Chapter 9: washing all of him
The air crackled, thick with steam and the raw pulse of his erection standing rigidly between them. Ella’s gaze snagged on it, the flushed head glistening under the spray, the thick vein running its length. Jesus. The clinical part of her brain short-circuited. It wasn’t just size; it was presence, demanding, impossible to ignore. Her own breath felt trapped, shallow.
Liam didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just watched her from beneath wet lashes, his knuckles white where they pressed against the tile, every muscle in his abdomen taut as wire. Waiting. The water drummed down, slicking his skin, making the dark trail of hair below his navel glisten.
Her hand still hovered near the warm, damp curls at the base of his thigh. Her fingers, slick with the abandoned almond scrub, trembled. The gritty paste felt suddenly absurd, a pathetic shield against the heat radiating off him. She couldn’t scrub his thigh anymore. Not with that right there.
She swallowed, the sound loud in her own ears over the water’s roar. Her throat was parchment dry. "Right," she managed, her voice thin and strained. She gestured weakly towards the forgotten jar near her knee. "Thorough job. Can't... leave anything out." The lie tasted bitter.
Slowly, deliberately, she shifted her attention. Not his thigh. Higher. Right onto the thick, rigid heat of his cock. Her gaze flicked up to his face – jaw clenched, eyes burning into hers, a silent dare – then back down. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic prisoner.
Her oil-slicked fingers touched him.
Just the side. Near the base. The skin was incredibly hot, hotter than the shower water, smooth and taut over the iron-hard shaft. A jolt went through him, visible this time. His hips jerked forward an inch. A choked sound, low and guttural, escaped his lips. Ella flinched but didn’t pull away. The scrub felt gritty and cool against his burning skin.
She started rubbing. Tentative, small circles. Down near the base. Mimicking the exfoliating motion, but the context was shattered. Her knuckles brushed the dense, damp curls. Her thumb grazed the heavy weight of his balls beneath. He hissed, his entire body tensing, his cock jumping against her touch.
"Fuck, Ella," he ground out, the words rough, stripped bare.
She kept moving her hand. Up a little. Down. Circling the thick base, the scrub paste turning slick and thin under the water and the sheer heat. She avoided the sensitive head, focusing on the shaft, the sheer mass of him filling her hand. Her other hand came up instinctively, fingers clumsy with oil and grit, finding the opposite side. She tried to maintain the fiction.
"Just like a spa," she breathed, the words a desperate whisper lost in the steam, a flimsy lie she didn't believe for a second. Her voice cracked. "Deep cleansing." Her thumbs pressed slightly into the firm muscle along the underside.
Liam made another sound, deeper this time, almost a groan. His head tipped back against the tile, water streaming down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. His hands flexed against the wall. "Yeah," he rasped, the single syllable thick with disbelief and something darker, hotter. "Real... thorough."
Her fingers slid higher. Past the midpoint. The shaft felt impossibly hard beneath her palms, pulsing with each beat of his heart. Her knuckles bumped against his belly, slick with water and oil. Her thumb brushed the prominent ridge just below the swollen head. He shuddered violently. A bead of moisture welled at the slit, clear and slick, mingling with the shower spray and the gritty remnants of the scrub.
Ella stared at it. Her own breath hitched. The pretense evaporated. This wasn't cleaning. This was... exploration. Worship. Something far more primal than almond oil and crushed seeds. Her hands stilled for a moment, gripping him fully now, feeling the thrum of life, the desperate tension coiled within him. The scrub was forgotten, washed away, leaving only slick skin and heat.
She looked up, meeting his gaze again. His eyes were wide open, dark and burning, fixed on her face, on her hands wrapped around him. His chest rose and fell rapidly. There was no smirk now. No mask. Just raw, naked need.
Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. Experimentally, she slid one hand up, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture across the swollen head. Smooth. Hot. Liam’s breath left him in a rush. His hips bucked forward, pushing himself more firmly into her grip.
"Ella," he choked, her name a plea, a demand, a fractured sound ripped from his throat.
