Chapter 3: Return the favor
The steam was a thick, wet blanket, muffling everything but the ragged sound of their breathing. Katy leaned her forehead against the cool tile, Garrett’s large hands—her hands—braced on either side. The aftershocks of that brutal, alien pleasure still hummed through his muscles. It left her feeling hollowed out and… guilty.
She turned her head, seeing her own slender back, the water sluicing down the delicate shoulder blades she knew so well. He was just standing there, quiet, letting the spray hit him. He’d been so patient. So weirdly gentle. He’d helped her through that bizarre, overwhelming mess without a single complaint, even though he had to be feeling just as twisted up and frustrated.
A warm, impulsive wave of gratitude washed over her, mingling with a curiosity that was now sharpened to a fine, dangerous point. She’d always wondered. In college, after a few drinks, she’d confessed to her best friend a flicker of interest in what it might be like with a woman. She’d just never, ever imagined the woman would be herself.
She turned around, the water hitting her back. “Garrett.”
He looked over, her blue eyes wide in his face. “Yeah?”
“I… I came twice.” The words felt clumsy. “You haven’t… at all. That’s not fair.”
He shrugged, a gesture that looked strangely fragile on his athletic frame. “It’s fine. Weird day.”
“No, it’s not.” She took a step closer, the space between them shrinking in the cramped tub. Her heart was hammering against his ribs. “Let me… I could go down on you.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the drumming water. Garrett stared at her, at his own face, trying to process the offer. His body, the one he was currently wearing, responded instantly, a fresh, hot throb of interest that was both thrilling and shaming. He was already keyed up from the clinical yet intimate act of guiding her hand, from the sheer surrealism of it all. The thought of her mouth, his mouth, on…
He should tell her. The confession burned on his tongue. I already did. This morning, in your bed, I couldn’t help it. He saw the earnest, grateful look in her eyes—his eyes—and the words dissolved. If he told her, she’d pull back. The offer would vanish. This chance, this impossible, wrong, electrifying chance, would be gone.
He made his choice. “Are you… are you sure?” he asked, his voice coming out as a husky version of hers.
“No,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But it seems like the day for trying things.” She reached out, her hand—his hand—closing around his wrist. Her skin was so soft. “C’mon. Let’s get out of this shower before we prune up forever.”
They stepped onto the bathmat, water pooling around their feet. The air in the bathroom was still heavy and warm, smelling of soap and steam and something else, something charged. Katy led him, her movements hesitant, until the backs of his knees hit the closed toilet lid.
“Sit,” she said softly.
He sat, looking up at her. From this angle, he could see the subtle curve of her—his—jaw, the determined set of her mouth. It was the most out-of-body experience of a day that had been nothing but.
Katy’s mind was racing, a mix of terror and a deep, thrilling taboo. She was about to put her mouth on her own cousin. She was about to learn what she tasted like. Her hands trembled as she knelt on the damp mat, the cheap, nubby texture rough against his knees.
She looked at the body that had been hers for twenty-four years. The gentle swell of the breasts she’d always been a little self-conscious about so she had replaced with big D cups back in High School, the flat plane of the stomach, the blonde hair between her legs, dark and wet from the shower. It was familiar and foreign all at once. Hers, but not.
She glanced up. He was watching her, his expression unreadable. “Okay?” she whispered.
He just nodded, his throat working as he swallowed.
Taking a breath, she leaned in. The first contact was a shock of warmth and softness. She pressed a hesitant, closed-mouth kiss just inside her thigh. His leg jerked. The skin was incredibly sensitive. She could feel the fine tremors running through him.
She moved inward, her curiosity overpowering her nerves. The scent was clean from the soap, but underneath it was something else, something musky and uniquely her. Her.
Her tongue darted out, a quick, experimental taste. Salty. Clean. A little sweet. It wasn't what she expected. It was better.
Emboldened, she did it again, slower this time, tracing a path that felt instinctively right. A sharp, gasping sound came from above her. His hands came down, tangling in her—his—blonde hair, not pushing, just holding on.
She found the center of the sensation, a small, hard nub of pure electricity, and focused there. The reaction was immediate and violent. His whole body arched, a choked-off cry tearing from his throat. “Katy… fuck.”
She was learning her own body from the outside, discovering the exact rhythm and pressure she’d only ever guessed at. Every flinch, every gasp from him was a new piece of data, a direct feedback loop to a pleasure center she knew intimately but had never been able to engineer like this. It was like being both the lock and the key.
Garrett was losing his mind. His vision swam, the bathroom tiles blurring. This was nothing like his own clumsy fingers from that morning. This was expert, intuitive, devastating. He was a passenger in a body being played like a instrument, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of escalating pleasure. The guilt was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but it was being drowned out by the roaring in his ears, the desperate need for release.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop.”
She didn’t. Her tongue worked a relentless, perfect rhythm, her own excitement building as she felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter within the body she was tending to. She was making herself come. The sheer, recursive insanity of it pushed her harder.
His breathing became ragged, torn between sobs and gasps. His grip on her hair tightened. “I’m gonna… Katy, I’m—”
The climax hit him like a train. It was a shattering, full-body convulsion that ripped a raw, broken shout from his lungs. It was longer and deeper than the one earlier, a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, leaving him trembling and boneless, slumped against the toilet tank.
Katy pulled back, breathing heavily. She looked up at him, at the blissed-out, utterly wrecked expression on her own face. A strange, powerful satisfaction settled in her chest. She had done that.
He slowly, weakly, slid off the toilet lid and onto the floor beside her, their backs against the bathtub. They sat in silence for a long moment, shoulders touching, staring at the opposite wall.
Finally, Garrett spoke, his voice hoarse. “So that’s what that’s like.”
Katy let out a breathless laugh that was half a sob. “Yeah.” She tilted her head back against the cool porcelain. “We are so fucked.”
The blaring ringtone of her phone from the bedroom sliced through the heavy silence, sharp and relentlessly normal. They both jumped.
The real world was calling, and they were going to have to answer.