Chapter 7 First Touch…Again #2
I twist the knob and push the door open.
Steam envelops me, and I close the door behind me.
The bathroom is a wonderland of marble and glass.
The shower is on the left, hazed with steam, revealing Lorenzo's brown skin and hard muscles rippling with brawny power as he stands beneath the rainfall showerhead, face tipped up to the water, scrubbing lather out of his longish black hair.
A splat of water hits the marble under his feet, and then he scrapes his palm down his face and blinks. His gaze happens to flick my way, and his hand slowly lowers from his face.
"Sophia," he murmurs.
I swallow hard. "I can't—I can't go in there with you, Lorenzo. Not yet."
"That's okay," he answers.
"But I…"I step toward the glass separating us, trying to find the courage to say what I want. "I wanted to…to see you."
He turns to face me, and my eyes rake over his body—heavy pecs, thick arms, bulging thighs.
His abs aren't shredded, but rather are a hard, flat anvil of powerful muscle sheathed in skin, a thin layer of body fat, and a spattering of curly black body hair.
I see the various injuries he has sustained on my behalf, in varying stages of healing–scabbed and pink, raw and red and angry.
His cock hangs thick and heavy between his thighs, swaying slightly from the momentum of his pivot.
I swallow hard—I haven't looked upon a naked male form in a very, very long time, and not voluntarily since my last lovemaking with Lorenzo all those years ago.
He is beautiful. No longer a boy barely on the cusp of manhood, Lorenzo is a huge, hard, powerful specimen of virile masculine beauty, intensely fit, covered in scars—burns, cuts, bullet holes, and who knows what else.
My mouth is dry as I look at him, and I cannot swallow, can't draw a breath.
I touch the pads of my fingers to the glass at chest height, searching his eyes, his face, and then letting my gaze slide over his body once more—catching, inevitably, on his manhood once more.
He just stands there letting me look. No quips, no jokes, no invitations, no innuendos.
I square my shoulders. Meet his eyes. "You are more handsome now than you were twenty years ago."
"I'm glad you think so," he says.
"Have you already…" I trail off, glancing at his penis again.
"No."
"Oh."
I inhale deeply, my chest swelling—I feel the towel, wrapped around my torso and tucked in at my breastbone, loosen with the breath.
Determination to conquer my trauma wars against the unreasoning panic boiling in my gut.
I'm breathing hard, suddenly, and the towel loosens with each panted breath. My heart pounds in my chest and my palms go clammy. The towel slips, the tucked-in portion sagging free. Lorenzo's eyes remain fixed on mine.
"You don’t have to do anything, Sophia," he murmurs. "You have nothing to prove to me."
"I have something to prove to myself," I answer.
I lift my chin and hold his gaze as I feel the towel sag, droop, and then flutter free to pool at my feet, leaving me naked in front of Lorenzo, the only man I've ever loved.
It's that night in the hayloft all over again, but now I’m a woman and he's a man, and I'm terrified and fighting the urge to flee.
I don't.
I stand with my chin lifted, hands at my sides, teeth gritted as I refuse to cover myself. Tears pool.
"Sophia," he whispers. "So beautiful. So brave." His eyes are fixed on mine, unwavering.
"Look at me, Lorenzo," I say, willing my voice to be firm; it isn't.
He swallows hard, and his gaze stutters down to my breasts; I'm not the slender, nubile girl I was the last time he saw me naked.
I carry extra weight in my hips and breasts.
My curves are generous. I hide my curves in my everyday life with compression garments and tailored clothing.
But now, I'm bared to him. Exposed. Vulnerable. My breasts are large and feel heavy, swaying pendulously with my breathing. My nipples go hard, pebbling under his gaze. My belly isn’t flat or hard; I have a little pooch of a belly that I can't ever get rid of, no matter how I exercise or diet. The stretch marks from my pregnancy wrap around my stomach to my sides, down to my hips. I’ve always been a little bottom-heavy, and that's only grown more true as I age.
I feel his gaze finally leave my breasts, flitting down to my belly, to my sex.
He drags his eyes to mine. "Sophia," he whispers. "You're perfect."
His cock is unfurling, hardening. He could lie with his words—he could tell me he thinks I’m beautiful without meaning it. But that? The hardening of his cock juts from looking at me naked. You can't fake that. He does like what he sees.
The fierce, desperate urge to cover my privates with my hands fades the longer he looks at me, the harder his cock gets as he rakes his hungry gaze over my nude form.
He swallows hard again, and his tongue slides over his lips. "Sophia, my god. I…" he closes his eyes, hands tightly fisted at his sides. "You are incredible."
