Chapter 34: What begins as innocent washing turns sinful when Garrett's mouth finds Katy's nipples, sucking and nibbling through the soapy lather as hot water cascades over their entwined bodies.
The steam from the ensuite bathroom curled into the bedroom, carrying the scent of Katy’s jasmine shampoo. Garrett listened to the water drum against the glass enclosure, the sound a siren’s call after the intensity of what had just happened in the bed. He pushed back the duvet, his body still humming, and padded across the cool marble floor.
He slid the shower door open. Katy stood under the rainfall showerhead, her head tilted back, water sluicing down her body. She jumped slightly at the sound, her eyes opening.
“Hey,” she said, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Come to join me?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “If that’s okay.”
“Always.”
He stepped in, the hot water a shock against his skin. He reached for the soap, a rich, creamy bar she kept on a teak shelf. “Let me,” he said. “Just let me take care of you.”
Her eyes softened. “Okay.”
He started with her shoulders, working the lather into her skin with firm, circular motions. He kneaded the tension from her muscles, his thumbs tracing the blades of her shoulders, down the elegant line of her spine. She sighed, leaning into his touch, her body relaxing under his hands. He washed her arms, her hands, each finger. He soaped her stomach, his palms sliding over the gentle curve of her belly.
He dropped to his knees on the shower floor, the water cascading over both of them. He lathered her long, toned legs, starting at her ankles and working his way up, his hands firm on her calves, her thighs. He was reverent, thorough. He avoided the junction of her thighs, the swollen, tender flesh he knew was there.
He looked up at her, water dripping from his hair into his eyes. Her gaze was heavy-lidded, full of a trust that felt both new and ancient. He let his hands rest on the outside of her thighs.
“Can I…” he began, his voice rough with something more than steam. “Can I clean you here? With my mouth? I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
A flush spread across her chest, a deep pink that had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Her breath hitched. She bit her lower lip and nodded, a quick, eager motion. “Yes. Please. Just… be extra gentle, Garrett. It’s so sensitive.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He guided her to lean back against the wet tile, one of her legs hitching over his shoulder. The water sprayed beside them, a curtain of sound and mist. He moved in.
The sight of her pussy, up close and glistening wet, made his cock twitch against his thigh. She was pink and swollen, just as she’d said, the delicate lips puffed out from the relentless fucking of the night before. He could see the faint, tender redness. It made his chest ache with a possessive tenderness.
He leaned forward and didn’t use his hands. He just pressed his mouth to her.
It wasn't a hungry, devouring kiss like the ones they’d shared before. This was different. This was worship. He used the very tip of his tongue, a soft, flat stroke from her perineum all the way up to her clit. He tasted her, a clean, musky flavor mixed with the jasmine soap. She jolted, a sharp gasp echoing in the shower stall.
“Oh, god…”
“Shhh,” he murmured against her flesh, his breath hot on her wet skin. “I’ve got you.”
He did it again, slower this time. He lapped at her, like a cat drinking cream, his movements impossibly soft and deliberate. He avoided direct pressure on her clit, instead tracing circles around it, teasing the hypersensitive hood. He licked along her folds, parting her gently with the tip of his tongue, cleaning every secret, silken inch. He tasted her essence, the faint, tangy reminder of their earlier coupling, and it drove him wild with a quiet, focused frenzy.
Katy’s hands came down to tangle in his wet hair. Not pushing, not guiding, just holding on. Her hips made tiny, involuntary circles, seeking more of the exquisite, gentle friction.
“Garrett… that’s… oh, fuck…” Her words were breathy sighs, lost in the steam.
He focused on his task, his world narrowing to the feel of her under his tongue, the sounds she was making, the way her body was trembling. He inserted the very tip of his tongue into her opening, just a shallow penetration, and felt her inner muscles flutter around him. She cried out, her leg tightening over his shoulder.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He kept up the slow, licking rhythm, his mouth a tender, relentless instrument of pleasure. He could feel her sensitivity beginning to transform, the soreness melting under the heat of his tongue into a deep, throbbing need. Her breathing became ragged, her moans more frequent, more desperate.
He finally, carefully, brought his tongue to her clit. He didn’t suck. He didn’t flick. He just pressed the flat of his tongue against the hard, little nub and held it there, applying a steady, warm pressure.
It was all she needed.
Her orgasm washed over her not with a violent crash, but with a deep, rolling wave. She shuddered against the tile, a long, low moan tearing from her throat as she came, her juices mixing with the shower water on his tongue. He kept his mouth on her, gentling her through the contractions until her body went limp, boneless against the wall.
He pulled back, looking up at her. Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving. A look of pure, sated bliss was etched on her features.
He rose, his knees protesting, and pulled her into his arms under the spray. She nestled her head against his chest, her body pliant against his.
“No one,” she whispered into his skin, “has ever been that gentle with me.”
He held her tighter, the water beginning to run cool. The world outside was waiting, with its board meetings and its judgments, but in that steam-filled glass box, there was only this. A new, terrifying, and perfect understanding.