The taste of him flooded my senses. Water and heat and the faint trace of something underneath—grief, maybe, or exhaustion. I chased it with my tongue, licking into his mouth, swallowing the groan that rumbled up from his chest. When I bit his lower lip, he growled and spun us, pressing my back against the cold tile.
The contrast—hot water, cold tile, Tank's burning body against mine—made me gasp.
His cock was already hardening against my hip. I could feel it—thick, heavy, pressing into me with an urgency that matched my own. I rolled my hips,grinding against him, and the friction pulled sounds from both of us that echoed off the shower walls.
"Fuck." Tank's voice was wrecked. "Tyler, I don't—I've never?—"
"I know." I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, my hands still tangled in his hair. Water streamed down his face, caught in his lashes, dripped from the hard line of his jaw. "I know you haven't. I don't care. I want you anyway. I want youbecauseof it—because I get to be the one who shows you." I kissed him again, softer this time, a counterpoint to the hardness pressing between us. "Let me show you."
His answer was a groan that I felt more than heard, his hands tightening on my hips hard enough to bruise. I took that as permission.
I slid my hand between us, wrapping my fingers around both of us together. The sensation was overwhelming—his cock hot and thick against mine, the water making everything slick, my palm barely able to encompass both of us. Tank's forehead fell forward against the tile, his eyes closing, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.
"Like that?" I worked us together, finding a rhythm that made my own knees weak. "Does that feel good?"
"God—yes—" The words came out broken. "Tyler, I need?—"
"I know what you need." I released us both, then sank to my knees.
The tile was hard beneath me, the waterstreaming down over both of us, but I barely noticed. Tank's cock was right in front of my face—thick, flushed dark with blood, curving slightly upward, bigger than I'd let myself imagine during all those nights alone. I looked up at him through the spray, held his gaze, and wrapped my hand around the base.
"Tyler, you don't have to?—"
"I want to." I leaned forward and licked a slow stripe up the underside, base to tip, tasting salt and skin and something uniquely him. His whole body shuddered, stomach muscles clenching, thighs trembling. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. Wondering what you'd taste like. What sounds you'd make. Whether I could take all of you."
I took him into my mouth. The groan that ripped out of Tank was guttural, desperate, echoing off the shower walls. His hand flew to my head, fingers threading through my wet hair, not pushing but holding on like he needed the anchor to keep from flying apart. I took him deeper, relaxing my throat the way I'd learned years ago, letting him slide in until my nose brushed against the coarse hair at his base.
"Fuck—" The word came out strangled. "Tyler, that's—I've never?—"
I pulled back slowly, hollowing my cheeks, creating suction that made his hips jerk. Swirled my tongue around the head, tasting the salt of his precum. Then I sank down again, taking him to the root, feeling him throb against my tongue.
I set a rhythm—slow at first, letting him feel everything, then gradually faster. Each time I pulled back, I swirled my tongue around the sensitive head. Each time I sank down, I took him as deep as I could, letting him feel my throat constrict around him. Tank's breathing turned ragged, his hand tightening in my hair, his hips starting to move in small, involuntary thrusts.
I wanted more. I wanted him to lose control completely. I grabbed his ass with both hands—firm muscle flexing under my palms—and pulled him forward. Urged him to fuck my mouth the way I knew he wanted to.
He resisted at first. "I don't want to hurt you..."
I pulled off just long enough to speak. "You won't. I can take it. Give me everything."
Then I took him back in, deeper than before, and hollowed my cheeks in invitation.
Tank broke. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock into my throat, and I moaned around him—the vibration making him curse and thrust again. He found a rhythm, fucking my mouth with increasing urgency, and I took it all. Let him use me. Let the obscene wet sounds of it fill the bathroom, let the ache in my jaw become another kind of pleasure.
"I can't—" His voice cracked. "Tyler, I'm going to?—"
I pulled off with a wet sound, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. "Not yet."
"Jesus Christ." Tank's chest was heaving, waterrunning down the planes of his body, his cock jutting out red and slick and desperate. "You're going to kill me."
"Not until I'm done with you." I rose to my feet, water streaming down my back, and kissed him again. Let him taste himself on my tongue. His hands came up to grip my face, holding me in place while he devoured my mouth like a starving man.
"Bed," I gasped between kisses. "Now."
We barely made it out of the bathroom.
Tank grabbed a towel, started to dry me off with a gentleness that made my chest ache, but I wasn't in the mood for gentle. I pulled the towel from his hands and threw it aside, then pushed him backward toward the bed. He went willingly, the backs of his knees hitting the mattress, and when he sat down I climbed into his lap—straddling his hips, our wet bodies sliding together, his hands gripping my thighs like he was afraid I might disappear.
I could feel his cock—still hard, impossibly hard—pressed against my ass. I ground down against it, feeling it slide between my cheeks, and the sound he made was almost pained.
