Chapter 18: Shower and Reverse Cowgirl
The stillness broke with the gurgle of plumbing in the walls. Josh shifted, his arm tightening around her waist for a second before releasing. He sat up, the sheet pooling in his lap.
“Come on,” he said, his voice still hoarse. “You’re sticky. I’m sticky.”
He stood, all lean muscle and careless grace, and offered her a hand. Millie took it, her limbs feeling like wet sand. He led her, naked, across the hall to the bathroom. He flipped the light, the harsh fluorescence making her blink. He turned the shower taps, and a roar of water filled the small space. Steam began to bloom almost immediately.
He tested the temperature with his hand, then pulled her in. The water was a scalding shock, then a blissful blanket. It sluiced over her head, her shoulders, washing the salt and sweat and sex from her skin. She tilted her face up into the spray, closing her eyes.
When she opened them, he was there, his body pressed against hers under the furious downpour. His hands framed her face, thumbs tracing the arches of her brows. He kissed her. It was deep, searching, a stark contrast to the raw hunger of the bed. This kiss was slower, almost thoughtful, a communion in the steam. Her body responded instinctively, her arms winding around his neck, her leg lifting to hook around his hip.
He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged against her mouth. He reached down between them, his hand finding his cock, guiding it to her entrance. The water made everything slick, effortless. He pushed inside, a smooth, full invasion that drew a sharp gasp from her lungs. He filled her completely, the stretch a sweet, familiar ache.
“Fuck,” he groaned into her neck, his hips beginning to piston. The water crashed over them, drumming on their shoulders, blurring their vision. Each thrust was amplified by the slickness, the heat, the enclosed space. The sound was obscene—wet skin slapping, their ragged breaths echoing off the tile, the constant hiss of the shower. He fucked her with a hard, driving rhythm, his hands gripping her ass, holding her open for him.
It was overwhelming. Sensation blurred at the edges. The heat of the water, the heat of his body inside hers, the steam clogging her throat. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back, her cries swallowed by the spray.
After a few minutes, a different clarity pierced the haze. A need for control, for something other than being pinned and taken, even here. She planted her hands on his chest and shoved.
“Wait.”
He stilled, his cock throbbing inside her. His eyes were black with need, questioning.
“Out,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “Get out. Lay down on the floor.”
A slow smile spread across his face—a recognition, an approval. He withdrew from her body, the sudden emptiness a shock. He stepped out of the shower curtain, water sheeting off him onto the bath mat. He didn’t dry off. He just lay down on the cool, patterned tiles, his body a long, lean line on the hard floor. He looked up at her, expectant, his cock curved hard and leaking against his stomach.
Millie turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip of the tap and their breathing. She stepped out, water pooling around her feet. She stood over him, looking down. From this angle, he was entirely hers. Vulnerable. Waiting.
She knelt, straddling his thighs, but didn’t take him inside. Not yet. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, and kissed him. It was a claiming kiss. He yielded to it, his hands coming up to rest on her hips, not guiding, just holding.
Then she shifted back, turning around so her back was to him. She positioned herself over his rigid length, reaching behind to guide him. She lowered herself slowly, feeling the broad head of his cock press against her, then part her. She sank down, taking every inch in a slow, controlled descent until she was fully impaled, her ass pressed against his pelvis.
A guttural sound ripped from his throat. His hands flew to her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh.
“Christ, Millie.”
She began to move. Not a bounce, but a deep, circular grind. She rode him reverse, her own view the fogged lower half of the bathroom door, the damp towel on the hook. It was an anonymous, visceral perspective. All feeling. The thick slide of him inside her, the way her internal muscles clenched and dragged on him with each lift and fall. The cool, hard tile under her knees. The wet slap of her body against his, the sound stark in the quiet room.
She set a brutal pace. Her wet hair, come loose from its ruined bun, slapped against his thighs with every movement. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shins, changing the angle. He hit a spot so deep she saw white behind her eyelids.
“You like that?” Josh grunted, his voice strained. “You like using my cock like this? Riding me like a fucking animal?”
“Yes,” she hissed, the word torn from her. She did. This was different. This power was intoxicating. She could feel him trembling beneath her, his control fraying. She drove down harder, faster, the pleasure coiling tight in her core, a spring about to snap.
“Look at yourself,” he rasped. One hand left her hip, slid through the wet mess between her legs where they were joined, finding her clit. He rubbed rough, tight circles. “Look at you take it. Fucking greedy for it.”
The dual stimulation was too much. Her orgasm detonated, a silent, shattering convulsion that locked her muscles and stole her breath before a broken cry escaped. Her cunt clenched around him in relentless, milking pulses.
It tipped him over the edge. With a roar, his hips surged up off the floor, driving into her as he came. She felt the hot, sudden flood inside her, the helpless jerks of his body beneath hers. His hand on her clit stilled, just holding her there as he emptied himself.
She collapsed forward, onto her elbows, his softening cock still inside her. They lay there like that, connected, panting in the damp, cooling air. The tiles were uncomfortably hard now. The room was growing cold.
He gave her ass a light, stinging slap. “Up. You’ll freeze.”
She pulled off him, a shudder running through her at the loss. She sat back on her heels, watching as he sat up. He looked wrecked. Water and sweat and sex. He grinned at her, that familiar, playful light returning to his eyes, but it was softer at the edges now. Worn.
He grabbed a towel, rough and clean, and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms vigorously before draping one over his own shoulders. He pulled her to her feet and into a hug, her face against his damp chest. She could hear the steady, slowing beat of his heart.
“Coffee,” he mumbled into her hair. “And food. Or we’ll die.”
He kept an arm around her as they walked back to the messy sanctuary of his bedroom. The phone on the sheets had finally gone dark. The day outside the blinds was bright, fully awake. The world was waiting, but for now, it was still locked outside the door.