Chapter 22: Sweet morning
The sticky, cooling proof of their union was a map on Natasha’s skin. She stirred, every muscle languid and satisfied. Wanda’s weight was a warm anchor beside her.
“Shower,” Natasha mumbled into the crook of Wanda’s neck, her voice husky. “We’re a mess.”
Wanda hummed in agreement, her fingers stroking through Natasha’s damp hair. “A beautiful mess.” But she made no move to get up, instead letting her magic seep into the space around them—a gentle, crimson pulse. The air shimmered, and the substantial, satisfying weight of her cock dissolved, leaving behind the smooth, familiar planes of her vulva, slick and swollen. She sighed, a soft release of focus.
Natasha felt the shift against her thigh. She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down at Wanda’s form, now wholly female. A different kind of ache, tender and deep, throbbed in response.
They untangled themselves, the velvet releasing them with a whisper. The walk to the ensuite was a slow, silent procession of two bodies thoroughly used. Natasha flicked the gold taps, and steaming water began to cascade into the wide, marble-tiled shower.
Steam billowed, erasing the boudoir and enclosing them in a warm, private cloud. Natasha stepped under the spray first, tilting her head back with a groan as the heat hit her sore shoulders and washed the first streaks of white from her skin. Wanda followed, her eyes dark and appreciative.
The water sluiced over Natasha, revealing the landscape of her form anew. Wanda watched, utterly captivated, as droplets traced the defined grooves of Natasha’s abdomen, beaded on the tight muscles of her thighs, and ran in rivulets down the powerful curve of her biceps.
“Your body,” Wanda breathed, reaching out but not touching, just tracing the air an inch from Natasha’s skin. “God, Natasha. Your abs, these thighs… these biceps. It’s a masterpiece of strength. A testament to everything you’ve survived.” Her voice was full of reverence, not just lust. “And it’s all mine to worship.”
The words, so raw with admiration, hit Natasha harder than any command. She turned, pressing Wanda back against the cool marble wall, the hot water pounding between them. “Then worship,” she said, her voice low.
She dropped to her knees on the shower floor, the water plastering her red hair to her skull. Her hands gripped Wanda’s hips, holding her steady. Wanda’s head fell back against the tile with a soft thud, her eyes fluttering closed.
Natasha didn’t hesitate. She buried her face between Wanda’s legs, her tongue finding its home in a single, long, flat stroke from perineum to clit. The taste was electric—a mix of clean skin, their earlier passion, and something uniquely, fundamentally Wanda. Natasha groaned into her, the vibration earning a sharp gasp from above.
“Yes, just like that,” Wanda urged, her hands tangling in Natasha’s wet hair, not forcing, but guiding.
Natasha dove in with a focused hunger. This wasn’t detached skill; it was rediscovery. She licked and suckled at Wanda’s labia, then circled her clit with the pointed tip of her tongue, flicking rapidly before softening to broad, slow presses. She slid two fingers inside, curling them up, finding that sweet, spongy spot deep within, and stroked in time with the lapping of her tongue. The sounds were obscenely loud in the tiled space: wet sucks, ragged breaths, the relentless spray of the shower.
“Fuck, your mouth,” Wanda choked out, her hips starting a shallow grind against Natasha’s face. “That’s it, baby. Right there. Don’t you dare stop.”
Natasha redoubled her efforts, her world narrowing to the feel of Wanda swelling and tightening against her mouth, the scent of her arousal cutting through the steam, the desperate little cries she was pulling from her lover’s throat. She felt Wanda’s thighs begin to tremble, the muscles in her abdomen clenching. She was close, teetering on the edge.
But then, Wanda’s hands tightened, not in climax, but in gentle restraint. She pulled Natasha’s head back, her chest heaving. “Wait,” she panted.
Natasha looked up, water and desire streaming down her face, confusion and need warring in her eyes.
Wanda slid down the wall to join her on the wet floor, their knees touching. She cradled Natasha’s face, her thumbs wiping away droplets. Her gaze was intense, serious amidst the steam.
“That was good,” Wanda said, her voice low and thick. “Really fucking good. But it was instinct, memory. It wasn’t us yet. Not fully.” She leaned her forehead against Natasha’s. “We need to spend a week. A full week, just like this. Getting your lesbian sex skills and my special… futa mode… back to normal from your previous lives. The rhythms are off. The fire is there, but the control, the synergy… it’s rusty.”
She kissed Natasha, slow and deep, a promise and a demand. “Let’s work on lesbian sex,” Wanda murmured against her lips. “From the ground up. I want to remember every way you like to be eaten. I want you to remember how to make me come just by whispering in my ear. We have a mission, my love spider. We need our tools sharp.”