Showerhead streams painted road maps on her skin to places I have never been, places I hungered to know. “Hotter”, she whispered. Amazing how much ten degree turns of small steel can turn on. She leaned her head to the right and pressed her body backwards into mine. Her left hand held my left taught against her stomach while her right arched back toward my unshaven cheek.
This moment was superficial perfection – two people conjuring an emotional connection for the sake of enjoying the physical one. I suppose I didn’t mind. We were coconspirators in this romantic treachery.
“Kiss me” she whispered as she turned her still made up face, perfect breasts, and roving hands toward me. I began slowly, teasingly. Kissing her like two lovers parting in the morning. 1.5 seconds of a kiss with my eyes open pausing for a beat to take the measure of her even as her eyes were closed. Kiss her again. I allowed myself this intimate indulgence but resisted the further intimacy of kisses meant for those you kiss deliberately.
My lips explored her neck as the big of my hands roamed from the small of her back to having handfuls of her hair. She folded herself even closer to me as if she was trying to press through me to find what she really wanted on the other side. Making my way from her neck, tracing her collar bone, not rushing to her breasts, I have always been patient. She wraps a leg around me and leans into the wall for support. My hand caresses her thigh in concentric circles moving slowly towards the place she wants me to be.
The first digit finds her hotter than the water still pulsing towards us and I kiss her again. This time it is an urgent kiss and I hear the last barrier to this indulgence fall. Her moans excite me but in a selfish way feeding my sexual ego rather than finding joy in her pleasure. Craving more, I kiss my way down her body until I am kneeling with a thigh on my shoulder and my tongue drawing shapes on her clit.
The sound of her palm slapping the tile synchs with my tongue in a certain spot so I stay there. I alternate the speeds of the metronome beating in my mind until I feel her quiver against me. Soon the only sound is the shower still meting its rhythm.