Page 57 of Lash
"Feel it, Lash. Enjoy it. Let go. Give me you. All of you." I nibble at his earlobe, breathing the words in his ear. "Let go for me, Lash. Just let go."
He sags backward, and I turn us so his back is to the wall, the spray hitting my back and bottom as I press him against the wall of the shower. He pulses in my hands, and his hips push into my touch—he's close.
"Tati—Tatiana…oh god."
I nip his lower lip, and he turns his face to mine and then we're kissing, and he demands my tongue and thrusts into my hand.
Fuck, I want him inside me, but I know it's been so long he won’t last much longer; besides, I’m not on birth control, and the condoms are in my bag back in the bedroom. He needs this first release now, with no expectations, no pressure to perform.
Just pure pleasure.
A reminder that it's okay to want—to have.
He groans, and the groan turns to a growl, and he thrusts into my fist.
Almost.
"Come for me, Lash,” I whisper in his ear. "Show me. Let go."
I feel his knees buckle, and his hands wrap around my ass and dig in hard, gripping me as he reaches his climax. He's grunting through gritted teeth, driving into my fist.
"Oh god, Tatiana—" he gasps. "I'm coming—I'm coming. Oh god, Tatiana…Tati…"
He spurts a thick, hard stream of cum over my hands as I stroke his thick, pulsing length with both hands; another stream jets out of him, this one splashing onto my belly and his.
I drop to my knees and the shower stream beats hot on my back and shoulders. I rake my fingernails down his chest and wrap my lips around his cock, and he shouts in shocked ecstasy as his next spurt sluices into my mouth and down my throat—I take as much of him as I can, and he groans, growls, his hands clutching the back of my head.
I moan at the taste of him, running one hand up his torso, relishing the hard furrow of his abs and the powerful solidity of his chest. My other hand wraps around his base and I pump him hard and fast, and he sags, dipping at the knees as he unleashes another hot salty stream of cum.
I let him pop free of my mouth, rise to my feet, and stroke him, nipping and nibbling kisses to the corner of his mouth. He huffs gruffly, nearly collapsing as his knees try to give out.
When I can milk no more of his release from his slowly slackening length, I let him go and turn him beneath the shower stream.
He tilts his face up the water, eyes closed, luxuriating in the heat, a contented, sated smile on his face.
He allows himself that for a moment or two, and then his eyes snap open, and a hungry grin blossoms on his features. "My god, Tatiana," he whispers, awe in his tone. "That was…"
"Just the beginning," I finish.
"Indeed. Just the beginning. Now, my sexy, beautiful Tatiana, now it ismyturn."
And again, he surprises me. His strong, clever fingers do not find my tender, sensitive flesh, his mouth does not find my aching nipples.
No, instead, with exquisite tenderness, he washes me. He frees my hair of the braid, tips my head back, and rinses my hair, using the detachable wand to thoroughly rinse any stray glass shards from my scalp. After carefully running fingertips over my scalp to ensure the glass is gone, he shampoos my hair, kneading and massaging my scalp, lathering the thick glossy length of my black hair. He rinses it, works conditioner into it, and then gently but thoroughly scrubs my body with the bar of soap. He takes his time, not just lathering me with the soap, but using it as an opportunity to learn and caress my body, to memorize my curves.
In some ways, this is more intimate than sex.
I soak in the hot stream and close my eyes, giving myself over utterly to the worshipful way Lash's strong, callused, gentle hands carve over my curves. They cup and weigh and squeeze my breasts; roll and pinch and twist my nipples until I gasp; they grip and knead and pet my ass; they slip down my thighs and palm over my calves and scrape up my hipbones. He massages my back and shoulders, slides soapy hands with slow, reverent affection up my belly and over my breasts again, hungry, greedy eyes roaming, devouring.
"Lash…" I whisper. "I need you." I grip his beard and tilt his face to mine, moving my lips on his as I murmur. "Please."
He uses the wand to rinse me off and shuts off the water. He steps out, opens a towel, and I step into it. Wrapping it around me, he dabs, scrubs, and pats me dry, all while dripping wet himself.
Brusquely drying himself, he drapes the towel on the edge of the tub and turns to me.
He takes the towel from me, tosses it aside; I shiver, but not from cold—I'm flushed with anticipation, shaking with barely restrained desperation for Lash.
He scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom, places me on the bed, and crawls up after me. His hair is long and black and glossy and damp; his skin is flushed with desire; his eyes dance and glint with arousal. He hovers over me, and his mouth finds mine. I gasp into the kiss, and then cup the back of his head and mewl softly when his tongue carves through my mouth and dances with mine.