“I wasn’t allowed hot showers,” she says, after a moment.
“What, your father would check?”
She shakes her head. “He’d turn the boiler off and make sure the tank was empty when it was my day to shower.”
“Just to, what? Fucking spite you?”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
“And what do you mean, your day?”
Another shrug. “I was allowed to clean myself once a week.”
I can’t help a growl. “Fucking inhumane. I just don’t understand that kind of cruelty. It’s cruelty just for the sake of hurting you.”
“He was always mean,” she says, “but after Mama died, he just started to…hate me. I don’t know why.” She opens her eyes and looks at me, a sad smile on her face. “The only explanation I’ve ever been able to come up with is that I look a lot like her, more so as I got older. I think it was easier for him to hate me than it was to miss her.”
“Plus, grief can do really weird things to people,” I say.
She pulls me under the water. “Honestly, Silas, I just want to forget all that. I want to start a new life with you and forget all about my father and Zeke and everything.” She pivots so I’m under the water. “Your turn.”
“Not quite yet,” I say.
I grab a washcloth and get it wet, rub soap into it, and begin gently scrubbing her body. I take my time, beginning at her shoulders and working my way down, lathering up every inch of skin. When I reach her lower half, I kneel. Her back is to the spray, her sopping wet hair sticking to her cheeks and neck and shoulders, her gaze amused and tender as I scrub the cloth over her thighs and shins, her feet, her calves, and up the backs of her thighs. Her eyes fly wide when I nudge her thighs apart and carefully clean her pussy, front to back, rinsing the washcloth between strokes.
I grab her hips and turn her in place. “Can you bend forward for me a little?”
She does so, planting her hands on the shower wall under the spray head, watching me over her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
I lather more soap onto the cloth and then begin scrubbing her skin from her shoulders down her back to her ass. When I reach the taut round bubble of her perfect ass, I take my time scrubbing each soft globe, under the crease where the cheeks meet her thighs, and then…I use one hand to tug her cheeks apart.
“Ohmigod, Silas,” she protests. “What are you doing?” She sounds embarrassed, her face stained pink.
I hold her gaze with mine as I gently, gingerly drag the washcloth down the seam and over the puckered rosebud of her asshole.
She gasps, holding her breath. “Oh,” she breathes, as I do it again, applying a little more pressure. “Ohhh.”
I let water rinse down her spine and runnel over her, rinsing away the suds, and then I toss the washcloth aside. She continues to watch me over her shoulder, lower lip caught in her teeth.
I kiss her ass cheek. The other side. Here, there, lifting one side to kiss under the crease, and then the twin dimples at the top of her crack. I pull her hips backward, bending her over more, palming both cheeks and tugging her open.
“Silas…” she breathes, “what are you…ohhh…” she breaks off with a ragged sigh as my tongue finds the tender knot of muscle. “Silas, oh god, what…?”
“Touch yourself,” I whisper. “While I do this.”
She rests her forehead on her arm, braced against the wall, bringing her other hand down between her thighs. “I’ve already come three times,” she protests.
“Good. I want more.”
“Isn’t that…gross?” She whispers, even as her knees buckle and she tips her ass upward to give me better access.
“Not now that you’re clean,” I answer.
She whimpers as her fingers begin to circle her clit, making her knees buckle. “Oh god, oh god,” she gasps. “That…it feels…weird, but…amazing.”
I drive my tongue against her, then swirl. Probe, and swirl. Faster and faster, until I feel her hips begin to tip and tilt and roll as her climax builds.
That’s when I press the tip of my index finger against her, applying pressure when she gasps, when her hips buck. Harder, nuzzling the tip of my finger inside her—she cries out, her knees almost giving out.