Her other hand slid down to cradle the heavy weight of his balls, warm and tight. She held him like that, one hand cupping him below, the other wrapped around the thick shaft just below the glistening head. The water pounded down on them both. The scrub jar lay abandoned on the shower floor. The "spa" was gone. There was only this. Him. Her hands. The unbearable, electric charge arcing between them. Her thumb circled the sensitive ridge again, pressing lightly. Liam’s knees seemed to buckle slightly. He braced harder against the wall, a low, continuous groan rumbling in his chest. Her fingers curled, slick and sure. Ready. He was trembling. Waiting. Her own pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Her own pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else. The water beat down, a relentless drum on her shoulders, mixing with the slick heat of Liam’s skin under her palms. His cock felt like iron wrapped in velvet, pulsing against her grip, a living thing demanding more than just cleansing.
"Jesus, Ella," Liam rasped, his voice thick and strained, his hips giving another involuntary jerk against her hands. His knuckles were bone-white against the tile wall. "You're gonna... fuck..."
She watched his face, the tension etching lines around his eyes, the water sluicing down his stubbled jaw. The clinical detachment she’d clung to evaporated like the steam. This wasn't about almonds and exfoliation anymore. It was raw. Primal. Her thumb circled the slick head again, smearing precum, feeling him buck.
"Maybe..." she started, her voice barely a whisper over the shower's roar. She swallowed, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. "Maybe it's my turn?" The request hung in the humid air, daring and uncertain.
Liam’s eyes snapped open, dark and intense, fixing on hers. He didn’t speak immediately, just held her gaze, breathing hard. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips, utterly unlike his usual cheeky grin. It was all heat and promise. "Yeah?" He pushed himself slightly away from the wall, the movement shifting the water stream onto her. "Thought you’d never ask."
He reached for the abandoned bottle of body wash, squeezing a generous amount onto his palm. The sharp, clean scent of cedar and citrus briefly cut through the steam. "Turn around," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His free hand landed lightly on her shoulder, urging her gently. "I'll get your back. Start there."
Ella hesitated for one heartbeat, then turned, presenting her back to him, the sudden vulnerability making her skin prickle. The cool tile pressed against her palms as she braced herself. His hands, slick with the foaming wash, landed warm on her shoulder blades. They slid down slowly, firmly, working the lather into her skin, massaging the knots at the base of her neck. It felt surprisingly good, easing a tension she hadn't fully acknowledged, the scent of cedar filling her nostrils.
His thumbs pressed along her spine, tracing each vertebra down towards the small of her back. The pressure was deliberate, soothing yet possessive. His touch slid lower, past the waistband of her soaked cotton panties, sweeping over the curve of her ass with the same deliberate firmness he’d used on her back. He didn't stop, his fingers kneading the swell of her cheeks through the thin, clinging fabric. Ella shivered, not from cold, but from the deliberate intimacy of it. The shower water plastered her panties to her skin, leaving little to the imagination.
"These are soaked, El," Liam observed, his voice a low rumble close to her ear, his hands still moving in slow circles on her backside. His fingers dipped lower, tracing the line where the wet fabric met skin at the very top of her thighs. "Kinda pointless now, yeah?" The question hung, loaded. "Might as well lose 'em. We're both adults." His tone was casual, almost conversational, but the intent beneath it vibrated like a plucked wire.
Ella’s breath hitched. The heat radiating from him at her back was immense, his proximity undeniable. His logic was infuriatingly simple, a thin veneer over a much deeper current. The thought of removing them sent a jolt through her core. She didn't speak, just nodded slightly against the tile, a silent acquiescence. Her fingers fumbled for the sodden waistband, the elastic heavy with water.
She bent forward slightly at the waist, pushing the panties down over her hips, the movement awkward in the confined space. As she leaned, arching her back to slide the fabric lower, her backside pressed back instinctively towards the warmth behind her. She felt him shift. The hard, undeniable length of his cock, still slick and rigid, brushed firmly against the exposed curve of her ass, then slid lower, grazing the sensitive outer lips of her pussy through the wetness there. It wasn't penetration, just a shocking, electric slide of skin on skin, a frictionless, deliberate contact that stole her breath.
The hot slide of him against her most sensitive skin sent a jolt straight to Ella’s core. She gasped, a sharp intake of steam-filled air, her fingers freezing on the elastic waistband of her soaked panties halfway down her thighs. Her back arched instinctively, pressing her ass more firmly against the hard ridge of his cock for one impossible, electric second before she jerked forward, slamming her palms flat against the cool tile.
"Shit! Sorry about that, Ella," Liam rasped, his voice tight and strained, abruptly pulling his hips back. His hands landed heavily on her shoulders, steadying her, or maybe steadying himself. "Total accident. This damn shower’s smaller than Mike’s ego after poker night." He sounded genuinely flustered, a rare crack in his usual easy confidence.
