Chapter 6: Steam and Scars
The shower’s roar was a white noise he wished could scour his mind. He braced his forearms against the slick tiles, head hanging, watching the water swirl pink from his split knuckles before disappearing down the drain. The steam carried her scent up from his skin—a mix of perfume and sex—a taunting ghost he couldn’t rinse away. The bathroom door clicked open. “You didn’t even shut off the camera,” she said, her voice flat. He didn’t turn. The glass door slid open, a rush of cooler air hitting his back, and then her naked body was pressed against him, her arms sliding around his waist. Her touch was a shock, not of desire, but of a profound, unsettling familiarity. “They loved it,” she murmured into his spine, her lips moving against his wet skin. “The realness. The rage. It’s all they ever want.” Her hand slid down, fingers tracing the hard line of his hip before closing around his soft cock. He flinched. “Don’t,” he said, the word swallowed by the water. She ignored him, her touch firm, knowing, working him with a ruthless efficiency until he began to thicken against his will. “See?” she whispered, her other hand slipping between his legs to cup his balls, squeezing gently. “Your body knows the truth. It likes what we do.” He turned then, pinning her against the wet wall, his renewed hardness pressing into her stomach. “Fuck you,” he breathed, not a curse but a bleak statement. “You already did,” she said, guiding him inside her with a wet, hot ease, her legs wrapping around his hips. He drove into her, a single, deep stroke, and she threw her head back, a gasp echoing off the tiles. “This is the only thing that’s real anymore,” she choked out, her nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked her in the relentless, pounding spray.