Chapter 18 #2
“Sit,” I tell her.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
She hesitates.
“Come here.”
She steps closer.
“Let me take care of you for a minute,” I say.
Her breath catches as I take her hand, my grip firm but careful, guiding her down the short hall toward the bathroom.
The door shuts quietly behind us, sealing off the rest of the house, and the air inside is still faintly warm with lingering steam from an earlier shower.
I turn on the faucet and test the water with my fingers until it runs hot, the steady rush filling the small space.
She watches me the entire time, that familiar mix of anticipation and nerves flickering in her eyes, and when I step closer, lifting my hand slowly toward the hem of her shirt, the distance between us feels charged in a way that makes every movement deliberate.
“Tell me to stop,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t pull away, but I see her pulse jump at the hollow of her throat as I lift her shirt slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wants to.
When I guide her arms upward, she follows without a word, and the quiet vulnerability settling between us fills the small space.
Her skin prickles in the cool air as I expose her breasts, nipples hardening instantly.
I slide her pants down next, kneeling briefly to tug them off her ankles, my breath ghosting over her thighs. She's bare now, vulnerable, and I stand back to admire her before helping her step in first, her foot testing the spray before she fully enters.
The glass door fogs up as I strip off my own clothes—shirt, jeans, boxers—tossing them aside.
My cock twitches at the sight of her silhouette through the steam.
I join her under the stream, the heat cascading over us both.
Grabbing the soap, I lather my hands and start with her shoulders, working down her arms, then across her chest. My palms glide over her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she gasps.
I move lower, soaping her stomach, her hips, between her legs, fingers parting her folds to clean her thoroughly.
Then I reach for the showerhead and rinse her, warm water sluicing over her skin, washing away the soap, my hands following the path it takes until there’s nothing left but heat and slick skin beneath my palms.
She’s already wet again—and not just from the water.
I lean in and capture her mouth in a deep kiss, my tongue demanding entry as I press my body against hers.
“Stay right there,” I murmur against her lips, my voice low and commanding. “Don't move unless I tell you to.”
She nods, breathless, and I kiss her harder, one hand tangling in her wet hair to tilt her head back. My other hand slides down, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in firm circles.
“You're such a needy little slut, aren't you?” I growl, slipping two fingers inside her pussy, pumping them slowly. She moans into my mouth, walls clenching around me.
“Look at you, dripping for me already. Pathetic how easily you get so wet.” Her hips buck, chasing the friction, and I curl my fingers deeper, hitting that spot that makes her whimper.
I can't wait anymore. I spin her around, pressing her hands against the tile wall. My cock slides between her thighs, teasing her entrance before I thrust in hard, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out, the sound faintly echoing off the walls.
I fuck her steadily, water sluicing over our joined bodies, my hands gripping her hips to pull her back onto me with each snap of my pelvis.
Her pussy grips me tight, hot and wet, sucking me in deeper with every plunge.
I angle my hips to grind against that sensitive ridge inside her, feeling her inner walls flutter and spasm around my shaft as I drive harder, faster.
Her breaths come in ragged gasps, her fingers splaying wide against the slick tiles, nails scraping as her body trembles uncontrollably.
She pushes back against me, her ass pressing into my groin, thighs quivering as I slam into her relentlessly.
A low, keening whine escapes her throat, her pussy clenching in rhythmic pulses that milk my cock, her juices coating my length and dripping down her legs, mixed with the shower spray.
Her whole body locks up, back arching sharply, and she lets out a broken sob, her walls convulsing wildly around me, squeezing so tight it nearly pulls me over the edge.
The pressure in my bladder builds unbearably from holding it since I’ve arrived, but I hold off, pounding through her shudders until she's limp against the wall, panting.
I lean over her, chest to her back, one hand tangling in her hair to pull her head back slightly, lips at her ear as I slow to a grind, buried to the hilt.
“I want to show you what else I like, Constance,” I murmur, voice husky. “Do you trust me?”
She twists her head slightly, eyes meeting mine over her shoulder, flushed and hazy with lust, but steady. “Yes,” she breathes, nodding, her inner muscles fluttering around my cock as if to emphasize.
I smile faintly, nipping her earlobe, thrusting shallowly to keep the friction teasing. “Do you know what watersports is?”
She shakes her head no, confusion flickering amid the desire, her body still rocking back instinctively.
“It's piss play,” I explain, holding her gaze as the words hang between us, my cock twitching inside her at the confession. “Marking you from the inside out, claiming every part of you as mine.”
Her eyes widen, a sharp intake of breath, body tensing around me, and she stammers, “You want to do that to me?”
I smile wider, grinding deeper, feeling her clench in response. “So much more than that.”
“Why?” she asks, voice trembling with a spark of curiosity, her pussy gripping tighter, arousal betraying her intrigue.
“For me, it’s the most primal way to mark someone as mine,” I tell her, my hand sliding around to rub her clit, keeping her on edge. “And that’s what you are… mine.”
My thumb slows, just enough to make her whimper. “And remind me, Constance,” I murmur against her ear, “what’s your safeword?”
She breathes it out, “Umbrella.”
I hum softly, satisfied. “Good. Because if you say umbrella, I stop. No hesitation or questions. Understand?”
She hesitates for a heartbeat, searching my face, then nods, her voice soft but sure. “Okay.”
I growl low in my throat, the sound rumbling through us both, possession flooding my veins like fire, and as I drive into her again, deeper this time, I let go—the warm stream of piss releases inside her while I'm still buried to the hilt.
She freezes, body going rigid around me once more, but then a tremor runs through her, her pussy fluttering anew as the heat floods her.
The sensation pushes me past my limit; my balls tighten, cock throbbing as I thrust one last time, burying deep and unleashing thick ropes of cum into her, mixing with the warmth of my piss.
I groan, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, riding out the waves until we're both spent, the water washing it all away.
I keep thrusting shallowly; the warmth mixing with our slickness, making everything even messier. Pulling out just enough, I rub my thumb over her parted lips, smearing water and her own arousal.
I slow my movements, still half-hard inside her, and search her face.
“Are you okay?”
She shakes her head quickly, cheeks flushing under the spray.
“Yeah. I-I-I liked it, though. It was warm.” A giggle bubbles out of her, nervous but genuine, and she bites her lip. “Felt... intimate.”
I smirk, leaning in to nip at her ear as I grind against her. “Fuck, you're turning into my dirty piss slut already. So eager to take whatever I give you, even when it's filthy.” My words are laced with heat, degradation wrapped in praise, pussy fluttering around me.
I pull out fully now, the remnants trickling down her thighs with the water. “Next time, you'll swallow it straight from the source—right in that pretty mouth of yours. And maybe, if you're good, I'll let you piss on me, mark me like the whore you are.”
Her face burns red, a deep blush spreading down her neck, but her eyes sparkle with that mix of embarrassment and excitement.
We rinse off quickly after that; the evidence washing away down the drain. I grab towels, drying her body with careful strokes; her hair, her back, between her legs, before toweling myself off. We dress in soft clothes, her in another oversized shirt, me back in the jeans I had on.
Hand in hand, we stop by Chance’s room, checking on him before we move to the living room, sinking into the couch.
I pull her close, her head on my chest as I flick on the TV to Longmire.
The episodes drone on, familiar and comforting, her breathing evening out against me.
Soon, she's asleep, body lax in my arms, and I follow.