Ella squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the ghostly imprint of him burning against her. The water drummed relentlessly on her shoulders. "It’s… it’s okay," she managed, forcing lightness into her voice she didn't feel. "Just biology, Liam. Basic physics." She finally shoved the clinging panties down her legs, kicking them off awkwardly near the drain. "Bound to happen in a shoebox like this." Turning slowly, she faced him, meeting his dark, intense gaze. Her skin felt hypersensitive everywhere. "It’s not like it went inside," she added, the words tumbling out too fast, a flimsy shield. "So, no big deal, right? Just… friends. Giving each other spa TLC." She offered a shaky smile, reaching blindly for the abandoned scrub jar still slick on the shower floor. Her knuckles brushed his calf.
Liam watched her, water streaming down his face, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, the familiar, slightly crooked grin surfaced, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Right. TLC." His gaze flickered down her body, lingering for a fraction of a second on the dark triangle between her thighs before snapping back up. "Thoroughly Loving the… Cleaning." He chuckled, the sound rough. "Okay, maybe not the best acronym." He shifted his weight, his erection still prominent, bobbing slightly with the movement. "Your turn for the scrub? Back’s done." He gestured vaguely towards her front, his hand hovering near the jar she’d just grabbed. "Unless you’re calling it quits?"
The challenge hung thick in the humid air, mingling with the scent of almonds and cedar and their own arousal. Ella’s heart hammered against her ribs. Calling it quits felt like surrender, admitting the tension was too much. Pretending felt impossible. She looked down at the gritty paste in her palm, then back up at Liam’s waiting, expectant face, the raw hunger barely veiled beneath his casual smirk. The water plastered strands of dark hair to his forehead. She took a shaky breath. "No," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "No quitting." She scooped out more scrub, the coarse grains cool against her hot skin. "Front’s fine." She met his gaze directly, her own defiance flickering. "Where do you want me to start?"
The steam thickened, clinging to Ella’s skin like a second layer. Liam’s gaze didn’t waver from hers, intense and assessing. "Front’s fine?" he echoed, a slow smirk spreading. "Nah. Not yet." He reached past her, his wet forearm brushing her ribs, sending a shiver through her despite the heat. His fingers closed around the bottle of cedar-scented body wash she’d used earlier. "Your back," he stated, squeezing a thick dollop onto his palm. The sharp, clean scent bloomed. "I barely got started back there. Missed spots."
He gestured with his chin towards the tile wall. "Turn around." It wasn't quite a command, but the expectation vibrated in the humid air. His eyes held hers, challenging, waiting. "Let me finish the job properly."
Ella hesitated, the gritty scrub paste cooling in her own hand. The air crackled. Turning meant vulnerability, exposing herself to his touch without seeing his face. It meant trusting the heat coiling low in her belly. She met his gaze, saw the raw hunger beneath the casual facade, the same hunger mirrored in her own pulse. Slowly, deliberately, she pivoted, placing her palms flat against the cool, wet tile. The shift felt monumental. Water streamed down her spine.
His hands, slick and warm with lather, landed heavily on her shoulder blades. They slid down slowly, firmly, tracing the contours of her muscles, kneading tension she hadn't known she carried. The cedar scent enveloped her. His thumbs pressed along her spine, deliberate strokes that felt less like washing and more like claiming territory. He worked lower, past the dip of her waist, his palms spreading wide over the swell of her hips.
His touch lingered there, fingers splayed possessively over the curve of her ass. The lather slid easily, his hands moving in slow, circular motions that were both cleansing and deeply intimate. The thin cotton of her discarded panties was gone; there was only skin, slick and bare under his exploring touch. His fingers traced the crease where thigh met buttock, dipping slightly lower each time. Ella held her breath, pressing her forehead against the tile, feeling the heat pool between her legs. His hands were everywhere, demanding attention.
"Christ, Ella," Liam murmured, his voice rough, close to her ear. The water plastered her hair to her neck. His thumbs pressed into the firm muscle of her lower back, just above the rise of her cheeks. "This ass..." He paused, the lather sliding down her skin. His hands stilled for a heartbeat, resting fully on her curves. "It’s fucking perfect." The words weren't flattery; they sounded like stunned discovery. "Mind if I... wash it properly? Get it all?"
