Phil had always talked about it, sex in the shower. Every time we made love, he whispered it like a fantasy in my ear. I always laughed it off. But he never gave up, always planting the idea in my mind like a slow-burning fire.

That night, I was tired. I had just washed off my makeup, tied my hair up, and entered the bathroom. He was in the living room, probably scrolling on his phone or watching another football clip on YouTube.

Warm water poured over my skin as I lathered soap onto my body. I closed my eyes, letting the heat relax my muscles, my mind drifting. I didn’t hear the door creak open at first. But then I felt the presence of someone in the room. It had to be Phil, I said to myself.

“Phil?” I called out, water still running down my face. But there was no answer.

My heart skipped. I rubbed my eyes, trying to wash the soap off as fast as I could. I blinked through the steam and froze when my vision cleared.

There he was, Phil, completely naked, standing in the shower.

His eyes were locked on me, intense and hungry. I didn’t say anything at first. I couldn’t. My eyes dropped instinctively, and that’s when I saw it, his hard-on, proud and unashamed.

Before I could find words, he stepped closer. I opened my mouth to speak, but he gently placed his hand over it. His touch was warm, firm, and silencing.

“No words,” he whispered.

His mouth found mine with urgency. The kiss was deep, full of heat and need.

My hands pressed against his chest, but not to stop him; I wanted to feel him. His skin was slick from the steam, and the moment felt raw, real, electric.

The water poured down our bodies; every touch felt different, softer, slipperier. His lips found my neck, and I leaned against the wall, letting the heat soak into my skin. There was something wild and freeing about being naked with him like this, water rushing over us, skin on skin, no room to hide.

He lifted me gently, and I wrapped my legs around him. I gasped as he entered me, the warm water adding a new kind of intensity. The rhythm was slow at first, our bodies moving in sync, hands gripping, lips pressing. Everything felt amplified: the sound of the water, our breath, the wet slap of skin. I couldn’t tell where the water ended and our sweat began.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. His eyes said everything: desire, connection, and need. I held onto him, the tiles cold against my back, his body hot against mine. Waves of pleasure washed over me, deep and pulsing, each one building on the last until I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I came with a soft moan, burying my face in his shoulder, my body trembling. He followed right after, his grip tightening, a groan escaping his lips.

We stood there for a moment, catching our breath as the water kept running. It felt like the world had paused. Nothing existed beyond that tiny space that shared heat.

He kissed my forehead, and I smiled, leaning into him.

See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face.

“No,” I whispered, still breathless. “It was perfect.”

We stayed in the shower a little longer. When we finally stepped out, I felt different, lighter, bolder, a little more in love with how things can surprise you when you least expect it.

Downtown
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