Her fingers twisted through his hair as he checked the quality of his work rinsing the soap off of them, using his lips and tongue to make sure he had removed any traces of sudsy residue. He felt his hair tugged to the roots as her nipples hardened between his lips and her back arched into his attentions.
He sudsed and rinses lower, encouraging her to turn and lean against a tiled wall as the water coursed down her back. His hands guided first the soap and then the water over her and between her creamy, flawless cheeks.
Under gentle pressure from his hands, she moved her stance wide, surprising herself with how relaxed, how comfortable she was with his intimate touch. She didn’t tense until his hand slid under her, between her thighs, and even that was a pleasant unresisting tension.
She moaned, barely heard, leaning the side of her face against the cool, soothing tile. He did not use his mouth there, not yet, but was still as thorough and unhurried as he’d been above. Her legs were shaking, when she felt him again apply soap, working down each one to her ankles and feet.
Before he stood, he placed a soft kiss on each round cheek, then trailed more kisses up her spine. Her moan grew louder as the kisses rose, her back arching until, as his lips reached her neck, her cheeks caught him, rigid and slippery, between them. His hips pushed into their captors’ grasp. His weight pushed her front against the tile, holding her pinned there, his breath close and warm to her ear.
Hands on hips, he turned her again, and they kissed as the water rained over them.
Robin reached for the soap and her turn began. She reveled in the luxury of exploring a man’s body like this. She felt safe, intimate, and appreciated, not nervous or worried at all.
She lingered on his arms and under them, feeling the smooth muscles, observing how the sparse hairs on his strong lean swimmer’s chest moved under her soapy fingers. The yellow paint melted away easily. Still lathering him, her touch urged him to turn. He held his hands overhead, against the wall as she washed his back.
Her hands gripped the strong wings of muscle his up-stretched arms displayed, massaging, before they slid lower. Jay had his own round cheeks to savor, firmer and smaller than hers. They clenched briefly as she slipped soapy hands between them and he raised up on his toes as she continued lower, between his legs.
She rinsed her work so far, guiding the gentle spray and encouraging the suds lower. She reached around, her breasts pushing into his back, to work the soap down off his chest and stomach. Kneeling close behind him, she scrubbed with her fingers, massaging his thighs, reaching around each strong leg to clean the front as well as the back.
After she had reached his feet and rinsed his legs, her hands guided his turn to again face her. She remained on her knees, began to soap the one area she has skipped but not forgotten. Even though she had felt him hard against her back, wrapped her hand around him, and watched his cloudy seed leak out and over her fingers, even though she had brought it to her lips, tasting him as he watched, this was the closest she had ever been to a man’s most intimate parts.