Chapter 6: The Shower Surprise
Josh stood under the spray, head bowed, letting the hot water needle his skin. It couldn’t wash away the feeling. The heavy, sated ache in his muscles, the ghost of her contractions around his cock, the scent of her that seemed baked into his pores. It was a tattoo, not a stain.
He heard the shower curtain rustle, the slide of it being pulled back. Steam billowed out, and then her body was there, warm and solid, pressing against his back from behind. Her arms slid around his waist, her hands flat on his stomach. Her lips found the wet skin of his shoulder blade.
“They’ll be about five minutes yet,” she whispered, her voice a low vibration against his spine.
Her hands moved. One stayed anchored on his hip, the other dipped lower, fingers tracing the line where his thigh met his groin before curling around his cock. It was already thickening, responding to her touch with a lazy, inevitable heaviness. He let his head fall forward, a groan lost in the downpour. Her grin was a thing he felt, not saw.
Her hand left him. She stepped back, and he turned.
Demi was already on her knees on the wet tile floor, her blonde hair dark and soaked, clinging to her neck and shoulders. Her green eyes looked up at him through the steam, through the water cascading over her face. She didn’t wait. She leaned forward, opened her mouth, and took him in.
Her tongue was a hot, clever point against the sensitive underside of his head before she swallowed him deeper. Her lips formed a tight, wet seal. Josh’s hands found the wall, bracing himself. The sensation was blinding—the slick heat of her mouth, the scrape of her teeth just shy of pain, the rhythmic pulse of her throat as she worked him. She took him all the way down until his length was buried and her nose pressed against his belly, her throat opening around him. He felt the convulsive gag, heard it, a wet choke muffled by his flesh. It drove a spike of pure lust straight through his core.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers now tangling in her wet hair, not guiding, just holding. He let his hips push forward, a shallow, instinctive thrust into that devastating warmth. She pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva and water connecting her lips to his shaft, then dove down again. The sounds were obscene and perfect: the hissing shower, her choking gulps, his own ragged breathing. Her eyes stayed open, watching him, the blue-green of them clouded with a fierce, submissive pride.
She released him with a final, dragging suck that made his vision blur. She stood up, water streaming down her body, her large breasts glistening, nipples tight from the heat and the cold tile air. She didn’t speak. She simply hooked her leg around his waist, her hand finding him again, slick and hard, and guided him to her entrance.
He lifted her. His hands under her ass, he lifted her entire weight easily, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips. He pressed her back against the cold, tiled wall and pushed inside.
She was already so wet, swollen from their earlier fucking, that he entered her in one seamless, sinking motion. She gasped, her head falling back against the tile, her mouth open. Her full breasts were pressed flat against his chest, a slippery, heated weight.
He began to move. No patience now, no measured rhythm. This was sheer, driven need. He fucked her hard, his thrusts pounding deep, the water sluicing over their joined bodies, her ass slapping against the wall with each impact. Her moans were sharp, uncontained cries that the shower’s noise swallowed, making them private, for his ears only.
“Let it out,” he grunted, his face close to hers, his breath mixing with the steam. “Cum hard for me. Scream if you want. No one can hear.”
His words unlocked something. Her body tightened around him, her inner muscles clutching in a rapid, desperate flutter. A raw, throaty shriek tore from her lips, unfinished, broken by a sob as her orgasm ripped through her. Her nails dug into the muscles of his back, her thighs clamped vise-like around his hips.
The feel of her coming, the wild, unrestrained sound of it, shattered his last shred of control. He drove into her one last time, a brutal, final stroke that buried him to the root, and let go. His own release was a silent, convulsive storm, a flood of heat into her depths, his body shaking against hers.
For a moment, they just hung there, locked together, breathing in ragged unison. The water began to cool.
He slowly let her slide down, her feet finding the floor, her body leaning heavily into him. They were both trembling, small shivers unrelated to the temperature.
The shower curtain was yanked back again.
“Hate to break up the wet t-shirt contest,” Marcus’s voice boomed from the doorway, “but the bacon was shit. We’re heading out. You two want a lift?”
Josh’s body went rigid. Demi, still pressed against him, stiffened too. He could feel the frantic beat of her heart against his chest.
“We’re… just finishing up,” Josh said, his voice oddly calm. “Give us two minutes.”
“You’ve got one,” Tasha called from further in the room. “Car’s idling.”
The curtain fell back. Josh looked down at Demi. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes wide with a sudden, jarring vulnerability. The bravado was gone. In its place was the nervous nineteen-year-old girl, caught.
He reached for the shampoo, poured a dollop into his hand, and began to slowly, methodically wash her hair. It was a simple, tender act. An absurd gesture in the context. But it was something to do. Something to anchor them back to a world where people showered to get clean, not to fuck against walls.
She closed her eyes, letting him massage the soap into her curls. When he rinsed it, his hands careful not to pull, she opened them again and looked at him.
“See?” she said quietly. Her voice was barely a whisper over the water. “It’s not a problem. It’s just us.”
He didn’ answer. He just finished rinsing her hair, then turned off the shower. The sudden silence was louder than all their noises had been. They stood there, dripping on the mat, hearing Marcus and Tasha’s impatient footsteps in the room beyond.
It was a problem. It was the biggest problem he’d ever had. And he had no idea how to solve it, because solving it meant stopping, and stopping seemed impossible.