Call Me Love Ch. 03

Three

When Kit said her place was 'cold,' I figured she might've been exaggerating a tad. You know how it is with girls, always moaning about the cold and then pinching your hoodies.  

But the second I step through that door, I know straight away any ideas of finishing what we started on that video call have gone straight out the window. Because, mate, you can't have decent sex if you're freezing your bollocks off. Let me tell you, with every step, mine hate me a bit more.  

"Christ alive, Kit," I mutter, rubbing my hands together to get some feeling back in them, "It's colder in here than it is outside."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad."

Not that bad?  

Has she gone mental? This place is colder than a witch's tit in January. I'm being dead serious--I'm curling my toes inside my boots just to keep warm.

"I can literally see my bloody breath. How're you not an ice lolly?"

"I'm kinda used to it." She gives a casual shrug of her shoulders as she grabs a hoodie, pulling it over her head. "Been like this for two days already." 

Two days? Where's her landlord? Letting her freeze like this--bloke needs to have his head checked.

But for someone sleeping in an igloo, she doesn't seem fussed. Just standing there, chatting to that cat--Simon--telling him not to piss on her stuff while she's out. Talks to him like he's a person, not a damn cat. Funny, that.

Oh, and she's barefoot.  

Bloody barefoot. No clue how she managed to strip down for that show earlier--she must've been freezing her arse off the whole time.  

I just stand there blinking at her, like she's just said beans don't belong on toast. She clocks my stare, and that little spark of trouble makes an appearance.  

"I mean, if you're that chilly, I think I can find a way to warm you up."

She's gone all sweet, reaching for my belt as she takes a step closer.

Nope!  

Don't get me wrong--balls are blue, but I'm not risking frostbite on my cock just 'cause she looks good in a hoodie.

I catch her hand before it can go any further, fingers wrapping tight around hers before she can even blink.


"Oh, trust me. You will--" 

I'm not gonna fuck her here--probably--but I reckon I can get away with a kiss or two. So I dip down, nick one--because watching her earlier, putting on that filthy little show, but not getting to kiss her? Fucking criminal.

Like someone poured a pint and forgot the fizz.  

One kiss turns into a few, and she's already trying to lick her way back into my mouth when I pull back, and she tries to follow me for another.

"--But not here," I say, grinning like a bastard.. "Grab your stuff. We've got proper heating waiting at mine."

"But you said--"

"-I'm not having sex in a bloody freezer," I say, cutting her off flat.

She's got that pouty look down to a bloody science. If it weren't arctic in here, I'd be flat on my back. One day, that look's gonna ruin me. Call it now.

"Go on, pack it in--or I'll give those lips something better to do." I can't decide if that's a warning or a preview.

"Promise?"

She's a menace. An actual menace.

"Kit," I warn, voice dropping low.

She backs off, hands raised like she's surrendering--but before I can even breathe, she's tugging me forward again, pressing her mouth to mine in a kiss that's soaked with all kinds of intention. Her tongue brushes mine in this slow, aching way that makes it damn near impossible not to groan.

Ah, hell, she can have this one.

I pull back, eventually, and there it is--that smug little grin like she's just nicked a sweet off the top shelf.  

Alright, steady on, Ben. Can't have a stiffy on the Tube--not again.

"Remember what I said about naughty girls, Kit."

"I remember..." She says in a little sing-song voice, tugging on her trainers.

Whatever warning I was about to give dies on my tongue the second I get a proper look at her--still wearing my shirt like it's some kind of personal trophy, hem barely skimming her arse in those tight black skinnies. Ripped at the knees--ladders and tears offering just enough of a peek at the fishnets underneath.

Because of course she'd go and layer sin under denim, and here I am, the poor sod who's meant to keep it together.

It's a cracking outfit--but the second we're back at mine, it's all coming off. Starting with that bloody shirt.

"Come on, let's scarper." 

I take her hand, and we make for the nearest station.

Rain's coming in sideways now, bouncing off the pavement like it's trying for a second go--but that's standard fare this time of year. Don't seem to bother Kit one bit--her being from Seattle. They get about as much rain as we do. Won't be so bad once we're underground, but for now, we're catching splashes between shopfronts, and the nearest station's just down the way.

