He works hard.

“He whom works hard, plays hard”

Nothing is as sexy as a man who isn’t afraid to sweat for a living. And tonight, my love, you’ve never looked sexier.

Through the door you walked. Hair dripping, two shades darker than its normal tone. Your shirt, clinging to your chest. Your baggy work jeans soaked to the point they hugged your thighs with moisture.

I couldn’t help staring, as without a word, you kicked out of your shoes and slowly began peeling out of every sweat soaked layer; leaving a trail to the master bathroom for me to eagerly follow.

With a snap of the switch, the florescent light and white tiles emanated a soft glow that radiantly illuminated your sticky damp skin. I don’t think you noticed the shiver seeing you so exposed sent through me.

As your hand reached for the faucet handles to turn on the hot water for your shower, I untied my robe. As the first steamy drops of water caressed your skin, I let the robe slip off my shoulders and fall to the floor. As the mirror began to fog, I separated the translucent curtain from the tile wall and stepped into the shower behind you.

There, hands against the shower surround, letting the water cascade down your tired muscles, you never looked more deserving.

With loofah in hand, I began to slowly wash your back, watching as the water ran paths and trails of suds down your sides, over you ass, and down your legs.

The anticipation welling up inside of me, my core heating up at the thought of touching every inch of you. But still, I take my time.

After your back, I moved to your ass. Crouching lower and lower into the pelting water, I wash your thighs. Then your calves, covering you in soft soapiness.

Before I could reach around to your shins, you turned to face me.

So hard to concentrate on washing, with your all-inviting manhood just inches from my face.

As slowly and calmly as possible I began to wash once more. Still crouched in front of you, I rubbed your shins, up over your knees, and your outer thighs.

And then with great care, I took both my hands to gently wash the perfection of your inner thighs and the proof of your manhood.

I let washing tempt me to rise. As the loofah caresses your stomach, my breasts graze your thighs. As I wash the tension from your chest, your love muscle slides through my cleavage.

Soaping your shoulders, my nipples trail paths through the wet slippery suds on your stomach. Sliding my hands down the backs of your arms, I my body reaches its full height, my erect nipples pressing against your chest.

Slowly lifting one hand you stare into my eyes, as if for no purpose other than to show me the fire behind yours. The hand touches my cheek. A finger circles my ear, before the entire hand slides around to the back of my neck.

Your other hand slides up my thigh, to my waist, then around to the small of my back.

With a commanding tug I am pulled into a passionate kiss, with my body held as close to yours as the laws of physics allow. Our tongues dance together in fiery seduction, as our hands slide through rivers of water to ravage each other. Grabbing, scratching, hitting every note on the keyboard of our collective bodies.

Suddenly our lips part. With one fluid motion, and in less time than a gasping breath, you have both my hands held firmly in one of yours. With the other at my hips, a tug and twist, and push, and I am pinned, back against the shower wall.

Holding my arms above me, my breath catches. Hungry kisses trail down my neck, your facial hair tickling as your mouth teases.

The coolness of the tiles against my back, the humidity of the steamy water surrounding us, the scorching hot fire of your touch, all sending my desires rising. I arch my back to thrust my hips toward you. The hand at my waist pushes them back again.

A whimper of longing escapes my lips. You respond with every fiery and frustrated muscle flexing as you press against me. The deep growl in your voice sets me ablaze as you whisper, “NOT YET.”

…… (too be continued)

 

 

 

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