shower scene

I rinsed my hair. With eyes closed I faced the spray and held my breath as I tried to listen to you walk around. My heart pounded in my ears; I could barely hear you empty your pockets onto my kitchen cart and remove your shoes. I ran my hands over my breasts and cupped them the way you would if you grabbed me from behind. My nipples stiffened under my fingertips and I let my right hand wander down between my legs. I was soaked, and not from the shower. Maybe a quickie would reduce my urge to pounce. I began to stroke myself, sliding the middle and ring fingers of my right hand inside and rubbing my palm up against my clit. I thought back to the last time we slept together, when I woke in the middle of the night to feel your beard scratching the nape of my neck. Rough beard, soft mouth, determined tongue: I could never resist you. The memory of smooth skin pulled taut over your growing erection sent a shiver through me. My heart stopped when I heard you knock. Good sense and aching need competed for my words.

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