The steam clings to the tiled walls like a lover's reluctant goodbye, turning our bathroom into a humid jungle den after that wild romp on the couch. Water cascades from the rainfall showerhead, warm and insistent, rinsing away the sweat from our bodies but not the lingering heat between us. It's late, the kind of hour where the world outside feels like a distant hum, and all I want is to crawl into bed with you, Peter, tangled in sheets that smell like us. But there's this itch, this new craving that's been buzzing in me all day, ever since your playful smirk lit up your face during our couch session. I haven't done this before—not like this, not with the kind of hunger that's making my pulse throb right now.
You stand under the spray, eyes half-closed, letting the water sluice over your broad shoulders and down your chest. Your cock hangs heavy between your legs, still semi-hard from earlier, glistening not just from the shower but from the memory of me riding you on that damn couch, no teasing, just straight-up fucking until we both collapsed in a heap. I watch you for a moment, soap suds trailing lazy paths over your skin, and that smirk of yours flickers back when you catch me staring. It always does that—sends a jolt straight to my core, making me wet in ways the shower can't touch.
"Peter," I say, my voice low but steady, stepping closer until the water soaks through my hair, plastering it to my back. "I need to try something. Before we crash."
You open your eyes, that teasing glint sharpening as you tilt your head. "Yeah? What's that, Frannie? You've got that look—like you're about to drag me into another round."
I bite my lip, feeling the steam wrap around us like a secret. The day's been perfect—lazy breakfast, wandering the neighborhood hand-in-hand, then tumbling onto the couch because why the hell not? But now, with exhaustion tugging at my limbs, this urge hits harder. I've always been the one to dive in, but oral? Sucking a man off? That's uncharted territory for me, and with you, it feels right. Safe, but electric. "I want to suck you," I murmur, the words tumbling out bolder than I expect. "For the first time. Let me make you come like that."
Your breath hitches, and you reach out, thumb brushing my cheek, water dripping from your hand. "Fuck, Francesca. You sure? We can save it—"
"No," I cut in, my hand sliding down your wet chest, fingers tracing the ridges of your abs until I wrap them around your cock. It twitches in my grip, thickening already, and I feel a rush of power mixed with nerves. "I want it now. In here, with the water and the steam. Please."
That smirk widens, and you nod, leaning back against the slick tile. The shower's roar fills the space, a white noise that makes everything feel intimate, enclosed. I sink to my knees slowly, the warm water pooling around me on the floor, soaking my skin. My pussy aches from our earlier fuck, a dull, satisfied throb, but this—this is about you, about exploring that itch for something new. Your cock is fully hard now, standing proud, the head flushed and begging for attention. I look up at you, our eyes locking through the mist, and I see the excitement there, mirroring mine.
Leaning in, I part my lips and take you into my mouth. The taste of you—clean from the shower but unmistakably male, salty and warm—floods my senses. I start slow, just the head at first, my tongue swirling tentatively around the ridge. It's bigger than I imagined up close, filling my mouth with a stretch that's both challenging and thrilling. You groan low, your hand coming to rest lightly on my head, fingers threading through my wet hair without pushing. Good— I want control for this.
I slide my lips down your shaft, taking more of you in, the water pattering against my back like a rhythmic encouragement. Soft at first, I suck gently, letting the pressure build like a whisper. My cheeks hollow as I pull back, then push forward again, alternating to hard suction that makes your hips buck just a fraction. Fuck, the way you feel—velvet over steel, pulsing against my tongue—it's intoxicating. I can hear your breathing shift, deeper, as I work you, my hands on your thighs for balance, nails digging in lightly.
Every so often, I pull off with a wet pop, the shower masking the sound, and tilt my head to lick underneath the head of your cock. That sensitive spot, right at the frenulum— I flick my tongue there, flat and broad, tasting the bead of pre-cum that mixes with the water. You hiss, your fingers tightening in my hair, and I smile against your skin, loving how I can unravel you like this. "God, your mouth," you mutter, voice rough. "Feels so fucking good, Frannie."
Emboldened, I take you deep again, relaxing my throat as best I can for a newbie. But I mix it up—sticking my tongue out as far as it goes, letting it cradle the underside of your shaft while I bob my head. Side to side, I move it, teasing the vein that runs along you, feeling it throb in response. The steam makes everything slicker, hotter, and I lose myself in the rhythm: lips gliding up and down, tongue dancing, the occasional hum from my throat that vibrates right through you. My knees ache against the tile, but it's a good ache, grounding me in the moment. My own arousal builds, pussy clenching emptily, nipples hard from the warm water and the sheer dirtiness of kneeling here, worshipping your dick.
Your breath picks up, coming heavier, faster, ragged gasps echoing off the walls. I glance up—your head's thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, that playful smirk replaced by raw need. Your hand on my head is gentle, guiding without force, letting me set the pace. I keep it slow, deliberate, drawing out every slide, every lick, because I want to savor this first time. Want to feel you lose it because of me.
"Peter," I pull off just enough to speak, my voice husky, lips brushing your tip. "I want you to come in my mouth. Fill me up—let me taste you."
"Fuck," you growl, the word half-lost in a moan. Your hips stutter forward, and I dive back in, sucking harder now, tongue working furiously side to side as I take you deep. The water pounds down, but all I hear is your escalating breaths, the wet sounds of my mouth on you. You're close—I can feel it in the way your cock swells, the tension in your thighs under my hands.
Then it hits: a deep sigh rips from your chest, your body going rigid as your semen shoots into my mouth. Hot, thick spurts coat my tongue, surprising me with the intensity, the sheer volume. I swallow instinctively, the taste bitter and primal, holding you there as you pulse, milking every drop with soft, gentle sucks. You tremble, hand stroking my hair now, a low "Jesus, Frannie" escaping your lips.
I ease off slowly, licking you clean one last time, then rise on shaky legs. You pull me into your arms under the spray, kissing me deep, tasting yourself on my tongue. "That was... incredible," you whisper against my mouth, that smirk returning, softer now. "First time? You were a natural."
We rinse off, the steam finally thinning as the water cools. Toweling dry in the humid haze, I catch your eye and grin. "Guess I scratched that itch. But don't think this means bed right away—next time, you're returning the favor."
You laugh, scooping me up as we head to the bedroom, the night far from over. Who knew a simple shower could turn into my favorite kind of midnight snack?