She Needs My Touch

"Touch me," she whispers, "You've got me crazy. I need your touch."

With my back up against the wall it took so much for me to reach for me. For me to press my hands onto her and feel her body slippery beneath my touch.

The warmth of the water and the soap had made her feel almost unbelievable. So soft and so warm and almost slick, like I couldn't quite grasp her without her slipping through my fingers.

It didn't help that Rachel was buzzing with excitement. Nor did it help that her hands were still working on my body, plunging into the heat of me and roaming over the rest of me at the same time while her lips kept on playing by my ear and she just kept on begging for me to...

"Touch me," she whispers again, an urgency in her tone, "I need it."

Rachel has been many things but it isn't until now that I can say that she's been really ****. Don't get me wrong, she plays it well and when she wants to be the damsel in distress she does that just right as well, enough that it gets all the boys running to help.

But from the tone in her voice when she says what she says next, I know that it's all different. She nearly breaks as she comes close to it, as she gasps and a full body shiver runs over her while she presses tight against me.

"Please."

It's all that she says but it is something else. It is a complete shift in the moment, in the power and the pleasure of this.

It stirs something new in me.

My dominant position, I am coming to understand, is submissive. Ironic, that, but true.

And I suppose that makes a bit of sense. I was never the kind of guy to be in charge and I was bullied and dismissed and passed over for promotions and all the rest of it. My natural inclination was to fall into being told what to do, rather than telling someone else or even asking for something myself politely.

I know for some people that would mean they would be the opposite in bed. Submissive in the streets, dominant in the sheets and all that. But for me it tracked, neither Emily nor the masculine version of myself leant in to being dominant in any way, so submitting into easily being told what we were doing was our happy place.

But tonight... here and now... that would not do.

"Emily," she pleads with me, "I need you."

She needs me. She needs me to be more than passive. She needs me to touch her and twist her and turn her and that is precisely what I do, spinning her around and pressing her against the tile side of the shower as my hands hold her hips and my body slips aside her.

Skin to skin and body to body, my breasts brushing against hers as the only thing coming between us is the flow of the water cresting over our skin. Rivulets of rivers of it tracing lines down our bodies as I press in to her neck and tease my lips against it, filling my hands with her skin as I feel her moan with a sigh of relief.

"You're mine tonight," I whisper when I reach her ear, "And I'm going to make you feel so good."

Rachel gives a shudder as I pull into her and squeeze her beneath my touch. When I pull back, only for an instant, I see she has her eyes closed and her lips caught in her teeth, biting it as she trembles in anticipation.

This is going to be good.

This is going to be fun.

And this is going to be oh so delicious.

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