I can’t wait for the next step—I’m eager for it. But I like the process, too. Each step is its own beautiful journey.
And this, in the shower, exchanging orgasms? So beautiful.
His fingers press so lightly against my clit that I can barely feel it, but it drives me wild. I gasp, whimper. Press my hips forward in a plea for him to do something more. Oh, he understands my needs all too well. His hand drops from my breast and delves between my thighs, and then a finger slides into my sex and fills me and his other hand is busily touching my clit with slow circles, and now I am comprised entirely of sensation, of his touch. All of me is him—his fingers,there. I can’t even breathe and I don’t care to—all I want is touch.
My knees buckle, and I dip—sinking his finger deeper into me. When I manage to get my knees to lock once more, he adds a second finger…and then a third, and I’m stretched to capacity around his fingers, and they slick into me and curl and retreat, and my knees quake, and his fingers circle. And oh god and oh god and oh god, this is everything. He gives me a rhythm, then, and it’s heaven on earth. Fingers slide into me, again and again, in a slow press and pull, curling as they enter me to rub against my inner walls in a way that makes eyes cross and a moan escape my lips, and the other fingers press more firmly against my clit and circle faster, and now my body moves, instinct takes over. My hips behave as his did—flexing and thrusting as if on their own. Pressing me into his touch, demanding more, demanding he give me more and more and more.
He does. Incredibly, beautiful more. Faster. Deeper.
Until my thrusts are fast and rough and wanton and I’m whimpering in time with his circling fingers and plunging fingers and gasping as waves of intense pleasure wash over me and the need to explode deepens, heightens, intensifies.
“Ohgod, Wes,” I gasp. "I’m…I’m gonna come.”
He just growls in response and continues his rhythm.
And then it hits me.
All at once, and in a barrage of waves.
I cry out, and then the wave becomes a vise grip of climax crushing me into paroxysms, and the cry becomes a scream, and my hands claw roughly into his butt and my hips press forward and freeze, and my knees give out and my spine arches and my mouth is open wide and the scream goes silent as my lungs empty.
An eternity passes as the climax rips through me, tears me to delicious pieces and leaves me wrung out and panting, and then my legs truly give out and he catches me, holds me. Twists me to face him and clutches me against him. I taste shower water on his skin, and I taste skin and I feel his manhood against my belly, just above my sex and he’s holding me and kissing my temple and the top of my head.
I tilt my head up and wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down and demand his mouth. I kiss him and tangle my tongue against his and my other hand is pawed into his butt and I’m clutching him with all my strength and kissing him with every last ounce of my need and passion for his body and his touch and hiseverythingand I understand utterly and into my very soul that to finally unite with Wes in the final stage of this sexual awakening will be beauty and harmony and wonder and perfection made flesh, made real, and I want it.
We kiss and kiss and lose ourselves in it. The water beats down on us. We’ve stumbled backward and the spray is partly on me and partly on him, and it’s warm rather than hot and I feel his sex wedged between our bodies and I want to touch him again and make him come again and get messy and sticky and feel him need what only I can give him.
I grasp him, and feel him respond.
“Jo?”
I pull away from the kiss and meet his eyes. “Hmmm?”
He grins. “One more long drive and we’ll be home. At my house. And we’ll have all the time and privacy in the world to do everything we want, as much as we want.”
I let him go, with great regret. “I like touching you, Wes. I…I feel like you…like we…like I can’t get enough.” I settle for touching his strong shoulders instead. “Of touching you. Of being touched.”
“I can’t either, Jo, I promise I can’t. But number one, the water is getting cold and I’m still a little sticky. And number two, we need to eat. So as much as I’d rather stay here in the shower with you and let you give me anotheramazinghandjob, I think we’d better clean up and get moving.”
I reluctantly let go of his muscles. Take a dollop of shower gel and wash him. Twist the water as hot as it will go, which isn’t very, not after all the time we’ve been in here letting it run. I wash him, and he rinses while I run shampoo in my hair and scrub a few places even his attentive and loving touch couldn’t quite get. The more…err, personal places, if you know what I mean. He does the same, and we rinse in now-cool water. And then Wes steps out and grabs a towel from the rack and wraps it around me. Another for himself, and we dry off.
I like the intimacy of this—showering, drying off.
It feels like a crash course in the daily minutiae of being a couple.
It makes my heart sing.
The towel wrapped around my torso, I watch him scrub his skin dry with the towel then toss it on the floor by the shower, standing naked and confident. He opens the door and steam writhes out, replaced by a sudden wave of cool air.
He wipes the mirror clean with a hand towel, peering at his reflection as he runs his fingers through his thick blond hair.
He catches me watching and smirks at me. “What?”
I shake my head and shrug, then find my own confidence enough to let the towel drop and just be naked with him. “Nothing,” I say. “You just…” I bite the corner of my lower lip, closing my eyes as I blurt out the truth, consequences be damned. “You just really make mesohappy.”
He turns, cups my chin in one hand, thumb brushing my jawline. “Good. You deserve to be happy. There’s nothing I won’t do to make you happy, Jo. I mean that, from the bottom of my heart. This feels wild and crazy and reckless and impulsive and way too soon and way too fast on so many levels and…I don’t even freaking care, like at all. Because it feels right. So…you tell me what I can do to make you happy, and if it’s within my power, I’ll do it.” A pause, a breath. “Because you make me happy, too. I hope you understand that.”
“I…do?” My throat is tight and hot and thick.
