Page 193 of Sexting the Pakhan

“What?”

“This. Not thinking. Just this.”

I fuck her with my fingers while she works my cock with her hand, both of us getting rougher by the second, the water turning every movement slick and urgent. She rides my fingers shamelessly, clit brushing the heel of my palm, and I watch her face while I do it. Eyes half-closed. Mouth open. Hair plastered to her cheeks.

She notices me watching and says, breathless, “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

I pull my fingers out and turn her.

Not hard. Just firm enough that she catches herself on the tile with both hands.

There’s a second where she goes still and looks back over her shoulder at me, wet and flushed and open in a way that makes my control feel temporary.

“My leg,” I say, voice rough. “I’m not lifting you.”

“I can stand.”

“I know.”

“And if you hurt yourself doing this, I’m not taking responsibility,” she teases.

I crowd in behind her, one hand on the wall beside her head, the other spreading her thighs a little wider. “You already are.”

She snorts, then sucks in a breath when I slide my cock between her legs and line myself up.

The first push into her is almost enough to make me come. She’s hot, wet, and so ready that my head falls forward against her shoulder as I force myself to go slowly. Her pussy grips everyinch of me like it’s angry I kept it waiting. By the time I’m fully inside her, both of us are breathing like we’ve run.

“There,” she whispers.

I kiss the side of her throat. “You still think about the messages?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Then I start to move.

There’s no room in the shower for gentleness that isn’t hungry. I keep one hand braced on the tile, the other on her hip, and fuck her carefully but deep, pulling out just enough to feel her take me over and over again. She pushes back into me without pretending she doesn’t want it, and the sound of skin and water and breath in that small space turns obscene almost at once.

Her breasts press against the tile when I drive into her harder. I slide a hand up and cup one from behind, thumb rolling over her nipple while I keep fucking her, and she curses under her breath, the sound almost drowned by the shower.

“That’s it,” I tell her.

She laughs once, shaky. “You are so full of yourself.”

I thrust deeper, hit the angle that makes her knees weaken, and she chokes on a moan. “Yes,” I say. “And you like it.”

Her answer is to reach one hand down between her legs and start touching her clit while I’m inside her. The sight nearly finishes me.

Water runs over her arm. My cock is sliding in and out of her slick pussy. Her fingers are on her clit, quick and desperate now, because she wants release and I understand that need too well.

I pull her back harder against me and let her use my cock however she wants. Her ass smacks my hips in the cramped space. Her breath goes ragged. My mouth goes to her shoulder, her neck, the place behind her ear where she once told me in a text she liked being bitten when she was close.

So I bite her.

Not enough to hurt. Enough to mark.