It's Wednesday, September twenty fourth, in time for your daily fuck. The bathroom is a steamy candlelage sanctuary against the chaos of the outside world. I've been soaking for half an hour, the hot water and lavender scented bubbles melting the stress from my shoulders. My body a pale island and a sea of white foam. The mirrors fogged over the world, reduced to this single, perfect quiet room. The door creaks open, and my boyfriend James picks his head in long day.
His voice is soft, the longest. I sigh, letting my head fall back against the cool porcelain of the tub. He comes in and kneels on the bath mat beside me, not saying a word. He just takes the lush cloth from my hand, soaps it up, and begins to gently wash my shoulders. They're already clean, but that's not the point. He is restoring me in an intimate ritual that cannot be more romantic. His touch is a familiar comfort, a slow circular motion that is meant to soothe, but tonight
it's doing something else entirely. My mind is so calm and empty that all I can sense is his touch. His hands are meant to be caring, but the touch, the connection, they are stroking a different kind of fire. With every pass of his hand over my skin, a new, delicious tension coils low in my belly. I decide, and that moment that I don't just want to be taken care of. I want to be taken I turn my head, my wet hair sticking to my cheek. There's room for two.
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. He stands, and the soft sound of his clothes hitting the floor is the only answer I need. I can't hope but stare at his naked body. His cock is soft and all erotic potential. There's something incredibly hot about a soft cock when you're full of desire. He slides into the tub behind me, the water rising around us. His body is a warm, solid wall against my back, his legs
tangling with mine under the blanket of bubbles. He wraps his arms around me, his hands resting on my stomach. For a long moment, we just sit there, his chin resting on my shoulder, our breathing falling into the same rhythm. This is our church, this is our prayer. Let me I take the washcloth back from him. I turn in his arms, a clumsy, slippery maneuver in the cramped space until I am kneeling before him. I soap up the cloth and begin to wash him, my movements slow and worshipful.
I wash his chest, his stomach, my hands lingering on the hard plains of his abdomen. Before descending lower under the water. I let go of the washcloth and I find him. His soft potential is long gone. His cock is now hard and waiting for me. I close my hands around it. The sensations slick and wonderful. At the same time, his hand finds me under the water, his fingers parting my slick folds and finding my click with an unerring, familiar touch. He knows me better than I
know myself. He begins to stroke me with a slow, perfect rhythm. As I stroke him, the rhythmic movement of our hands makes the water lap against the side of the tub. We move together in our own private, watery world. His thumb circles and teases, pushing me higher and higher. While I stop squeeze his cock and run my thumb around its head. He moans, and the pleasure is a rising tide, a warm, slow, inevitable swell that matches the
water surrounding us. His practiced fingers have my hips thrusting against them, a wave building to a orgasm, like the water now slashing against the side of the tub. James moans, and I realize we're going to come together. I can feel it in the way his hips begin to move a slight, involuntary bucket against my hand. I can feel it in the frantic pulse of my own clit under his thumb. Our eyes meet a silent, shared acknowledgment. It happens all at once. My orgasm is a deep, shuddering
wave that makes me gasp. I lose control and hold my muscles tense. Water now sloshing over the sides of the tub. James comes with a muffled groan, has release a hot, pulsing flood that shoots on to my stomach and impulses on to my knuckles. I claps around him and slide around into his arms. Thoroughly wet and thoroughly spent. The bubbles have all but disappeared, and the water is beginning to cool. I never felt warmer. He pulls me into his lap and I rest my head on his chest,
listening to the steady, slowing beat of his heart. The stress of the day had washed away, replaced by a deep, blissful warmth that had nothing to do with the water in our tiny bathroom and our ordinary life. We had created a perfect, steamy paradise just for us.