Not sure how it happens, but it turns into a bit of a game.

We start off darting under shop awnings and bits of scaffolding to dodge the worst of it--no hoods up, not an umbrella in sight.

We do a half-decent job of staying dry, but there's this buzz in the air--and next thing I know, we're laughing like loons, probably drawing a few looks.

Reminds me of that old game--pretending the floor's lava. Jumping off your mum's posh sofa while she's losing her nut at you--right up until she threatens to tell your Nan. And Nan? She's from that time when a good clip round the ear was standard. Don't mess with Nan. Grown men straighten up when she tells you it's time to go home from the pub.

That's what this feels like--reckless but sweet, like we're getting away with something.

I'm grinning like a right muppet while Kit's cackling behind me. Rain's got nothing on her.

We're just across from the stairs to the station now, huddled under the canopy of a shuttered offie--waiting for a lull in traffic to bolt.

"Ready to make a break for it?" I ask.  

"Let's go!" 

She's halfway into a run when I yank her back under. Can't help myself.

"Wait a tick." 

She blinks up at me like she's waiting for me to say something funny, but there's no joke, mate. No punchline--just the urge to kiss her, plain and simple.

It's like something off the telly. I've got one hand in her hair and the other on her waist, hanging on to her like we're posing for a romance novel cover.

Her mouth's warm, velvet-soft. Tongue teasing mine just right. Cold, wet London falls away. Could be Paris. Could be bloody Mars for all I care.


I barely know this girl, and yeah, we've done this whole dating thing arse backward, but there's no denying the chemistry between us.

It's cinematic. It's stupid. It's perfect. I surprise myself sometimes.

"God, I love the way you taste," Christ--I sound like a sap.  

Fuck, I don't care, her eyes are hazy and soft. I did that right there. I haven't kissed her in a week, but I missed it, that's for sure. Missed touching her, missed the way she kisses me back.  

We're getting carried away. I don't even clock it until some geezer calls out from an open window, "Oi! Take it home!"

I tip my head back and shout toward the old git, "Get yourself a pint and mind your business, Granddad!"

He just mutters something under his breath and disappears back inside. Kit's half-hiding behind me, trying to stifle her laughter, blushing and grinning like mad.

Yeah, ok, maybe a full-on snog in the street ain't exactly standard round here. Makes people uncomfortable, hell--makes me uncomfortable most days--but with Kit? Yeah, I'm finding it hard to give a toss.

Besides, I'd like to see that old man try to keep his hands off a girl as gorgeous as Kit, if he could even manage to get one.

"Come on. We're already drenched--might as well go full tilt."

We dash across the street, feet slapping against the wet pavement. Kit nearly slips and shrieks, but I catch her round the waist, and we stumble down the steps, laughing like kids bunking off school.

We tap in and hit the platform just in time. The Tube's already pulling in--doors whooshing open with that familiar stale burst of tunnel air and a little something else.

Plenty of seats going, but we're both halfway drenched, so I don't bother sitting. No point soaking the moquette. Those things've seen more arses than a Soho burlesque lineup. Last thing I need's a dirty look when I leave a wet patch behind.

Kit clocks the seats too, wrinkles her nose, and stays standing beside me. Good girl.

The carriage isn't too packed--just a few scattered passengers. Couple of students; that'll be the extra something in the air--bit of Lynx Africa. Some suits, and the usual lot who look like they've got nowhere in particular to be. The air's already thick with that muggy, underground heat that clings to your skin the second you step below street level. I peel off my hoodie, already sweating like it's high summer--not March with the rain coming sideways. Up top, it's freezing; underground, it's like stepping into a sauna.

The fabric clings to her like it's trying to test every ounce of my patience. Her shirt's soaked through--just sheer enough in a few spots to mess with my self-control--and those skinnies? They look fresh out of the wash, a size too small and sticking in all the right places.

I know she's probably miserable, but damn if she doesn't look good. Unreasonably good. It's unfair, really. She rakes her damp hair into a clip, piling it on top of her head--then she catches my stare.

"What?"

There's this thing girls do after a kiss--like someone's flipped a switch and lit them from the inside--and she's glowing with it. That post-kiss, flushed, fuck-me shimmer.

