Chapter 28: Shower Quickie
The crib stood assembled in the corner of the studio, a stark, white monument to the forward march of time. Sawdust and plastic wrappers littered the floor. Eli’s back ached from hunching over instructions, but the physical discomfort was a welcome distraction, a tangible penance. Simone surveyed their work, hands on her hips, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
“Not bad for two over-educated people who can barely follow a recipe,” she said, nudging a leftover screw with her toe.
“Speak for yourself,” he said, forcing a grin. “My waffles are legendary.”
“Your waffles are frozen, Eli.” She stretched, the hem of his old jersey riding up to reveal the gentle swell of her lower belly. The sight sent a dual shock through him—a pang of tenderness followed immediately by a corrosive wave of shame.He had kissed that skin this morning.He had come inside another woman last night.
“You’re beat,” he said, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room. “Go shower.I’ll clean this mess up and order some food. We can just… collapse.”
She eyed him, that familiar, appraising look that often saw more than he wanted to show. “You’re being weirdly domestic. What do you want?”
“General Tso’s and you, not necessarily in that order.” He stepped into her space, wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. He inhaled the scent of her—sweat, syrup, the faint chemical smell of the new crib.He willed it to anchor him. “Just a quiet night. No parents, no galas, no… anything else.”
She relaxed into him, her hands covering his where they met over her stomach.“That sounds perfect. I’ll be quick.”
She wasn’t quick. The shower ran for a long time, the steady drum of water against the tub a white noise that failed to silence the cacophony in his head. He tidied mindlessly, bagging trash, stacking cardboard.He ordered the food. He scrolled through movie options without seeing them. Every flicker of movement in his peripheral vision was a ghost of long curly hair. Every silent moment replayed the choked sounds Aaliyah had made against the wall.He needed to overwrite it.
He stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and pushed open the bathroom door. Steam billowed out, thick and humid, carrying the lavender scent of Simone’s good body wash. The floral wallpaper was glazed with condensation, the mirror a fogged-over rectangle of nothing.
She was a silhouette behind the semi-opaque shower curtain, her head tipped back under the stream.He pulled the curtain aside. The metal rings scraped loudly.She jumped, her eyes flying open.“Jesus, Eli! You scared the shit out of me.”
He didn’t answer. He just stepped into the tub, the hot water instantly plastering his afro to his scalp and sluicing down his body. The space was cramped, his knees knocking against the porcelain. She blinked water from her lashes, a question forming on her lips.He didn’t let her ask it. He backed her against the cool, slick tile, his mouth coming down on hers.This kiss wasn’t like the one earlier. It was hungry, desperate, a claim staked. He tasted the clean water on her lips, then the deeper flavor of her as his tongue pushed in. A surprised moan vibrated in her throat, but then her hands came up, sliding over his wet shoulders, pulling him closer. Her body, slick and warm, molded against his.His erection pressed hard against her lower belly. He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down her throat, over her collarbone, taking one of her nipples into his mouth.He sucked hard, his hand coming up to knead her other breast. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“Fuck, Eli,” she breathed, her head tipping back against the tile with a soft thud. “We just… the food…”
“It’ll keep.” His voice was rough.He spun her around gently, his hands on her shoulders. She understood, bracing her palms flat against the wet wall, her back arching beautifully. The water cascaded over the curves of her ass, down the backs of her thighs.
He knelt behind her, not to worship, but to prepare. He spat onto his fingers, then pressed them against her entrance.She was warm, but not wet like this. He worked a finger inside, then two, scissoring them, coating them with his saliva and the water. She whimpered, pushing back against his hand.“Ready?” he grunted, rising to his feet.“Yes. God, just…”
He didn’t need more urging. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against her. He gripped her hip with one hand, the other coming around to clamp over her mouth.He remembered the sound Aaliyah made. He couldn’t hear it from Simone.Not now.He pushed in. There was a tight resistance, then a slow, wet give as he filled her.A muffled cry against his palm. He buried himself to the hilt, a groan tearing from his own chest. He held there for a second, feeling her inner muscles flutter around him, adjusting.Then he pulled back and slammed home.The pace was relentless from the start. There was no slow build, no tender rhythm.This was an act of possession, of erasure. Each thrust jarred her body against the tile. The sound of skin slapping skin was lost under the shower’s roar, but he felt it—the crisp, punishing impact of his hips against her ass.Water flew around them, stinging his eyes.His hand stayed clamped over her mouth. Her moans were trapped, vibrating against his skin, coming out as strained, animal hums. Her own hands scrambled against the slick wall for purchase. He fucked her with a concentrated, furious energy, his eyes squeezed shut. In the darkness behind his lids, he wasn’t thinking of Aaliyah.He wasn’t thinking of guilt or futures. There was only this: the heat of her, the tight clutch of her cunt, the driving need to come, to spend everything inside her and be empty.“Take it,” he snarled in her ear, his breath ragged. “Take all of it.”
Her response was a choked sob against his hand. He felt her body begin to tense, the rhythm of her pushing back becoming more frantic, more urgent. He shifted his hand from her mouth down to her clit, rubbing hard, fast circles.The change tipped her over. Her body seized, a violent, silent contraction that locked around his cock like a vise. The sensation was electric, unbearable.It ripped his own orgasm from him.