The question hung, thick with implication. Wash it properly. Her skin burned where his hands rested. She knew what he meant. Knew what turning fully towards him would invite in this cramped space. The air felt charged, heavy with steam and unsaid things. Ella didn't speak. Instead, she pushed back. Slowly, deliberately, arching her spine, pressing the full, rounded curve of her bare ass firmly back against him.
The movement was calculated. Instinctive. It eliminated the scant inches between them. Her soft flesh met the hard, insistent ridge of his erection instantly. The contact was electric, a flush of heat searing through her. She felt the slick, hot length of him slide against her cleft, trapped between her cheeks and his abdomen. A tight, unavoidable fit. Liam sucked in a sharp breath, a ragged gasp lost in the shower's roar. His hands clamped onto her hips, fingers digging in, holding her firmly against him as his cock pulsed, rigid and demanding, against her skin.
The sharp gasp ripped from Ella’s throat, instantly lost in the hiss and drum of the shower. Liam’s grip on her hips tightened, iron bands holding her flush against him, grinding the rigid heat of his cock deeper into the cleft of her ass. She shuddered, arching further, pressing back into the undeniable pressure, the frictionless slide of wet skin on skin sending white-hot sparks down her spine.
He didn’t pull back. Not an inch.
Instead, his hands slid lower, slick palms gliding over the curve of her asscheeks, fingers spreading her slightly. His thumbs dug in, kneading the muscle with a possessive firmness that felt less like washing and more like claiming. Water streamed down both their bodies, plastering her hair to her neck, his chest to her back. The cedar scent of the body wash mingled with steam and the raw, animal heat rising between them.
"Fuck," Liam breathed, the word a ragged vibration against her wet shoulder, his voice thick and strained. His thumbs swept lower, tracing the sensitive crease where her cheeks met her thighs, the deliberate touch scorching. He pushed forward unconsciously, grinding himself against her, the swollen crown of his cock slipping lower, seeking. It nudged, slick and insistent, against the very opening of her pussy, a hot, perfect pressure point that made her whimper.
Ella braced hard against the tile, fingers splayed wide, trying to anchor herself against the dizzying sensation. Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts fogging the ceramic. His hands moved on her ass, ostensibly washing, spreading the lather, but each circular stroke, each press of his thumbs, created a subtle, unavoidable rhythm. Push. Pull. The motion rocked her gently, minutely, forward and back against the tile.
Forward. His hands worked the lather across her skin, a slow, circular massage radiating heat. Back. The slick head of his cock pressed more firmly against her entrance, a hot, persistent nudge with each retreat. Forward. Her knuckles whitened against the tile, her hips rolling almost imperceptibly into the pressure of his hands. Back. He groaned, low and guttural, his hips shifting, keeping that maddening contact, the ridge catching her folds with each tiny movement.
The rhythm built, undeniable, primal. It wasn't thrusting. It was a slow, deep grinding, a rocking motion dictated entirely by his hands washing her ass. Each press forward from his palms pushed her back onto him; each pull back dragged her slightly away, only for him to follow, cock nestled firmly at her core. Ella’s knees trembled. The world narrowed to the slap of water, the scent of cedar and sex, the rough tile beneath her palms, and the exquisite, torturous friction where his body met hers.
"It's... slippery," Ella managed, the words strangled, half-gasp, half-moan. She couldn't tell if she was protesting or encouraging. Her body was moving of its own accord now, rocking rhythmically back onto him, meeting that insistent pressure with a hunger that terrified her. The pretense of washing had vaporized like the steam clinging to the ceiling.
Liam’s response was a choked sound, almost a growl. His hands slid down to grip the tops of her thighs, fingers digging into the muscle, anchoring her. He pressed harder against her, grinding deep, the motion no longer just from washing, but deliberate, seeking. His cockhead, slick with water and her own gathering wetness, bumped insistently against her entrance with each backward rock of her hips. "Yeah," he rasped, his breath hot on her neck. "Slippery as hell. Gotta... make sure..." He trailed off, his hips bucking slightly, the movement sharp and involuntary, driving the thick ridge harder against her sensitive flesh. "...get it clean." The lie hung useless in the humid air, drowned out by the wet sounds of their bodies and the ragged struggle of their breathing. The rhythm intensified, a slow, deep, unmistakable mimicry of sex, trapping them both in its relentless, gathering tide.