Chapter 5: Shower Confessions
Steam thickened the air, a dense, wet blanket that smelled of Josh’s cheap citrus soap and the lingering musk of their bodies. Megan stood under the spray, eyes closed, letting the near-scalding water sluice the dried sweat and evidence of the last hour from her skin. The heat was a brand, washing away the sticky chill of the staircase, the phantom groans of the wood. She heard the shower curtain rings scrape against the rod, a subtle rustle, and then the temperature shifted as his body displaced the water.She didn’t open her eyes. She felt him behind her, the heat of him a different temperature than the water. His hands settled on her hips, his touch already claiming.“We have ten minutes,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. It was swallowed by the drumming water on the porcelain.
“Fuck ten minutes,” he murmured into her wet hair.His lips traced the shell of her ear. His erection, already hard again, pressed against the small of her back.The desire was a circuit that hadn’t been broken, only paused. The shower wasn’t for cleansing; it was just another arena.
He turned her, not gently, his hands guiding her by the shoulders until she faced the cool, cracked tiles. The contrast was shocking: the blistering spray on her back, the chilly porcelain against her front. He leaned into her, his chest damp against her spine.
“Put your hands on the wall,” he said, his voice a low command that vibrated through her.She obeyed, palms flattening against the slick tiles. The water streamed over her head, down the valley of her spine. He kissed a path from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, a slow counterpoint to the sudden, impatient spread of his hands on her ass. He parted her cheeks, and she felt the blunt, hot press of him against her opening. He was already slick, she was soaked from the water and from want, and he pushed into her without ceremony.It was a deep, filling invasion. She cried out, the sound muffled by the shower’s roar. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each thrust a hard drive that shoved her hands up the wall. His grip on her hips was bruising, holding her in place for his cock. The slap of his skin against hers was sharp, audible even over the water.“Is this how you needed it?” he grunted, his breath hot on her wet neck. “After all that quiet in the library? You needed to be fucking pinned and filled?”
“Yes!” The word was a sob, torn from her. The vulgarity, the sheer carnal truth of it, ignited her. She pushed back against him, taking him deeper, the angle hitting a spot that made her thighs shake. Her orgasm built not as a wave but as a tightening coil, low and vicious. “Josh, please—”
He fucked her through it, his pace never faltering as she clenched and trembled around him, her cries lost in the steam. But just as his own breathing hitched, as his thrusts grew more ragged, he suddenly pulled out.
She whimpered at the loss, empty and aching.He turned her roughly, his hands firm on her waist. His face was sheened with water and taut with need. Without a word, he hooked his hand behind her knee and lifted her leg, placing her foot on the edge of the tub. He entered her again, but this time it was different.Slow. A deliberate, deep slide that seated him completely.He looked into her eyes. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by an intensity that was almost frightening in its focus. The water plastered his dark hair to his forehead, ran in rivulets down the hard planes of his chest.
He began to move again, but this was not the fuck against the tiles.This was something else. Each withdrawal was agonizingly slow, each penetration a deep, rolling reclaiming of her body.He leaned in, capturing her mouth with his. The kiss was deep and searching, a tangle of tongue and shared breath that was more intimate than anything that had come before.His hands cradled her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.
This was lovemaking.Tender, raw, and devastatingly specific. It was a silent confession in the echo chamber of the shower. He moved inside her with a reverence that belied the filth of their earlier words, a deep, aching rhythm that seemed to originate from his core. She clutched his shoulders, her nails digging in, her other leg trembling as she balanced. The pleasure was a different creature now—not a sharp fracture but a swelling, all-consuming warmth that started where they were joined and radiated outward until she was nothing but feeling.
“I see you,” he whispered against her lips, the words almost lost. “I’ve always seen you.”
It was the permission she didn’t know she needed. Her climax broke over her not with a scream, but with a choked, shuddering gasp, a wave of pure, white-hot release that squeezed him tightly, drawing his own from him. He came with a low, guttural groan, his body locking, his forehead pressed to hers as he pulsed inside her, the heat of his release a secret burst of warmth in the cooling water.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, swaying slightly under the spray, connected, breathing the same steam-thick air.Finally, he softened and slipped from her. He reached behind him and twisted the knob. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip of water from the showerhead and their ragged breathing. He reached for a towel, rough and thin, and wrapped it around her, rubbing her arms through the fabric.
They dried off in a quiet haze, a new and fragile understanding hanging between them. The hurried drying, the search for clean clothes—his boxer briefs and a worn grey henley for him, her rumpled vintage dress from the living room floor for her—were performed with a quiet efficiency.The ordinary acts felt monumental. He handed her her underwear, his fingers brushing hers, a simple touch that now carried the weight of everything.
As she pulled the dress over her head, the scent of her own perfume, mixed with the smell of him and sex, rose from the fabric.She’d have to wear it.There was no other option. Josh, dressed, ran a hand through his damp hair, looking more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him.
“They’re going to know,” he said, echoing her words from the bed.She walked to him, took his hand, and laced her fingers through his. “Let them.”
The walk to the café was only two blocks. The autumn air was crisp, a shock to their shower-dampened skin.They didn’t speak. Their joined hands swung between them, a silent, defiant statement. As they approached the large window of the bustling restaurant, they could see Liv and Jordan already seated at a corner table, two menus open, two expectant faces turned toward the door.Jordan saw them first. His eyebrows shot up, then a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.Liv followed his gaze. Her eyes swept over them—over Megan’s same dress, over Josh’s damp hair, over their linked hands. Her expression softened from impatience to something resembling approval, tinged with amusement.Josh squeezed Megan’s hand once, tight. “Ready for the greasiest thing on the menu?”
She looked up at him, the shyness gone, burned away in the steam and the sweat and the raw, honest words. In its place was a steady, certain warmth. “Bring it on,” she said, and let him pull her toward the door, toward their friends, toward whatever came next.