BTT Chapter 6: The Sultry Shower Encounter
My sleep broke under the weight of a familiar, wickedly intoxicating scent —
strong black coffee… and the ghost of last night’s sex still clinging to my skin.
My body felt demolished, like it had clocked out and filed a retirement notice.
Flying all day and fucking Iluzhah all night had wrung every ounce of strength from me.
But exhaustion meant nothing when I lifted my head and saw her.
There she was across the room, perched in her oversized reading chair, legs tucked beneath her, nude as creation itself, sipping coffee and turning pages like some serene goddess who had never sinned a day in her life.
The irony made me grin:
a hot cup of mocha drinking a hot cup of coffee.
She sensed my stare before I even blinked.
Her eyes lifted over the rim of her book — slow, sultry, knowing.
She giggled softly.
“Somebody slept like a baby…”
Still naked, she rose from the chair and sauntered toward the bed with her mug in hand. Her hips flowed like warm honey. Her breasts, soft from sleep, swayed with every step.
She offered me the last sip of her coffee, feeding it to me with her fingertips like it was holy.
The moment I swallowed, she straightened, pulled me to her, and wrapped both arms around me in a deep, full-body hug.
Her breasts pressed into my chest like they had every intention of starting trouble.
Her warmth lit my nerves on fire.
And just like that,
my manhood rose from the dead.
Her lips brushed my ear.
Her voice dipped low, velvet and sin.
“Mmm… I know you want more of me. But let’s take this to the shower.”
Her smile… God.
It wasn’t just bright — it was celestial, like a sun cresting the edge of a perfect horizon.
She didn’t need attention. She drew it. Gravity bowed to her.
She laced her fingers around my wrist, firm and intentional, leading me toward the bathroom like she was guiding me into ritual.
The glass shower door gleamed — spotless, inviting, a portal.
Behind it, earth-toned mosaic walls climbed upward like a sacred temple carved from nature.
I pushed the door open with my free arm.
She didn’t release my wrist.
Our steps fell in the same rhythm, as if our bodies had been choreographed long before birth.
The water came down in a torrential blessing from her ceiling-mounted waterfall head.
Perfect temperature.
Perfect pressure.
Perfect world.
The drops hit my back like tiny needles, stinging the fresh scratches her beautiful natural nails had carved into me last night.
Every sting made me harder.
The recessed lights cast a soft glow.
Then the mosaics caught the light and twinkled, just like her eyes did when she looked at me.
I dropped to my knees.
I spread her cheeks with both hands like I was presenting a sacred offering.
My thumbs parted her soft folds to reveal her glistening clit.
The moment my tongue made contact, she let out a breathless, trembling moan that ricocheted off the shower walls like a holy summons.
Her fingers locked around the back of my head, clutching hard, guiding me deeper.
Her thighs shook around my face.
Her breathing collapsed into ragged gasps.
“Oh—God—”
Her voice cracked as she tried to hold control but lost it instantly.
Water baptized my head.
Her nectar baptized my mouth.
And when she came, she came with force —
hotter than the shower, wetter than the water raining down.
She folded to her knees as if I had stripped the strength from her bones.
Her body fell back against the tiles, limp, ruined, divine.
And I was so aroused I could feel my heartbeat pounding against the head of my dick.
I crawled over her, mounted her, and slid into her inch by slow inch.
Her eyes rolled completely back.
Her mouth opened in a soundless cry.
I grinded slow at first, letting her body adjust, letting her melt around me.
When she loosened beneath me, I struck without warning —
thrusting into her again, harder, deeper, sharper.
The sound of our wet bodies smacking together echoed like music.
Her moans went wild.
Her nails clawed the tiles.
Her legs trembled violently around my waist.
She came again — this one louder, fiercer, almost startled by her own pleasure.
When she finally regained her senses, she gave me the most dangerous look I’d ever seen:
vengeful, hungry, sinful.
I rolled off her.
She rolled on top of me.
Guided my length straight into her dripping, creamy heat.
Her lips fell to my ear.
“How would you feel… if I fucked you the way you just fucked me?”
I smirked into her neck.
“Fuck me… so I can tell you exactly how I feel.”
She rose straight up, bracing her palms against my chest, and started bouncing so hard her breasts flew up over her face at the peak of every jump.
When they came crashing back down, the slap echoed through the shower and sent a shockwave through my spine.
Her body was pure music.
And she played me like an instrument she mastered long ago.
I grew harder with every impact.
Her wetness coated me.
Her rhythm punished me.
Her moans rode the steam like a song from another world.
She released another orgasm — violent, breathtaking, shaking.
Then collapsed forward, her breasts pressed to my chest as she switched to a grind, faster, harder, deeper, determined to drag the climax out of me.
I couldn’t hold back.
I didn’t want to.
I came inside her with a growl against her lips, our bodies locked, our breaths tangled, our juices mixing like liquor swirling through carbonated bubbles.
An intoxicating blend.
Just like us.
🚿🛁🥃