With a guttural, ragged shout he couldn’t have contained if he tried, he buried himself as deep as possible and erupted. His release felt scalding, a pulse after punishing pulse that left him dizzy, his forehead dropped between her shoulder blades. They stayed like that for long moments, panting, trembling under the endless stream of water that was now turning lukewarm.Slowly, he softened and slipped out. He released his grip on her hip, his fingers aching. She turned, her face flushed, her eyes wide and a little dazed.She swatted his arm.
“You’re an animal,” she said, but she was smiling, a breathless, sated smile. She reached for the body wash, her movements languid. “And you’re going to clean my back.”
They washed each other quickly, the mood shifting into something lighter, giggling as they fumbled with the soap, kissing under the spray.It felt normal.It felt right. He toweled her off, gently patting the smooth skin of her belly, and wrapped the towel around her himself.
The doorbell rang, sharp and invasive.“Food!” Simone chirped, padding out of the bathroom.
He followed more slowly, wiping the steam from the mirror with his towel. He looked at his own reflection—water beaded on his skin, his eyes a little hollow despite the exertion. For a few minutes in that shower, he had almost convinced himself.He had almost believed the performance was the man.
He pulled on sweats and went to the door. As he took the paper bags from the delivery driver, his phone, charging on the desk, lit up with a notification.It was a text preview. He couldn’t see the full message, only the sender and the first few words.
Aaliyah: Hey.We need to—
His blood went cold. He shoved the phone face down under a stray piece of cardboard as Simone bustled over with plates.
“Let’s eat on the floor like savages,” she said, oblivious. “I’m too tired for the table.”
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile as he took the plates from her. “Savages.”
They settled amidst the residual chaos of the day, the half-built future surrounding them. He laughed at her jokes, fed her a piece of chicken, listened to her talk about a surgical rotation she hoped to get. All the while, the hidden phone seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy from beneath the cardboard, a silent fissure in the foundation he was desperately trying to lay, brick by brick, over the guilty, trembling earth.
All the while, the hidden phone seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy from beneath the cardboard, a silent fissure in the foundation he was desperately trying to lay, brick by brick, over the guilty, trembling earth. He focused on the tang of the General Tso’s sauce, the warmth of Simone’s thigh pressed against his on the floor, the predictable comfort of the action movie she selected. He laughed when she laughed, a hollow echo in his own chest, and made a comment about the villain’s terrible aim.
“He’s shot forty-seven times and hasn’t hit a windshield,” Eli said, forcing a chuckle.
“Suspension of disbelief, baby,” Simone murmured, her head finding its familiar spot on his shoulder. Her breathing deepened within twenty minutes, the adrenaline of the day and the physical exhaustion from the shower finally claiming her. Her body grew heavy against him. When a car chase exploded on screen, she didn’t stir. He watched the light from the television play over her peaceful face, the slight part of her lips, and felt like a vandal in a museum.
She jerked awake halfway through the film, blinking slowly. “I’m done,” she sighed, her voice thick with sleep. “My brain is oatmeal. Coming to bed?”
A fresh jolt of panic, clean and sharp, shot through him. The thought of lying beside her in the dark, staring at the ceiling with that unread text screaming into the void, was unbearable. “I’m still wired,” he said, the lie smooth and automatic. “Think I’ll grab a quick drink. Clear my head.”
She nodded, already half-asleep again, and pushed herself up. She kissed him, a soft, closed-mouth press of lips that tasted of sleep and soy sauce. “Be safe. Don’t be long.” She padded to the bed, collapsing into it without pulling back the covers, and was still.
The silence in the apartment after she left the room was absolute and heavy. He waited, counting her breaths until they evened out into a slow, steady rhythm. Only then did he move, with the careful precision of a thief. He excavated his phone from under the cardboard. The screen blazed to life, illuminating his grim face in the dark room.
The full text from Aaliyah, sent hours ago, was a gut-punch.
Aaliyah: Hey. We need to talk. About last night. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. It’s eating me alive. Are you free?
His thumb hovered. The right thing was to ignore it, to delete it, to go pour a glass of water and get into bed. He typed a reply.
Eli: Where?
Aaliyah: My place?
Eli: No. Not there. The park. By the old amphitheater. 20 minutes.
He needed neutral ground, open air, a place where the walls and the scent of vanilla couldn’t conspire against him. He shoved the phone in his pocket and slipped out, the door clicking shut with a sound like a verdict.
The night air was cooler now, the magnolia scent from her street replaced by the generic damp green of the campus park. The old stone amphitheater was secluded, surrounded by dense hedges and rarely used after dark. He saw her before she saw him, a silhouette pacing in front of the crescent of empty benches.
She turned as he approached. In the pale glow of a distant security light, her face was all sharp angles and shadows. “You came,” she said. It wasn’t a greeting.
“You said it was eating you alive.”
