I don’t have a choice but to release my hold on her as she sinks to her knees in front of me. The water spray hits me square on the chest, burning hot but still soothing compared to the fire raging inside of me. My hands push into the strands of her hair, curls slippery from the conditioner she hasn’t washed out. I pull a curl out with my fingers, watching it spring back when I let go.
Her hair is momentarily fascinating.
Until her slim fingers wrap around my dick and she sucks the tip of it into her mouth.
It stands up so stiff that she doesn’t need to do anything to keep it straight, but that doesn’t stop her hand from running up and down the length of me. Her cheeks pucker from the effort she puts into sucking me off. My eyes roll back into my head with the effort it takes not to come down her throat after the first minute.
Zaya could lick me like a lollipop, and it would still be the best blow job I’ve ever had. Because it’s her mouth. And her hands. It’s just her.
She pulls back enough to lick her lips before sliding them slowly back over the sensitive head of my cock. Her hands work harder, both of them twisting down my shaft. My thighs twitch and I almost lose my balance. I have to hold on to the little towel bar on the wall to keep from falling to my knees and taking her down with me.
As nice as it might be, I don’t want to come down her throat. Not this time, at least.
I yank her to her feet, catching her when she slips on the soapy floor and stumbles against me. Kissing her hard again, just because I can, my hands grip her ass and mold her body against mine.
Her leg lifts to balance on the shower ledge, grinding her herself against my upper thigh. The heat of the water is nothing compared to the furnace of her cunt against my skin.
I think about how easy it would be to slip inside of her without any barriers between us. Later, I could blame the heat of the moment and manfully insist on dealing with any potential consequences.
But she is smart enough to anticipate my thoughts, even if she doesn’t realize it.
“Condom,” she gasps against my mouth. “I think I have one in my purse.”
Her hips pull far enough away that I feel a rush of cold.
“Let me get it.”
My toiletry bag is on the counter, totally innocuous. She can’t know that the strip of condoms coiled up in the side pocket have already been prepared with the edge of a safety pin. She won’t know that they won’t provide the protection she thinks.
And I’m not going to tell her.
I hate myself more than a little bit as I sheathe my still cock and step into the shower. She stands there waiting for me, body lushly welcoming and an invitation in her smile.
When my mouth opens again, and I almost tell her the truth. The urge to drop down on my knees and beg forgiveness is overwhelming.
Then her thigh hooks over my hip. She squeezes my cock in her hand and urges my hips forward until I am posed at her entrance.
Any ability for rational thought flees and the words die on my tongue.
Pushing inside of her feels like finally coming home after a lifetime of wandering.
I push her back against the tile wall of the shower. Her passage clenches around my cock, gripping harder than a fist. It only takes a few strokes before I feel the sharp fluttering of her approaching orgasm.
My hands form a shelf under her ass so I can lift her feet off the floor. Using her back against the wall for balance, I slam into her over and over again. Zaya begs me to fuck her harder, faster, fisting my hair and pulling on it hard because she is losing control of herself.
I’m right there with her.
Her eyes roll back into her head and her pussy clamps down on me like a vice when she comes. A silent cry parts her lips. I cover her mouth with my own, taking everything she has to give. Her whimpers, her screams, her very breath.
She is too far gone to tell any difference when I explode inside her.
I’ve always liked watching Zaya sleep. Nobody needs to tell me how weird and creepy that is, but it is what it is. The first few times I climbed into her room, it was just to stare at her sleeping face. I think I hoped that she might whisper her secret into what she thought was empty air and I’d finally get the answer I’ve been waiting for since we were children.
It became something different the first time she woke up to see me sitting there. I had to pretend that I hadn’t climbed up the trellis outside and hung from my fingers until I could level my foot up on the window sill, just because I wanted to study her face in the only moments when she seemed at peace.
So I made it about sex, because that was easier than telling the truth.
We’ve always had everything but truth between us, so what was one more lie.
But I no longer have to think of excuses to watch her sleep. I carry her from the shower to the bed, and she is already asleep by the time I lay her out on the blanket. To be fair, I woke her up in the middle of the night to bring her here, and not everyone needs as little as sleep as I do.
When