I give her the old come-here crook of the finger, and she bites back a grin like she knows if she gets too close, I'll make a meal of her.  

I will. Just not yet.

She looks around the carriage, like she's trying to remind me we're not alone--but I don't care. We've got three days ahead of us to make good on every carnal sin we can dream up. And I'm meant to keep my hands to myself?

Nah.

"C'mere."

She raises a brow like she's not sure if I'm up to mischief--'course I am. She finally steps close, and I reach up, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

"You look good, all wet."

"I taste good too."

And there it is--that mouth. Naughty girl.

I don't let the onlookers stop me. I lean in and nip at her ear--just a little bite--and she jumps with a soft squeak.

"Ben--what are you doing?" She gasps, all high and breathy.  

She's trying to play it off, but her shoulders are up, lips twitching, eyes flicking toward the other passengers like someone might tell her off again. She's trying to behave now. Bless her.

"What?" I grin. "You're the one who said not to tempt you. Thought we were past pretending we behave."

She nods toward the folks watching. "Bit of an audience, don'cha think?"

"Let 'em have a peek," I purr, low in her ear. "'Sides, maybe I like the idea of being watched."

"Ben..." There's something there--not sure if she likes the idea or if she's just gone a bit shy on me.

"C'mon," I coax, flashing her a grin. "Gimme one more."

She eyes me suspiciously--then, quick as a minx, plants one on me and jumps back before I can make anything more of it.

Fine. Probably best not to get us both kicked off the train.

I'll mind my manners. For now.

Sure enough, we've already gathered a bit of interest--folks side-eyeing us, glancing up from their papers and mobiles. But they're not looking at me. They're looking at her. And now that I think about it, I'm not too keen on sharing Kit. She's mine for the next few days, and that's that.

We've got about five stops 'til we hit my ends--maybe fifteen minutes--and the carriage just rocks on like it's in no rush to get us anywhere fast.

We're both standing, clinging to the rail, and a bit of something red and angry catches my eye. Yeah, she showed me her knuckles earlier, but I kind of blanked on them, happens when tits are involved. It's only when she shifts her grip on the handrail that I really see them--deep red scrapes across the skin.

I reach for her hand, turning them for a closer look.

Split knuckles ain't nothing new--I've seen worse more times than I can count--but these are different. Raw and fresh. They're not too deep, but infections are bastards. Especially when your hands are your bread and butter.  

I'll sort her out when we get back to mine. Bit of gauze, tape, Savlon--she'll be right.

I can see at least ten other scars across the back of her hand--thin, white, older. Probably from the same kinda thing. It's mad, really. Looking at Kit, you'd never guess she's into all that. I know a bit about cars and the like, but got no clue what half that jargon she rattled off earlier meant, but the way she talks about it--like it's second nature--is damned impressive.

And it's not just the bikes or what most folks'd call bloke stuff. It's that she's clever.

Might have to swing by her dad's shop one day, see her in action. Grease under her nails, bossing around lads twice her size. Be a laugh to rock up and point her out, all smug, like, Yeah, that one there? That's mine.

Not that she is, though. Not really.

Ain't even been on a proper date yet--need to sort that out before she gets cold feet again.  

She's not mine. But she feels like it.

We get on, and we're definitely in sync between the sheets.

"You gonna kiss it better?"Her voice cuts through my thoughts, and she's wearing a smart little smirk.

I'll do way more than that.

But for now--since she's a lady and I'm pretending to be a gent--I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles.

She lights up, grin blooming as the tips of her ears go pink. Cute as hell.

Reminds me of Gomez Addams, always all over Morticia. That's relationship goals, right there. I always wondered what that's like--having a woman who makes you crave her so much, you might worship the ground she walks on.

Hell, there I go again--relationship. Is that what Kit and I've got? Is that what this is turning into?

The carriage chugs along, people bustling about, bits of chatter drifting our way. I'm only half-listening when Kit suddenly makes this face--eyebrows drawn, lips pressed tight, snapping her head back to me like someone's just told her off.

She locks eyes with me for a second, shifts her gaze sideways, and back--quick little glances like she's trying to clue me in without tipping anyone off.

