‘Squat,’ he tells me, holding out his hand for the shower head. ‘Legs wide.’
I don’t need to be told twice. I hold on to the in-built shelf and lower myself into a squat. He bites his lip and holds the shower head aloft, running it over one boob and then the other.
God, it’s glorious. The pulse of warm water against my nipples is the best kind of torture.
‘Close your eyes.’ His voice is soft, and my eyelids flutter closed in obedience. There’s only the sound of our breathing and the hiss of water. Zach had me turn off the overhead shower, so my entire body is primed for where and how the next spray will hit me.
It washes over my nipples a few more times before meandering over the skin of my stomach. Lower. Lower. Then it hits my very core from below, and I let out a sharp gasp of delighted shock. He moves it back and forth over my pussy, tickling and teasing as the spray jumps up around me, turning me into a human fountain.
‘Can you handle more pressure?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I say quickly, because, gorgeous as this sensation is, it’s not enough to truly satisfy me.
‘And it’s not too hot?’
‘It’s perfect.’
‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘Tell me if it’s too much.’
I nod blindly and hold on tight, and Jesus. My legs almost buckle at the next onslaught, which is considerably harder and hits my clit exactly how I need.
And then it’s gone.
The water sluices over my boobs, one, two, and then down again, flashing between my legs, going back and forth over my pussy before homing in on my clit and pausing. The jet of water is relentless. Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s too good. I won’t be able to hold on much longer.
‘Your legs are shaking,’ he observes.
‘I’m okay, sir,’ I manage. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.
‘Lie down,’ he says, pulling the spray away.
My eyes shoot open in surprise. ‘Here?’
‘Yep. Get on the floor and put your legs up.’
It’s a massive shower enclosure—about eight feet long—but I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t argue; I scoot to my bum before stretching out on the wet tiles of the shower. The air is beginning to cool in the aftermath of Zach turning the overhead off, and my nipples are prickling with cold as much as desire. But I love it, and it’ll make the blessed streams of warm water even more welcome.
My knees are up and apart, my feet planted on the floor. Zach comes to stand between my legs, towering over me.
‘Let them drop open,’ he commands, and I understand he wants me to goddess them. I do. I outstretch my arms, and I close my eyes, and I wait.
‘Perfect,’ he practically purrs, and moves the shower head over my body. The water rains down on me. On my arms. My boobs. My stomach. And finally, blessedly, between my legs.
I sense him crouch down, and then his fingers are moving through my pussy, holding my folds open so my clit is fully exposed. That little berry is throbbing so hard right now. I sincerely hope Captain Edger isn’t with us today.
He’s not.
‘Play with your tits,’ Zach orders me, and I gratefully oblige, roaming my palms over them before pulling and rubbing at my nipples, giving them all the friction they’re begging for.
And then, hallelujah, he steers the jet of water back between my legs, closer to where he’s holding me open for him, and moves it in tiny circles so it pulsates exactly where I need it. Holy fucking crap, this feels amazing.
‘Show me you want this,’ he orders, and I tug harder on my boobs and arch my pelvis into the jet.
‘I need this,’ I gasp. ‘Please, sir. God, please.’ My legs are starting to slip and slide, my heels flailing, and I shake my head as the onslaught keeps on coming.
‘So good,’ he murmurs, sticking two fingers inside me and adding a third. I’m so full that I arch my back harder to accommodate the stretch. And then the watery assault grows more intense, his tiny circles perfect beyond belief, his fingers slamming in hard. Hard. Hard. I lie there, incapable of doing anything but riding out this incredible wave that’s building and threatening to crest within me.
The water pulsates hard against my clit. Zach’s finger-fucking grows even harsher. Sensation swells inside my entire body and I come so fucking hard I almost can’t breathe. I screw my eyes shut and attempt to pant as wave after wave of perfect, dazzling euphoria breaks over me. Again. And again.
I’m shuddering through the aftermath of my orgasm when the water leaves me, and Zach’s fingers vacate me, and the shower head makes a loud clunk as it hits the floor somewhere. Then Zach’s on top of me, bearing down on me, tugging my arms above my head and clamping my wrists in his fist.
I make room for him, planting my feet on the floor as the crown of his erection nudges my entrance. He kisses me feverishly, his tongue finding mine and entangling, and I push my hips forward. I need him inside me right now. Like this. Face to face for the first time.
Then he’s pulling away from me. ‘Is this okay for you?’ he asks. I open my eyes to find him looking around, doubt seeping through his haze of lust. ‘It looks sore.’
There may be a time in a few minutes when I regret allowing myself to get royally railed on the abrasive non-slip surface of my shower tiles, but right now I couldn’t give a fuck.
‘Fuck me here on the floor. Sir,’ I beg him, wriggling because I need his dick inside me so much it’s not funny.
The doubt on his face fades before my eyes. He nods and reaches between us, lining himself up and pushing inside me in one slick, beautiful slide. The intrusion has my mouth opening in a silent scream.
Oh, Jesus. We stare at each other from inches apart before his hold on my wrists tightens, and his mouth comes down to close over mine, and he pulls out and drives back in.
It’s a lot, this proximity. This intimacy. The sensation of our bodies sliding together in the shallow pool of water the shower head is providing, of him moving deep inside me with slow, intentional strokes as his tongue entwines with mine.
Our breaths mingle as he takes, and I give, and he holds me in place, and I writhe languidly beneath him.
Yeah. It’s a lot.
The gritty surface of the tiles chafes against my bum and stings my shoulder blades every time he thrusts in, but I don’t care, because the build-up of pressure in my chest, and deep in my core, is far more affecting than a few grazes.
So I lean into the shunts, into the space where we’re joined, and then he’s releasing my hands and my mouth and raising himself up onto his elbows, and watching me intently as I pant and lick my lips and tense my jaw. As the ache builds inside me, my movements become more feverish. I’m chasing the next orgasm, and it’s shimmering on the horizon.
I take advantage of my freedom to roam my hands over his shoulders and down his back. I can just about reach down and give that arse of his a really good squeeze. God, there is nothing like feeling a guy’s glutes contracting as he uses those muscles to bang the living daylights out of you. And, as a happy bonus, I use my grip to slam him more forcefully against me.
‘Harder, please, sir,’ I urge him, and my begging seems to land, because his thrusts become less measured, more brutal, and more perfect.
‘Fuck,’ he grunts. ‘Jesus fuck.’
Watching Zach French unravel on top of me, seeing him become an inarticulate, blaspheming beast, is like having front-row seats to the best show in town. I raise my head with difficulty to watch the magical sight of his magical dick powering in and out of me.
‘You like that?’ he grits out, and I nod, settling my head back on the tiles.
‘I love it, sir. I want you to fuck me all day long. I never want to stop.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ he groans, and spears me particularly viciously.
‘I’m so close,’ I tell him, my breath ragged as I ride this new, deeper, achier, more dangerous rollercoaster to its apex. ‘I’m—God, I’m so close.’
‘I know.’ He thrusts. ‘Me too. Show me, sweetheart.’
I don’t know if it’s the thrust, or the endearment, or the challenge, but I sail right off the rails and over the edge and hurtle into oblivion, my hands clawing at Zach’s shoulders and pulling at the back of his neck to tug him down for a kiss that’s appropriately pornographic for being fucked by my boss on the floor of my shower.
