Pitter patter! Pitter patter! The light rain taps upon the roof. The accompanying wind causes it to spray against the glass door of the dimly-lit room. I love days like this.
It’s early evening. We are tangled together, naked, beneath the polyester covers. I decide that a warm, candle-lit shower is in order. I release myself from his embrace with a kiss and saunter over to the bathroom.
One by one, I light the lotus flower-lavendar scented candles that decorate the room and turn on some soft music. I turn the shower faucet on to an ideal temperature, and the water cascades onto the marble mosaic tiled floor. Its sound is an invitation.
The lure works, and he quickly appears in the doorway. As he enters the space, his hard body is accentuated by the soft light. I take his hand and lead him into the shower.
We begin by lathering each other’s body. There is sensual synchrony to it. Every inch of skin is given attention.
We’re engaged in a conversation that needs no words.
After rinsing, he pushes me up against the smooth, cold tiles of the shower wall, and the water continues to pour over us.
He looks deeply into my eyes as I run my hand along his face. I’ve studied these features so many times. Each time, there is one new focus, and I am enamored by it. This time is different. I am utterly captivated by every detail of his face, all at once.
This leaves me winded, but I manage in a whisper, “I’m in love with you.” The words teem with conviction. They touch him in a novel way. It’s almost as if he is feeling their weight for the first time.
Without him saying a word, I know he understands.
Painstakingly, he eases into me, and we surrender ourselves to each other. Irrevocably, I am his, and he is mine. When I am completely filled, we emerge as two halves of the same soul, reunited.
The first thrust is a physical acknowledgement of my declaration. The second follows quickly and is a proclamation of his own. The third is the hardest and deepest; he needs to make sure there is no room for misinterpretation.
I respond in kind, becoming the yin to his yang. A rhythm begins that is inexorable; it is a promise that this love will last an eternity.
He breathes out, and I breathe in. I taste the passion on his breath …on his lips …on his tongue. It is alluring…potent. Savouring the sparks, feeling myself wrapped in his love, I revel in the glory and inhale the essence of him.
He picks me up, and we move from the shower to the counter. With my pelvis pressed into the counter, he takes me from behind. Weaving the fingers of our left hands together, he pins my hand on the fogged up mirror while running the other hand up and down my wet back.
As he runs his right hand up my spine, I shiver. That hand then makes its way into my thick curls before it pulls my head back towards him. He uses our left hands to clear the fog from the glass. It’s a front row seat to our love personified.
My knees begin to shake. They are about to fail me. Still buried inside me, he holds me close in his arms as we fall to the floor. I need to capture snapshots of this and commit them to memory.
I cat crawl through the open bathroom door into the hallway just outside our room. I stop in front of the giant mirror and search for his face behind me. The hunger in his eyes makes me bite my lower lip, and he makes his way over with powerful intent and urgency.
Maintaining eye contact in the mirror, we continue our love making…never making it to the bed.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hq4gyg/it_gets_deep_when_its_wet_mf