Chapter 2: Shower Together
The kitchen was still, the coffee machine hissing softly on the counter. Amanda poured two mugs but didn’t call out. She set them down and listened. The shower was still running.
A slow smile touched her lips. She untied her robe, let it pool at her feet, and walked down the hall. Steam seeped from under the bathroom door. She opened it without knocking.
The room was a sauna, the air thick and wet and fragrant with her lavender body wash. Through the fogged glass of the shower, she could see the blurred shape of him—his head tipped back under the spray, water sluicing down the defined lines of his shoulders and back.
She slid the door open. The noise enveloped her: the drumming water, the humid echo. Alex turned, water in his eyes, and his face lit up with a boyish, guilty grin.
“Took you long enough,” he said, raising his voice over the shower’s roar.
“Had to make the coffee,” she said, stepping in and pulling the door shut. The hot water hit her skin, a shocking, delicious pleasure. She gasped, tilting her head back, letting it soak her long dark hair. “But someone’s using all the hot water.”
“It’s a shared resource,” he quipped, reaching for the soap bottle.
She took it from him. “Let me.”
Her hands, slick with lavender-scented lather, started on his shoulders, kneading the firm muscle there. She worked in slow, deliberate circles, down the carved valleys of his back, over the swell of his buttocks. It was a mother’s care, a lover’s attention, both at once. He sighed, leaning into her touch.
“You’re tense,” she murmured, her lips close to his ear.
“Early class. Philosophy. It’s existential.”
She laughed, a warm sound lost in the spray. Her soapy hands slid around his hips, across his stomach. He was already hard, the length of him pressing into her palm. She took him in her hand, a slow, knowing stroke.
“This feels pretty existentially important right now,” she said, her voice dropping.
He groaned, his head falling back against her shoulder. “Yeah. That’s… more persuasive.”
She turned him gently to face her. Water dripped from his lashes. He looked so young, so trusting, his playful defiance softened by sheer want. She sank to her knees on the shower floor, the water cascading over her back and shoulders.
“Mom,” he breathed, not a protest, a prayer.
She didn’t tease. She took him into her mouth all at once, humming at the taste of him—clean skin, salt, a uniquely Alex flavor she’d know in the dark. Her hands braced on his thighs as she moved, a deep, worshipful rhythm. The world shrank to the sound of water, the slick heat of her mouth, the faint tremble in his legs.
Her eyes opened, looking up at him. His face was a masterpiece of ecstasy, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded. She loved this view. Loved being the one who put that look there.
She pulled off with a soft pop, resting her cheek against his thigh. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she said, her voice rough. “My perfect boy. Giving me this perfect cock.” She nuzzled him, then took him deep again, her throat relaxing to accept him.
His hands found her wet hair, not pushing, just holding, his fingers tangling in the strands. “Amanda… God…”
She redoubled her efforts, losing herself in the act of pleasing him, in the raw physical proof of his pleasure. She felt his muscles cord tight, heard his breath hitch. Just as he began to tremble toward the edge, she released him and rose smoothly to her feet.
“My turn,” she whispered, kissing his collarbone.
She turned, bracing her hands against the cool tile wall. The water beat between her shoulder blades. She felt him press close behind, his body a familiar, welcome heat. He kissed the nape of her neck, his hands sliding around her waist.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice tender.
“More than okay,” she said, guiding him to her. “Give it to me, baby. Let me feel you.”
He entered her with a slow, steady pressure that made her cry out, the sound swallowed by the shower. He moved inside her, a deep, measured rhythm that was less frantic than their morning urgency. This was something else. A claiming. A conversation.
“That’s it,” she panted, her forehead against the tile. “Just like that. You fill me up so good. My sweet, gorgeous son.”
His pace increased, driven by her words. She met him thrust for thrust, pushing back against him. The steam wrapped around them, a private cloud. Her praise spilled out, filthy and fervent.
“Yes! Fuck, Alex, your cock is heaven. Made for me. Aren’t you? Made just for your Mommy.” She reached a hand back, gripping his hip, pulling him deeper. “Breed me. Go on. I want it. I want everything you have.”
He buried his face in her wet hair, his rhythm fracturing into something desperate and final. A guttural sound tore from his throat, and she felt him pulse within her, his entire body shuddering against her back. She followed him over, her own climax a sharp, bright detonation that left her knees weak and her mind blank.
They stood like that for a long minute, slumped together under the water, breathing in gasps. Finally, he slipped from her and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her upright.
“Wow,” he muttered into her shoulder.
She smiled, turning in his arms to face him. She cupped his face, swiping a thumb over his cheekbone. “You are incredible.”
He grinned, dazed and happy. “Coffee’s gonna be cold.”
“We’ll make more.”
They washed each other gently, rinsing away the evidence, the soapy water swirling at their feet. The mood shifted back into easy, domestic silence. She turned off the water. The sudden quiet was loud in her ears.
He grabbed two towels, handing her one. They dried off, the steam beginning to clear. Through the dissipating fog, she saw the time on the bathroom clock.
“Shit, you’re going to be late.”
“Totally worth it,” he said, wrapping his towel around his hips and heading for the door. He paused, looking back at her with an expression of such open, uncomplicated affection it stole her breath. “Love you.”
“Love you more,” she said, the words automatic and utterly true.
He padded out, leaving damp footprints on the tile. Amanda stayed for a moment, wiping a clear circle on the mirror. Her own face looked back, flushed, sated, a woman deeply in her life. From the kitchen, she heard the microwave beep—him reheating the coffee.
She pulled on her robe and followed the sound, ready to send her perfect boy out into the world, already counting the hours until he’d return.