Fred’s breath was warm against her neck. He shifted his weight, his softening cock still pressed against her thigh. “We should clean up.”
Tommy’s hand, still stroking his hair, paused. “Okay.”
He pushed himself up, the firelight painting his skin gold and shadow. He stood, offered a hand, and pulled her to her feet. She swayed for a second, legs unsteady, and he caught her elbow. His touch was firm. Possessive.
They left the living room, the rug rumpled and damp, and climbed the stairs. The house was silent except for the creak of old wood under their bare feet. Fred led her to the bedroom at the end of the hall—his grandfather’s room, now his. A queen bed with a simple quilt, a dresser, a faint smell of cedar and old paper.
“There might be something…” Fred began, opening the top drawer of the dresser.
Tommy stood behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. She watched as he pulled out a folded stack of women’s clothing. Flannel pajama bottoms. A soft, faded t-shirt. A pair of cotton panties. All in shades of grey and blue.
He held them out. “These were my grandma’s. They should…”
She took them. The flannel was soft from a hundred washes. She held the panties up—simple, white cotton. She looked at him, a question in her green eyes.
“They’ll fit,” he said, his voice low. It wasn’t a guess.
She didn’t ask how he knew. She just nodded and began to dress. The pajama bottoms settled on her hips, the waistband snug but not tight. The t-shirt slipped over her head, the fabric brushing her sensitive nipples. She pulled her hair free from the collar.
Fred had turned to the closet, pulling out a pair of his own sweatpants. He stepped into them, leaving the drawstring loose. His chest was bare, the dust from the attic finally gone, replaced by a faint sheen of sweat and the scent of her.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, nodding to a door.
The bathroom was small, tiled in white and black. An old porcelain tub with a shower curtain patterned with tiny roses. Tommy turned the faucet. Water hissed, then steamed.
Fred stepped in behind her, his hands settling on her hips through the thin flannel. He kissed the side of her neck. “Let me.”
He peeled the shirt over her head. The pajama bottoms followed, pooling at her feet. She stepped out of them, naked again, the steam beginning to curl around her legs.
He shed his sweatpants. Then he guided her into the tub, under the spray. The water was almost too hot, a sharp contrast to the cool air. It sluiced over her shoulders, her back, between her breasts.
Fred took the bar of soap—plain, unscented—and worked it between his hands. He started with her shoulders, his palms sliding over her skin, washing away the sweat and the scent of sex from the rug below. His touch was methodical. Thorough.
He soaped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked under his attention. She leaned back against his chest, her head resting under his chin. The water ran in rivulets between them.
His hands moved lower, over the curve of her stomach. He turned her gently to face him. Water plastered his dark hair to his forehead, dripped from his lashes. His warm brown eyes held hers as his soapy hand slid between her legs.
He washed her there with the same deliberate care, his fingers parting her folds, slicking over her clit, probing gently at her entrance. Cleaning her. Claiming her all over again. Her breath hitched. Her hands came up to brace against his chest.
“Fred.”
He rinsed her, his hand cupping water and letting it flow over her. Then he turned her around, his front to her back. He guided her hands to press against the tiled wall. “Stay.”
The water beat down on her shoulders. She heard him lather the soap again. Felt his hands on her back, her ass. He kneaded the muscles, his touch firm. Then his hands were on her hips, adjusting her stance, pulling her back just slightly.
She felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock against her lower back, then sliding down the cleft of her ass. He was hard again. Fully. Aching. He guided himself lower, the head of his cock nudging through her folds from behind, finding her entrance.
He didn’t push. Not yet. He just held himself there, the tip pressed against her, the water making everything slick. His breath was ragged in her ear. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
“Say my name.”
“Fred. Please.”
He pushed forward. An inch. The stretch was immediate, familiar now, but no less overwhelming. The hot water cascaded over them, the sound of the spray filling the small room. He held there, buried just inside her, his body trembling against hers.
“More,” she whispered.
He gave her another inch. Slow. Agonizing. Her inner muscles fluttered around him, trying to pull him deeper. She pushed back, taking him further. He groaned, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades.
His hands tightened on her hips. He began to move. A shallow, rocking thrust. Then deeper. The wet slap of his skin against hers echoed off the tiles, a counter-rhythm to the drumming shower. Each thrust drove her forward, her palms squeaking against the wall.
He found a pace—deep, relentless, perfectly angled. Every drive brushed that spot inside her that made her vision blur. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the water and steam.
“That’s it,” he growled into her skin. “Take it. Take all of me.”
She was close already, the heat coiling tight in her belly. Her cunt clenched around him, milking his length with every withdrawal. He felt it. His rhythm faltered, turned frantic.
“I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice raw.
“Inside me,” she begged, pushing back to meet his final, driving thrusts. “Fill me up.”
His hips stuttered. He slammed into her, buried to the hilt, and held. A hot, pulsing rush flooded her depths as he came. She felt every jet, every throb of his cock inside her. It triggered her own climax, a sharp, blinding release that clenched around him, drawing his spend deeper.
They stayed like that, locked together under the pouring water, until his softening slip released him. He pulled out slowly. She felt the immediate trickle of his cum down her inner thigh, washed away by the shower almost as soon as it appeared.
He turned her around. His kiss was slow. Tasting the water on her lips. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek.
The water began to run cool.