21Sextury
Tasha Lustn, Toby Pic(s)
The steam began to curl, a warm, visible breath that clung to the glass walls and our skin, sealing us within our own private world. His hands, slick with water and a pearlescent sheen of soap, found the gentle curve of my lower back, pulling me closer until our bodies met with a soft, wet sound. The hot water cascaded over my shoulders, tracing a path between my breasts, a liquid caress that mimicked the journey of his lips as they found the sensitive hollow of my throat. I arched into him, my fingers tangling in the damp hair at his nape, the scent of clean rain and sandalwood rising with the heat. Every drop became a tiny, electric point of contact, beading on my eyelids, rolling down the length of my spine, and disappearing into the space where our hips pressed together. He murmured my name, the sound a low vibration agat my ear, almost lost beneath the drumming spray yet felt deep within my bones. My own hands explored the powerful landscape of his shoulders, feeling the shift and play of muscle as he moved agat me, a slow, deliberate rhythm. The world beyond the fogged enclosure ceased to exist, leaving only the sensation of slick skin, shared warmth, and the building pressure of a shared, unspoken need. In that aqueous cocoon, time dissolved, and we were simply two bodies communicating in the ancient, wordless language of touch and steam.
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