“I like watching you,” I say as if to explain myself or reassure him.
He tilts his head back to wash the suds out of his hair. “And I think I like being watched,” he says, and his voice is smooth, almost sleepy.
With that soft, humble tone, and his cock now pointing skyward and the shape of his balls tighter and higher, I can't sit there any longer. I want to touch him. Ihaveto touch him. Forgetting I'm even dressed, I walk towards him and under the water. I put my left hand on his neck and invite him to watch what my other hand is doing as it wraps itself around his dick and squeezes him at the base. Then I slide my grip up, loosening it a little around the sensitive head. He sighs and leans his chin against the side of my face. I do this a few more times before I reach down and gently take his balls in my hand, feeling how full they are. When he shudders, I apply a little more pressure before cupping them again and feeling them from a different angle.
“Jenna,” he says, and hearing my name startles me.
My ex-husband never said my name during sex. He never said much at all during sex, and I thought I was okay with that.
I thought I was okay with a lot of things.
“What do you want?” I ask him, the water running into my eyes and mouth, no doubt smearing my mascara and make-up, but I don't care. I love the way my dress is sticking to my body now, giving me new sensations on my breasts and my thighs. All the places I love to be touched and caressed. “Tell me what you like.”
“You,” he says, and I wonder which question he's answering, but he clarifies quickly after his lips crash onto mine. “Right now, I just want you.”
It's not the answer I want – I want details, instructions, a comprehensive guide to his body – because I want to get this right, even if it’s only for one night. Or maybe that’s the very reason I want to get it right.
“Tell me-” I pull back, but as I speed up my strokes on his dick, gripping a little harder, he takes my mouth again. We kiss with a hunger that I now know was just a seed the last few times we kissed. Now it's growing, wild and ravenous, covering all the ground it can, invading whatever part of me it hadn't already.When his hands move from my lower back to squeeze my arse and pull me against him, I gasp, slipping my hand out from between our bodies so we can press closer together. When he starts to rock against me, seeking out friction and rhythm against the wet fabric of my dress, I moan into his mouth. When the fingers of his right hand lean down and climb their way under the hem of my dress and his knuckles brush my thigh, I think my legs are going to give way, but he holds me firmly against him with his left hand. I still move though, opening my legs so he can find me, and he does, two fingers stroking the lace of my underwear.
“You're so hot and wet,” he whispers into my lips.
“I'm standing under a shower. It's not all you,” I say touching his nose with the tip of mine.
It's all you,I want to say but I don't.
“Can I take your underwear off?” he asks, his voice still quieter than usual, more breath and more depth.
“Fuck, yes,” I say, and together that's what we do, me pulling up my dress and him ripping my sodden knickers down my thighs and calves. He's crouching down to do it and while I expect him to come straight back up, he stays there and kisses both of my legs just above the knee. I watch him lace kisses up my inner thighs, a little stunned. It’s been so long since someone touched me in this way and it’s abruptly overwhelming, too tender and too much. I move one of my hands to cup his chin and bring him back up to standing. But he grips the backs of my thighs with his hands and applies more pressure with his lips as his mouth climbs higher.
“You didn’t think I was all talk, did you?” He leans back out of the spray and looks up at me.
“What?” My brain is dizzy with lust. I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“The way I flirted with you the last few days,” he says. “I am going to show you I’m not all talk.”
Stunned and impossibly even more turned on, I don’t have words to offer him in return. Instead, I take a deep breath and lose my fingers in his hair. With my other hand, I keep my dress held up around my waist but rearrange it so I can see more, so I can watch him as his tongue darts out and licks the full length of mypussy. I lean back to find the wall of the shower, convinced if he does anything else my legs really will give way.
But they don’t. As he kisses my outer labia, tongues me open and then finds my clit, swirling the tip of his tongue around its peak, I close my eyes and concentrate only on the sensation and the building of heat and pressure. I focus on the lush roughness of his tongue, the tenderness of his kisses, and the power I feel having a man on his knees in front of me. Rocking my pelvis into his mouth, I am alarmed but not surprised when I feel the tell-tale squeeze that means I’m close.
“Stop!” I say and pull at his hair. He leans back and looks up at me. Beneath his dark eyes and now red, wet lips, I can see his dick is as hard as ever, the head almost purple in colour now. It’s the most erotic sight.
“Are you okay?” he asks, running a hand down his face to wipe away the water that was falling on him.
“Yes, I just...” I stop, take a breath. “I just need you inside me. Right now.”
“We should get dry and go to bed,” he's saying and reaching up to turn the shower off, but I stop him.
“No, now. I need this now. I need you now,” I say with little grace.
He's up on his feet in less than a second and he's pressing me against the wall, and we're kissing with all that hunger again, but this time I can taste myself and that just adds an extra layer of excitement to it all. His hands are inside my bra, pulling and stroking and gently twisting my nipples. My hand goes back to his dick, stroking, but with less control than earlier.
I’m breathless with how much I want him inside me, so I push him off so that he gets the message. I pull his hand and I shuffle the few steps to the seat I was sitting on and I put my right foot up on it. Feeling a little daring, I make sure his eyes are on my hands as I pull my heavy wet dress up my thighs. Then I glide my hands up and pull the shoulder straps down before reaching back and taking my bra off, dropping it to the floor. I must look a sodden mess. My mascara must be all over my cheeks, my hair is stuck in clumps to my face and neck, and my dress looks like a soaked bedsheet wrapped around the middle of my body, but I don't care. I've not felt this sexy or alive in years.
“Jenna,” he says again, and he steps in front of me, looking down at my body. I close my eyes treasuring how he says my name in that low sexy voice.
“Marty, please,” I say, an unapologetic beg. “Please fuck me.”
“I will,” he says, his hand combing hair off my face. “But first...”
