Top to bottom.
Slow as hell. His eyes drag down my chest, my stomach, pause at my waist, then crawl their way back up to my face. He’s smirking now. I step in. Close the door behind me.
Warm water hits my chest, then my face, then he runs his hand through my hair and pushes it all back. His hands slide straight down, grabbing my ass, pulling me right into him. His dick is pressing against mine.
I look down. He lifts my chin with two fingers, and kisses me. Then I drag my eyes down his body again, devouring every inch.
He’s obscene. All abs and veins, and that perfect V-line that disappears where my eyes keep landing. I don’t know what to touch first. My hand is already moving on its own across his stomach.
He’s art. The kind that demands silence. The kind you stare at for hours and still never understand how it exists. His chest,his waist, the way his body curves…I could study him forever and never run out of things to admire.
We stare at each other, breathing the same air. Every inch of me is flushed, hard, and still it’s not enough. I want him closer. Inside. Everywhere. The soap slides over his chest, over the lines of muscle, down his stomach, the water making his skin shine under the dim bathroom light.
My hands follow the path. I’m supposed to be washing him, but let’s be honest, I’m worshipping. His body flexes under my touch. I rinse the lather off him with my palms. My fingers move lower, brushing his hips, his thighs, trailing places I’m pretending to clean. And then my hand slips lower. He kisses me.
Harder this time. And then he pulls back, his eyes locked on mine. "Still thirsty, huh?" he murmurs.
I look down. He’s hard. Fuck. I swallow and look up again, my eyes meeting his. "You don’t seem to mind."
He doesn’t. He steps in closer, curls a hand behind my neck, slicks back my wet hair. He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
"On your knees."
I blink up at him, literally stunned.
"Please?" he whispers.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
I drop to my knees before I even think, mouth brushing down his stomach as I sink, kissing the trail of water over his skin with my hands on his thighs. My body already knows that this is where I belong. This is where I shut the fuck up and serve.
He’s leaning against the wall, skin flushed from the steam. I kiss up his thigh slowly. And when I take him in my mouth.
The second my tongue touches his dick, he starts to fall apart. Both his hands go straight to my head, balancing himself,and this low moan slips out of him. Giving him head is addictive. I don’t even know if I’m doing it for him anymore or for me. Might be both. I’ve fully lost the plot. I just wanna lick him and taste him. Always.
I go deeper without thinking twice, not caring if it makes me choke a little. It’s worth it. Every time. I moan around him. He tilts his head back, and I get greedy. I press deeper. Hollow my cheeks. Grip his thighs.
His breath hitches, and that fucking sound makes my spine arch. Because if he’s loving this, if I’m the reason for that little tremble in his legs, then I’ll never stop.
He keeps staring. His hand tightens in my hair, grounding. "You look so pretty like this."
Pretty. He says I look pretty.
Like this mess of me on my knees is art. I moan as I swallow him deeper, desperate to deserve that fucking word. My hand grips the back of his thigh. He lets out a groan, and I can’t stop.
I’m addicted. To the way he gasps. To the way his hips stutter. My name in that voice. I swear, I can cum just from that.
So I worship harder. I flatten my tongue, suck deeper. He keeps moaning like I’m killing him in the best fucking way. I pull back just enough to breathe a little. His dick glistens. I lick lower. Trace my tongue down the base slowly. He shudders. His thighs tense on either side of me. I lick upward. From the base to the tip, every inch, worshipping him.
And when I finally take him in again, deeper and smoother. He whimpers. "Holy goddamn mouth," he whispers.
His hand shoots into my hair, fisting it, and I moan around him. He starts moving my head, using me.
And fuck me if that doesn’t do something to me. The way he holds me. The way he moans above me. I’m so far gone. He tastes like everything I’m not allowed to crave. But I couldn’t care less.
I know exactly where to go. Exactly how to finish him. I pull back just enough to focus on the tip, my tongue flicking over the slit. Right on that sweet spot, the one I know drives him insane.
