Shower music

The shower hissed awake, steam blooming thick and white until the small bathroom vanished behind a curtain of heat. Water drummed on tile, on skin, on the two bodies that stepped beneath it together. May first—hair plastered dark to her shoulders, slip abandoned on the floor, nothing between her and the spray but the faint red marks Peter’s mouth had left along her collarbone. Peter followed, sliding the glass door shut with a soft click. The space shrank to the circle of warm water and the slick press of their bodies.

No music but the rush of water and their breathing. May reached for him, palms gliding over wet skin—shoulders, chest, the lean cut of his waist. Peter’s hands found her hips, thumbs tracing the soft swell above bone. They began to sway, slow and unhurried, the way you dance when the song is only in your head.

Water sluiced between them, tracing every line. Peter dipped his head, kissed the hollow beneath her ear, tasted soap and salt. May tilted her face up; their mouths met—soft at first, then deeper, tongues sliding lazy and sure. Each kiss tasted of steam and want. She pressed closer, breasts flattening against his chest, nipples hard pebbles dragged across slick skin.

Peter’s cock, already half-hard from the heat and her nearness, rose fully between them. May wrapped her fingers around it—slow, deliberate strokes under the spray, thumb sweeping the sensitive ridge until Peter’s breath stuttered against her lips. She guided him lower, parting her thighs so the head nudged her entrance. The water made everything slick, effortless.

He lifted her—hands under her thighs, her back to the cool tile. May’s legs locked around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back. One smooth thrust and he was inside her, the heat of her cunt a shocking contrast to the water cascading over them. They both groaned into the kiss.

They moved with the rhythm of the shower—slow, rolling thrusts that matched the drum of water on their shoulders. Each push dragged the head of his cock over that perfect spot inside her; each withdrawal left her clenching, trying to keep him. May’s nails scored gentle lines down his back, water following the paths like tiny rivers.

Peter broke the kiss to mouth along her jaw, her throat, the slope where neck met shoulder. He sucked a mark there—gentle, claiming—then soothed it with his tongue. May’s head fell back against the tile, water streaming down her face, her breasts, pooling in the hollow of her navel before spilling lower.

She reached between them, fingers finding her clit—swollen, slick despite the water. She circled it fast, hips rolling to meet his thrusts. Peter felt her tighten, flutter, the first pulse of her climax. He kissed her through it—deep, open-mouthed, swallowing her broken moan as her cunt spasmed around him, a fresh gush of slick mixing with the shower.

The sensation dragged him over. Peter thrust deep, held still, and came—thick pulses flooding her, the overflow immediately rinsed away by the spray. They stayed locked, trembling, water cooling slightly on their skin.

May’s legs slid down slowly until her feet touched tile. She kept him inside her, arms looped around his neck, forehead to his. Their kisses turned lazy—soft presses of lips, the brush of noses, the shared breath between.

Peter reached past her, killed the spray. Silence rushed in, broken only by dripping water and their slowing hearts. He kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth again—gentle, reverent.

“Best dance yet,” he murmured.

May smiled, water beading on her lashes. “Wait till the water’s hot again,” she whispered, and pulled him down for another slow, steaming kiss.