Wet

I stand facing the showerhead, hot water pouring down over my breasts and down my tattooed belly. I feel a cool gust of air hit my back, and glance over my shoulder to see Antonio enveloped in steam, fully naked, eyes hungry, dick hard. 

“Like what you see?” I grin, wiggling my ass playfully.

“Always,” he teases. “Can I join you in there?”

I met Antonio two years ago at work, and the electricity between us was instant. I’m normally very level-headed and compartmentalized, especially at work, but I’d find myself sitting across from him in meetings imagining what was under his clothes. I wanted to know if he was less reserved in bed than he was in the office. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. By our third date, we were itching to shed all professionalism between us, and all clothes.

Antonio has the body of a gymnast—he’s 5’4” with broad, flat shoulders, narrow hips, muscular thighs, and lean arms. But my favorite trait is his upturned umber eyes that always seem to have life dancing in them. I love to run my hands through his slate black hair and down his soft, melanin-rich skin while I wrap my legs around his hips and ride him. The energy we create is divine, our bodies always in conversation with each other, anticipating the way we will glide, grind or whisper together before even touching. 

I pull him into the shower, closing the curtain, and draw him close so he can feel my wet body pressed up against him. He lets out a barely-there moan as his dick rubs up against my slick thigh and then grabs my face with both of his hands, kissing me deeply on the mouth before hungrily running his lips and tongue over my neck. Each love bite pulses in my clit—I try not to make too much noise since my roommate is getting ready on the other side of the wall, but I want to moan in his ear as he nips at my neck. Instead, I pull his face back up to meet mine and kiss him before biting his bottom lip and tugging it toward me.

He runs his hands over my body, gripping my ass, my hips, and cupping my breasts, surveying every inch of me with both sight and touch. I move my mouth to his neck, kissing and nibbling down to his collarbone and up to his earlobe. He leans into every touch of my lips. I continue working each of his favorite spots, then take his cock into my hand, gripping it and sliding up and down in rhythm with his ragged breath. He gasps in my ear, and I grin against him, taking my kisses lower and lower until I am on my knees in front of him, water running down my back and tickling my asshole.

He looks down at me, water beading in his curly hair, dripping from his nose and lips, breathing heavily as I stroke him. I tilt my chin to look him in his eyes before taking him deep into my mouth. He throws his head back, closing his eyes, and bites his lip to avoid moaning too loud. I grab his supple ass with both hands and pull his hips closer, his dick filling my mouth, stretching my lips, teasing the back of my throat. 

Before I met Antonio, giving head didn’t give me much pleasure. It always felt like an obligation—a must-have for foreplay that was rarely returned. With Antonio, giving head is a spiritual experience. I love how he thrusts his hips in time with the movements of my lips and tongue. I love the deep tones of his moans—moans only I can draw out of him. Sex with Antonio makes me feel connected to the deepest carnal parts of myself. We each surrender to the other, and it’s in that state of vulnerability where I finally release the control I try so hard to maintain in my everyday life. I let my walls down and tap into what’s begging to be explored—my desires, fantasies, curiosities—the raw parts of myself. When we connect in this way, knowing he is pleased and that I’m about to be pleased, I get turned the fuck on.

He places his hands on the shower walls, steadying himself, and I move my mouth up and down, tongue cupping the shaft of his dick, throat welcoming the tip. We rock in tandem like this, bringing him to the brink, until he whispers, “fuck, hold on.”

I stop and look up at him. My face is wet under the water flowing over him and onto me. He studies me for a moment before helping me to my feet. “Tell me how you want it, baby.”

I kiss him sensually, running my tongue over his bottom lip before turning around and putting my hands against the shower wall, bending over halfway so my ass and pussy spread open in anticipation. 

He positions himself so that just the tip of his cock presses against my vulva. The hot water pelts down on my back, and he brushes his hands over my ass and hips, drinking in every curve before sliding his hands up to my breasts and cupping them, running his thumbs over my hard nipples. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his hands and my pussy onto his dick.

He slides in effortlessly, filling my wetness with a gasp. He goes slowly at first, working my nipples between his fingers, pushing his entire length inside of me, and then pulling all the way out. I match his rhythm with my hips, but after a while, I can’t take the slow, tantalizing teasing anymore.

“Harder,” I breathe against the cold shower tiles.

He grips my hips and thrusts into me, picking up speed. I bite my lip harder with every stroke to conceal any sound, although I’m sure my roommate can hear the slap of his thighs against my wet ass by now—it’s reverberating through the bathroom.

He moves faster and deeper, hitting the spot he knows will make me cum, and I start to lose control of myself, letting a moan or two escape my lips as I reach my climax. I feel my pussy tighten around him and whisper, “I’m cumming.” 

He thrusts as hard and fast as he can and then I shatter around him, my orgasm running through my body like the juice of a ripe peach running down my throat. It is sweet and vibrant and my legs tremble beneath me as I finally release. Then all is still, all is wet.

Photo by Kim Akrigg