“Isn’t it eating you?” she shot back, crossing her arms. She wore a hoodie and leggings, her curls piled messily on her head. She looked younger, and fierce. “Or are you just that good at compartmentalizing? Fuck me against a wall one night, build a crib with your girlfriend the next day?”
“Don’t,” he warned, his voice low. “You don’t get to judge my life.”
“I’m not judging your life, Eli, I’m judging your fucking cowardice!” Her whisper was harsh, carrying in the still night. “You kissed me. You started that. You came to my apartment. And then you just… left. And I have to sit in that room, with that wall, and pretend I’m okay so Danny doesn’t ask questions? So you can play house?”
“What do you want from me, Aaliyah? A fucking flowchart?” He stepped closer, the anger a hot, welcome substitute for the guilt. “You were the one who said it had to be over! You said it was a mistake!”
“It was a mistake!” she cried, throwing her hands up. “A catastrophic, fucking terrible mistake! But you don’t get to make me the only one who has to feel it!” A sob caught in her throat, raw and ugly. “I can still smell you on my sheets. I scrubbed the wall. I can’t get it out.”
Her pain was a physical thing in the space between them. It dissolved his anger, leaving only a wretched, shared understanding. He reached for her, his hand brushing her arm. “Li…”
She flinched away. “Don’t.”
He grabbed her shoulder, turning her back to face him. “Then what? What do we do?”
“There is no ‘we’!” she hissed, tears now cutting tracks through the shadows on her cheeks. “That’s the whole fucking point! There’s you and Simone and a baby. And there’s me and Danny, who is kind, and uncomplicated, and didn’t have to fuck me in a shower to try to forget me!”
The truth of it, laid bare in the dark, was a sucker punch. He saw the same shocked recognition in her eyes. They stood frozen, breathing each other’s air, the chaos of their feelings a tangled knot with no end to pull.
He didn’t know who moved first. The space vanished. Her mouth was on his, a collision of salt and anger and desperate, hopeless want. This kiss wasn’t like the one in her apartment. That had been a spark igniting a reservoir. This was a wildfire with no hope of containment, burning everything in its path—logic, loyalty, tomorrow. It was all teeth and tongue and choked, painful sounds. He backed her into the cold stone wall of the amphitheater, his hands rough on her hips.
“This is so fucked,” he growled against her mouth, his fingers digging into the fabric of her leggings, yanking them down along with her underwear.
“I know,” she gasped, fumbling with the button of his jeans. “I don’t care.”
He got his jeans open, his cock springing free, already painfully hard. He lifted her, her back against the rough stone, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. There was no pretense, no tenderness. He guided himself to her entrance, finding her wet and ready despite the anger, because of it. He shoved into her in one brutal, claiming stroke.
She cried out, a sharp sound swallowed by the night, her head thudding back against the stone. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each drive of his hips slamming her body into the unyielding wall. The fabric of their clothes, pushed aside, bunched between them. It was raw, graceless, a furious coupling fueled by pain.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his breath hot in her ear. “You feel how much I fucking want you? Even now?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails clawing at his back through his shirt. “God, yes. It’s not enough.”
He fucked her harder, as if he could reach the core of the problem and obliterate it. The slap of skin, their ragged gasps, the creak of his belt—it was a vulgar soundtrack in the sacred quiet of the park. She met every thrust, her hips bucking, her cunt gripping him like a fist. He could feel the edge of his orgasm, a storm gathering in his gut, but he fought it, wanting to prolong the agony, the perfect, terrible connection.
“Tell me you hate me,” he demanded, his voice breaking.
“I do,” she moaned, her face buried in his neck. “I hate you so much. Don’t stop.”
It was the permission he needed. His control shattered. With a final, deep plunge, he came, a hot, silent rush that emptied him utterly. He spilled inside her, his body shuddering with the force of it. She followed, her own climax a series of tight, pulsing spasms that milked him dry. They clung to each other, spent, still joined, the reality of what they’d done cooling around them like the night air.
Slowly, he let her slide down. Their clothes fell back into place, a feeble attempt at order. They didn’t look at each other. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone beside her head, his breath fogging slightly.
“We can’t do this again,” she whispered, her voice shattered.
“I know.”
“Danny asked me to be his girlfriend tonight. Before I texted you.”
The words were a cold knife. He closed his eyes. “You should say yes.”
“I know that, too.” She finally looked at him, her eyes pools of liquid darkness. “This has to be the last time. We’re… poison to each other right now.”
He nodded, the motion feeling mechanical. The magnitude of his betrayal was a continent settling on his shoulders. He had just fucked Aaliyah in a public park while Simone slept, trusting him to get a drink. He had come inside her. Again. The crib, assembled just hours ago, sat in a room that now felt a universe away.
“Go home to your girlfriend, Eli,” she said, pushing herself away from the wall. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, a gesture of finality. “Really go home this time.”
She walked away, disappearing into the deeper shadows of the park without a backward glance. He stood there for a long time, adjusting his clothes, the smell of her and sex and cold stone clinging to him. He started the slow walk back, each step heavier than the last, carrying the immutable truth that some cracks, once made, can never truly be sealed. The foundation was broken. He was just living on the fault line.