I had to prop her up before restarting the shower.
“I thought you were going to take care of me,” I teased her. “Looks like I’m in charge.”
“Blame temporary asphyxiation by massive cock.”
I barked a laugh. Smartass.
“I need oxygen to my head.” She pouted.
I traced her lips before cupping her jaw. “Was I too hard on you, Lusenka?”
“Yes, and no. Yes, in the beginning.” Her head dipped as if embarrassed, but I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand to encourage her to open up to me.
“Then?”
She rolled her lips. “I’m finding out I might love it. I love how you push my boundaries. I love seeing you lose control…because of me.”
That statement should bother me because I was a man who prided himself on absolute command of my feelings and actions. But with my wife, I was finding out I didn’t care.
“We'd better get to the business of showering before we turn into prunes,” she said.
Ah, yes, the purpose of getting clean. “Why? When I’m going to dirty you up all over again.”
Lucy’s answer was to shake her head, grab the soap and gesture for me to turn around. She started soaping my back. I could admit, it felt nice. No comparison to her sucking my dick,but nice nonetheless. When she went lower, rubbing over my ass, my cock started to wake up again.
“Don’t get any ideas. This is clinical,” she said. She turned me back the other way around and grabbed the shampoo. “Now you’re going to shampoo my hair.”
I raised a brow. “Oh.”
“Showering is not all about sex, Kirill,” she said. “Think of it as a way to give and take.”
“Like I scratch your back and you scratch mine?” I deadpanned. She rolled her eyes, but Lucy didn’t have to explain any more. I was a quick learner. I’d been a selfish lover who didn’t give anything past delivering orgasms. The shower, to me, was another erotic location for sex. The sensuousness of slippery soap over wet skin was very stimulating to me. But as I dug my fingers into Lucy’s hair and she moaned as I worked her scalp, I was finding pleasure in giving her pleasure without the expectation of sex.
But sometimes outside of sex, lingering in the shower could open up vulnerabilities…
Her fingers traced my back. “There are scars beneath these tattoos.”
“I have a dozen of them. Take your pick.”
“This doesn’t seem like a knife. They’re parallel like…”
I spun her around and caught her hand and distracted her with a kiss. She didn’t probe, but I was under no illusion that she would forget to circle back to those scars. Lucy was a strategist, as I’d learned in the few months I’d known her.
After cleaning up, it was time to prepare the bed.
“Ugh, I hate this,” Lucy mumbled.
“You hate the bed?” It was a craftsman’s bed. Irina had it specially commissioned.
“No. When you’re so sleepy but you stripped the bed earlier to wash the sheets and forgot to put fresh ones on.” She huffed. “I do it all the time and never learn.”
I pointed at the armchair in the corner of the bedroom. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll do it.”
Lucy didn’t argue but slunk off to curl up in the sofa chair. “See, I’m useless at this domesticated stuff.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, baby. How about after our nap, you fix me a grilled cheese sandwich?”
She grinned. “Deal.”
