Chapter 8: The Seventh Shower
The groceries sat on the kitchen counter, a mundane testament to their shared lie. The milk was in the fridge. The water bill had been paid, somehow, without further discussion. The showers continued. They had become the central, unspoken ritual of their days, the steam a veil for everything they could no longer say aloud.
Three nights after she had tasted him, Marcus stood outside the bathroom door. The water was running. He could hear her moving inside. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed the door open, the humid air swallowing him whole. She was already under the spray, her back to him, but she turned as he stepped in, her eyes meeting his in the fogged glass of the shower door.
“I was waiting,” she said simply.
He undressed, his fingers fumbling on the button of his jeans. His cock was already half-hard, just from the sound of the water, from knowing she was in here, wet and naked. He slid the door open and stepped in behind her. The hot water hit his chest. She leaned back against him, the firm muscles of her back pressing into his torso. He could feel the heat of her skin through the water.
For a long moment, they just stood there, letting the water cascade over them. Then he bent his head, his mouth close to her ear. “Can I wash you again?”
She tilted her head, exposing the line of her neck. “Yes,” she whispered. Then she turned her head, her lips almost brushing his. “But with your tongue. Everywhere.”
A jolt, electric and deep, went through him. He guided her to turn around, her hands pressing flat against the tiles. He started at the nape of her neck, where damp tendrils of hair clung to her skin. He licked a slow, wet stripe from the top of her spine down to the small of her back. Her skin tasted of clean water and the faint, floral hint of her body wash. She shuddered, her shoulders tightening.
He kissed his way down each vertebra, his hands resting on her hips to steady her. When he reached the twin dimples at the base of her spine, he laved them with his tongue, earning a soft, broken sigh. He moved lower, over the full, glorious curves of her ass. He kneaded the flesh with his hands, then spread her cheeks apart. He didn’t go there yet. He teased the periphery, licking the sensitive skin where thigh met cheek, biting gently.
“Marcus…” Her voice was a warning and a plea.
He stood, turning her to face him. Water streamed down her face. He caught a droplet from her lip with his tongue. Then he bent and took one of her nipples into his mouth. He circled the hard, dark peak with the tip of his tongue, then sucked, drawing it deep, flicking it with his tongue until she gasped and tangled her hands in his wet hair, holding him there. He gave the same devoted attention to the other, feeling it pebble and tighten against his palate.
He trailed lower, kissing the defined planes of her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. He dropped to his knees on the hard tub floor. The water beat against his back. He looked up at her, at the smooth, shaved mound now level with his face. Her pussy lips were already parted, swollen and glistening with more than just water. A thick, clear slickness coated her inner folds.
He didn’t use his hands. He leaned forward and breathed in her scent, musk and heat and woman. Then he licked her, one long, flat stroke from her perineum up to the stiff, protruding bud of her clit.
“Oh, god.” Her hips jerked.
He settled in, licking her with deliberate, slow strokes, focusing on her clit, circling it, then sucking it gently between his lips. He learned her rhythms from the sounds she made—the sharp inhale when he flicked it just right, the low moan when he applied more pressure. Her taste flooded his mouth, salty and tangy and uniquely hers. He drank it in.
“Inside me,” she demanded, her voice ragged. “Fuck me with your tongue.”
He obeyed immediately. He thrust his tongue deep into her cunt, as far as it would go. She was hot and impossibly tight, her inner muscles fluttering around the intrusion. He fucked her with his tongue, in and out, mimicking the act he was too afraid to name, while his nose ground against her clit. The filthy, wet sounds were loud in the small space. Her moans climbed higher, desperate.
He pulled back, his chin slick with her juices. “Turn around,” he growled, a command of his own.
She turned, bracing her hands high on the tiles, presenting herself to him. He spread her cheeks wide with his hands. Her asshole was a tight, dark pucker, clenched and forbidden. He leaned in and licked it, a firm, flat stroke right over the centre.
She cried out, a sound of pure shock. He did it again, circling the rim with the pointed tip of his tongue, probing gently until the muscle relaxed enough for him to press inside, just a little. He licked and fucked her there with his tongue, while his thumb sought out her dripping cunt from below, rubbing her clit in rough, dizzying circles.
It was too much. Her body bowed, then stiffened. A raw, guttural scream was torn from her throat as her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing. She shook against his mouth, her inner walls pulsing around his thumb, her ass clenching on his tongue.
When the tremors subsided, she slumped against the wall, breathing in broken sobs. He stood up, his own need a painful ache. She turned, her eyes wild, and pushed him down until he was sitting on the tub ledge. Without a word, she descended upon him.
She licked the water from his chest, nipped at his nipples, trailed her mouth down his abdomen. She took his balls in her hand, rolling them, then sucked one, then the other, into the heat of her mouth. He groaned, his head thumping back against the tiles.
Then she took his cock in her hand, stroked it once, twice, and swallowed him whole.
His shout echoed off the walls. Her mouth was hot, wet, and voracious. She took him deep into her throat, her lips stretched tight around his girth, and sucked hard. She pulled back, swirling her tongue around the head, licking the pre-cum that seeped from the slit, then plunged down again, taking him deeper each time. Her free hand cupped and squeezed his balls, applying a gentle, devastating pressure.
“Mindy… fuck… I’m gonna come…”
She hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight up his spine. She increased her pace, bobbing her head fiercely, one hand jerking the base of his shaft in time with her mouth. Her eyes were open, watching him come apart.
There was no resisting it. The climax exploded from him, a white-hot detonation in his gut. He shouted, his hips bucking off the tub as he emptied himself in pulsing jets down her throat. She swallowed relentlessly, taking every drop, her throat working around him. When he was spent, twitching and oversensitive, she kept sucking, milking him, until he had to gently push her away.
She sat back on her heels, panting. A thin trail of his cum traced a path from the corner of her lips. She wiped it with her finger and put it in her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The water began to run cool.
She stood up, her legs seeming unsteady. She turned off the tap. The silence was a physical presence, heavy and complex.
She reached for a towel and handed one to him. They dried themselves without looking at each other, the rough terrycloth a poor shield against what had just happened.
“I picked up an extra shift tomorrow,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady as she wrapped her robe around herself. “At the clinic. The night shift.”
He nodded, tying his towel around his waist. “Okay.”
She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. “You’ll be here alone.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, laden with a meaning he couldn’t quite grasp. Then she was gone, leaving him in the damp, fragrant dark, the taste of her still on his tongue, the ghost of her mouth still on his skin. The night stretched ahead, vast and empty, and for the first time, the thought of her not being in the next room felt like a loss he wasn't prepared for.