His cock is fully erect, now. It stands straight up against his belly, thick and veiny with a dark wreath of closely trimmed fuzz at the base. The head is broad and plump.
"Do it," I breathe. "What you said earlier."
His right hand drifts up to curl around the base of his huge, hard manhood. My breath lodges in my throat as he grips himself, squeezing.
"Tell me what you're thinking about, Ren," I whisper.
“You.” He slides his grip upward, plunges it down. His jaw tightens at the movement, his belly hardening.
"Me, what?"
He closes his eyes, shakes his head. "I don't want to scare you."
“Too late. I’m terrified. But I’m not running away, Ren." I hold his eyes. "I want to know. Please."
He opens his eyes, and they go to my breasts.
He strokes himself again. "Touching you. You’re in the shower with me.
Your skin would be wet. Slippery. I…" he lets out a slow sigh as his strokes find a slow rhythm.
I'm rapt, watching that plump dark round head sprout over his fist. A quick but vivid memory sears through me:
Ren and I are in our hayloft. We’d been meeting there almost every night for months, having sex.
But that night, I had decided I wanted something different from what we’d been doing—that being kissing, stripping each other naked, fondling each other until he's hard, and then fucking.
No, this night, I wanted to experiment. Touch him.
I told him what I wanted, and he tentatively agreed.
He let me get him naked, and by the time I was naked with him, he was hard for me.
I'd gripped his cock in my fist, giggling nervously as I touched him that way for the first time.
Well, not for the first time, but the first time he'd let me touch him just to…
touch him, rather than as part of the act of feeding him into my sex.
His jaw had gone tight, his abs hard as I caressed his length. The more I caressed him, the faster his breathing became, until he was gasping and groaning at each slide of my fist from tip to root. His knees had begun dipping, as if they were about to give out.
He'd tried to stop me, but I kept going.
He came with a soft grunt that turned to a quiet gasp and then a low growl, a stripe of viscous white fluid spurting out of him and coating the backs of my fingers.
I had laughed in shock—that part was a surprise to me.
Having sex, when he was finishing, he'd grunt and go still, shuddering, and then roll off me.
I hadn't realized that was what was going on… inside.
"Sophia?" His voice brings me back to the present. "Are you alright?"
I nod. "Just…remembering."
He's stroking himself slowly, still. “Remembering what?"
"The first time I…" I nod at his moving hand. "Did that to you."
"Do the words make you uncomfortable, Sophia?"
I nod, shrug. “Yes."
"You jerked me off," he says, trying to shock me, I suppose. "You gave me my very first handjob."
"I'd wanted to touch you like that from the moment I first saw you naked, but that was the first time I had the courage to say so—to do so."
"I couldn't believe how lucky I was," he says. "I still think of that when I do this. I imagine it's your hand on my cock."
"Is that what you're thinking about now?" I ask, a thrill of boldness taking over, if only for a moment.
"Yes. That…and other things.”
"Like what?"
"Your mouth."
"Tell me."
"Laying in bed with you. You kneeling astride me. Moving down my body. Hair trailing over my skin as you kiss my belly. Your hot, tight mouth wrapping around my cock…" he trails off with a quiet groan, his grip speeding up. "Fuck, Sophia."
He dips at the knees, and my lungs seize and my breasts ache and my sex pulses. Dampens, slick with desire for the first time in nearly twenty years.
Lorenzo's fist blurs on his cock, and my hands clench at my sides. The ache in my sex is spreading like wildfire, heat building, sending desire sluicing through me, dripping out of me as I watch Lorenzo pleasure himself.
I can almost feel him in my hand, sliding and stuttering.
"Fuck, Sophia." I meet his gaze, find his hot and wild and fierce and hungry. "With me?"
I know what he's asking. “I…don't know if I can."
"Try, my love," he whispers. "Touch yourself. Watch me. Come with me."
Biting my lip, eyes sliding closed, I cover my sex with my hand, fingers wedged between my thighs.
I slip my middle finger against my seam.
Panting, afraid the nightmares will erupt all at once and ruin this beautiful moment, this experience with Lorenzo, I drag my finger up the seam…
press the pad of my middle finger against my clit.
I gasp.
Lightning sears through me at the touch and my knees shake.
"Yes, Sophia," Lorenzo growls. "Perfect. So fucking gorgeous."
"Lorenzo," I breathe, forcing my eyes open so I can watch him, watch his hand blur on his cock, watch his knees dip and his stomach curl in with his gasps and groans. "Oh god."
"Does it feel good?” he asks.