“They say no and I’m exactly where I am now.”
“Exactly. No downside.” She rinses the razor a final time and sets it on the counter. Then she picks up a towel, runs it under warm water, and presses it to my face. The heat blooms through my skin, and I groan at how good it feels.
“That’s not a terrible idea,” I admit, muffled through the towel. “The telehealth thing.”
“It’s a great idea. It was your idea.” She peels the towel away and studies my face. Her hand comes up to stroke my newly smooth jaw, her thumb tracing along the line of it with a softness that makes my knees weak. “There he is. I can see your whole face now.”
“And?”
“And you’re fucking hot.” Her thumb traces from my jaw to my lower lip, tugging it down slightly. She’s still standing between my legs, her body bracketed by my knees, close enough I can feel the heat of her. Her eyes drop to where I’m straining against the fabric of my pants and then back up to my face.
“Can I?” she asks.
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
Eva sinks to her knees between my legs on the bathroom tile. She runs her palms up my thighs, slow and deliberate, watching my face as she goes. When she reaches my waistband, she hooks her fingers in and tugs everything down. I lift my hips to help, and my cock springs free, hard and aching.
“Hi again,” she murmurs, and despite everything—the job loss, the fear, the uncertainty about the future—I laugh.
“You’re going to greet him every time?”
“It’s only polite.” She wraps her hand around me, and I hiss. Her grip is firm and sure, her thumb sweeping over the head where I’m already leaking. “Is this okay? I want you to feel good.”
“Eva.” Her name is a reflexive groan. “It’s so much more than okay.”
She strokes me slowly, her other hand on my thigh, fingers curling into the muscle. She watches my face with an intensity that makes me feel like the most important thing in the world.
She leans forward and takes me into her mouth, and my hands fly to her hair. I try to be gentle—threading my fingers through the dark strands instead of gripping—but when her tongue does something obscene against the underside of my cock, my fist clenches involuntarily.
“Sorry…”
She pulls back just enough to say, “Don’t be. I like it.” Then she takes me deeper, and I stop apologizing.
The sounds she makes—wet, eager, unhurried—echo off the bathroom tiles. Her hand works the base of me in time with her mouth, and the combination is so good it borders on cruel. I’m already close.
“Eva, I’m going to…” I try to warn her, try to be decent about it, but she doesn’t pull away. She takes me deeper, hollows her cheeks, and hums. The vibration sends me over the edge.
I come with her name in my mouth and her name on repeat in my head and my fingers buried in her hair and my vision going white at the edges. It rolls through me in waves—release and relief and something bigger, something that feels like breaking a wall I’ve been bracing against for years.
When my breathing steadies, she pulls away, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and rises from the tile. She leans against the counter, looking extremely pleased with herself.
I stare at her. My body is still humming, my brain rebooting, and she’s pivoted to career planning like she didn’t just take me apart on her knees.
“Come here,” I say.
Something in my tone makes her pupils blow wide. She steps closer and I pull her onto my lap, my pants still around my thighs, her legs straddling mine on the toilet seat. It’s not graceful. The porcelain is cold under my ass, and her knee bumps the toilet paper holder. But she’s here, in my arms, her weight solid and real against me.
“Thank you,” I say, and I don’t just mean the orgasm. I mean the shave. The career suggestion. The way she refuses to let me spiral into self-pity. The way she makes me feel wanted.
“You’re welcome.” She cups my smooth jaw in both hands. “Wow, you really do have a face under there. My boyfriend is so hot.”
“Your boyfriend wants to make you come.” I slide my hand beneath the hem of her shirt and trail my fingers up her ribs. She shivers. I find the weight of her breast and palm it, thumbing across the peaked nipple. She gasps and rocks forward.
I slip my hand down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her jeans, and find her already wet. The discovery sends a jolt through me so intense my spent cock stirs against her thigh.
“Oh,” she breathes, her forehead dropping to my shoulder.
I stroke her the way she shaved my face—slow, deliberate, paying attention to what makes her breath catch. Two fingers slide inside her easily, and my thumb circles her clit. She moans against my neck, her hips rocking to meet my hand.
