed in his skull like a trapped fly.She hadn’t contacted him.The silence was worse than any demand.
It was Millie who inadvertently handed him the razor.
“Caitlin’s shower is leaking,” she said one evening, wincing as she lowered herself onto the couch. “Something about the sealant in her master bath.She’s hopeless with that stuff. I told her you’d pop over after work tomorrow to look at it.”
His blood turned to slush. “Can’t she call a plumber?”
“Josh, be nice. She’s single, pregnant, and it’s just a tube of caulk. It’ll take you twenty minutes.” Millie smiled, rubbing her belly. “Besides, you’re always so handy.”
He stood at Caitlin’s townhouse door the next evening, a hardware store bag dangling from his numb fingers. He knocked.The door swung open, and the scent of lavender and warm marble washed over him. She was back in her uniform: a cream silk blouse unbuttoned one notch too low, tailored trousers that strained over her hips.Her hair was flawless.
“The handyman,” she purred, stepping aside.He walked in, the familiarity of the space a physical weight. “Where’s the leak?”
“Master bath. This way.” Her heels clicked on the hardwood, leading him up the stairs.The bathroom was a humid, honey-gold cavern. Steam curled from the half-filled clawfoot tub, bubbles frothing on its surface. A single candle flickered on the vanity, its light glinting off the gold fixtures and the misted glass of the enormous rainfall shower. The air was thick with the scent of her bath oil and something else, something sweetly expectant.
“It’s the lower corner of the shower stall,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “The sealant’s cracked. Water gets on the marble.”
He knelt, ignoring the luxurious pile of the bath mat, and examined the perfectly intact silicone bead.It was pristine.He understood.A setup. A beautifully staged, undeniable setup.And he was here.
He heard the soft snick of the bolt sliding home on the bathroom door.When he looked up, she was naked. The silk blouse pooled on the floor, the trousers a dark puddle beside it. Her body was a stunning, shocking landscape: the hard, high swell of her stomach, the darker line running from her navel down, her breasts full and heavy. Water droplets from the still-running shower glistened on her collarbone. She stood by a padded stool, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other drifting down her inner thigh.
“I thought you were just going to help from outside the glass,” she said, her voice a low, knowing vibration in the steam.He didn’t answer. Words were irrelevant now.A cold, final resignation settled over him. The “what now” had arrived, and there was only one path through it. He stood, his movements deliberate, and began to strip.His shirt, his jeans, his boxers. His cock sprang free, already thick and aching, a bead of clear fluid welling at the tip. He saw her eyes latch onto it, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
He walked past her, slid the shower door open, and stepped into the warm downpour. The water plastered his hair to his skull, streamed over his shoulders.He turned.
She was there, ducking under the spray, her hair instantly dark and sleek.She didn’t pause. She sank to her knees on the textured stone floor, her hands going to his hips, and took him into her mouth in one smooth, deep motion.
Her lips stretched around his girth, hot and demanding. She took him to the root, her nose pressing into his pubic bone, her throat working around the head of his cock. It was an act of consumption. Her head bobbed, her tongue a furious, silken pressure along his underside. One hand cupped and kneaded his balls, the other stroked the base of his shaft in counter-rhythm to her sucking. The wet, noisy sounds were obscene, amplified by the tiled enclosure. He braced a hand against the wall, his head thrown back, a groan ripped from his chest.
“Fuck, Caitlin.”
She pulled off with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock. “You taste the same,” she panted. “You always taste so fucking good.” She dove back down, swallowing him again, her hunger savage.It was too much. The steam, the water, her relentless mouth, the impossible reality of it.He gripped her under the arms and hauled her up. “Enough.”
He lay back on the shower floor, the warm water beating down on his chest, his legs. She understood. She straddled him, one hand on the wall for balance, the other guiding his cock to her entrance.She was already slick, her heat palpable even through the shower’s warmth. She lowered herself slowly, achingly, taking every inch until he was buried to the hilt inside her.A sharp, shared gasp cut through the drumming water.She began to move. Slow, deep undulations of her hips, grinding against him in tight circles. Her swollen belly hovered above him, a vast, taut dome. He reached up, his hands finding her breasts, heavy and full.He squeezed them, thumbed her hard nipples. She moaned, her pace quickening, her thighs tightening around him.
“You like this, don’t you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the water.Her eyes were slits of blue fire. “Fucking a pregnant woman full of your cum while your saintly girlfriend thinks you’re fixing a leak.”
She rode him harder, slamming down, her internal muscles clenching around him like a greedy fist. The angle was deep, punishing. He met her thrust for thrust, his hips bucking off the wet stone to drive up into her. Their skin slapped together, a wet, rhythmic beat underneath the shower’s constant roar.
“It’s all yours,” she hissed, her breath coming in ragged gusts.“All of this.You did this. We did this.”
Her orgasm seized her suddenly.Her body went rigid, then shattered into violent tremors. A choked cry escaped her as her pussy convulsed around his cock, milking him in intense, rhythmic pulses. The sight of her—head back, throat exposed, her pregnant body convulsing in pleasure—unlocked something feral in him.
He gripped her hips and pistoned into her, his own control snapping. Three, four, five brutal thrusts and he was coming, a raw, guttural shout torn from his lungs as he emptied himself deep inside her. His release felt endless, a flood of heat and guilt and terrible, final commitment.She collapsed forward onto his chest, spent. The water rained down on them, washing over their joined bodies. She lifted her head, her lips finding his in a deep, exhausted kiss that tasted of soap and salt.
After a long moment, she pushed herself up and off him.He sat up, water streaming from his face. He watched as she stepped out of the shower, grabbed a thick towel, and began to dry herself with a slow, deliberate care.She was smiling, a small, private curve of her lips.
He turned off the water. The silence was sudden, profound, broken only by the drip from the showerhead and the distant hum of the house.He stepped out, took the proffered towel.
“The leak,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I’ll get some sealant another time,” she said, wrapping a robe around herself.She walked to the door, unlocked it, and turned the handle. The implication was clear.Their time was up.
As he dressed in the humid room, his skin chilling, she stood at the vanity, wiping steam from the mirror. “Millie’s shower is in two weeks,” she said, not looking at him. “Ours will be a month after.We’ll need to arrange things.Names. Support.” She finally met his eyes in the reflection.“We’re in this together now, Josh. Properly.”
He nodded, a stiff, mechanical motion.He had no words left.
He walked downstairs and out the front door without looking back.The evening air was cool and shockingly clean. He got into his car and sat there, hands on the wheel, watching the light in her bathroom window glow like a beacon in the gathering dusk.In his pocket, his phone buzzed.A text from Millie: All fixed? Come home.I’m craving pickles and ice cream :)
He started the engine. The sound was deafening in the quiet street. He pulled away, the image of Caitlin’s satisfied smile in the steamy mirror burned onto his retinas, more permanent than any sealant. The path ahead was no longer foggy.It was paved, clear, and utterly devoid of exit. He was on it now, for good.