Alright. I'll bite.

There's maybe seven people in the carriage with us, most minding their own--except one.

She's got the look of someone who yells at baristas for putting oat milk in her coffee 'wrong' or writes complaint emails to TfL just for the fun of it. Got that fresh two-week blow dry, micromanaging vibe. Nose in everyone else's business. She's not even pretending to look at her mobile--just full-on daggers at us.

Big Ofsted inspector energy.

Despite the look, Kit's stifling a laugh behind her hand, shoulders shaking with the effort. Takes me a second, but then it hits me, too.

We're adults--haven't been in school for years--and here we are, sat like we're outside the headmistress's office, waiting for a lecture on proper behaviour.

What's she gonna do next, ring our mums?

A laugh rumbles in my chest. I try to swallow it, I really do, respect for your elders and all that, but it's useless. The way she's glaring at us, like we've committed some massive public indecency--it's so stupid, it's hilarious.

Like she's never had a bit of fun with her fella. Maybe she hasn't, not with that scowl.

I clear my throat, trying to cover it--but I'm cracking too now. Kit lifts a hand like she's fixing her hair, all casual until she throws me a little grin, eyes brimming with mischief.

She mouths, "Go with it."

Oh dear. What is she planning?

She stops right in front of me, eyes locked on mine, and then--bold as you like--wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me flush against her, hips tight to mine. It's nothing scandalous.

But she doesn't stop there.

Her hands slip down into my back pockets, giving my arse a proper squeeze--Yeah... my eyes go a bit wide at that one.

Then she rolls her hips into mine, like she's angling for a dance--cheeky thing--and plants one on me. Just a simple kiss, nothing I wouldn't do in front of my own mum... but her hands on my arse? Yeah, that's pushing the rating a bit.

What is she up to?

"I want a baby."

The whole carriage goes still. Every head swivels like we've just kicked off a live episode of EastEnders--curiosity, scandal, full-on gossip-hunting. Take your pick. Somewhere behind us, someone tries to stifle a laugh with a cough.

Not sure how I keep a straight face. I was ready for just about anything--but that? If I didn't know Kit was taking the piss, I might've dropped dead on the spot.

She's selling it though, biting that damn lip and pulling the classic angle: chest out, head tilted, eyes wide and innocent. Arms winding around my neck acting all sweet, like I can't see the horns and tail poking out. If she'd asked for anything else, I probably would've folded like a deck chair. But babies? Nah. Not happening.  

Oh well, the game's still fun.

"Bit early for that, ain't it, love? Only been a week, and you're already on about babies?"

Kit's eyes sparkle when I play along with her little scheme; I really shouldn't be enabling this.

"Oh, come on, we'd make such cute babies," she says, like she asked for a biscuit and not a bloodline. "Please? Pretty please? I'll do that thing you've been begging me to try."

A few seats down from us, a bloke in a suit mutters something about 'bloody kids' into his Pret coffee, but he's hiding a smirk behind the lid--like he remembers what it was like to be our age and out for fun.

There's a ripple of laughter from the pack of students. One of them shouts,

"Oi! At least buy her a kebab first, mate--Mind ya manners!"

Could go for a kebab, actually...

I'm this close to cracking up, but I've also never been one to back down. We've just passed Seven Sisters--two stops till mine. It's just enough time to stir the pot a bit more.

"You'll be a good girl?" I say it just loud enough so people can hear, and serious enough to sound like I'm actually entertaining it.


I swear this woman's about to have a heart attack. Can't quite see her out of the corner of my eye, but I bet she's beet red--can definitely still feel her staring though.

"I dunno love--" I shrug, "don't we need to get hitched first? I mean, I don't even know your last name." 

There's a scandalized gasp from somewhere down the carriage and some more stifled chuckles.

"Nah," Kit purrs. "Skip the ceremony--head straight to the baby-making. Everyone knows that's the best part." 

Kit gives her hips a little grind against mine, and I catch the woman's reflection in the window--she's looking for backup, scanning the punters like she's trying to form a jury. But no one's biting.  

Most of them are just trying not to piss themselves. Even the suit bloke's still holding his coffee cup like a shield--hasn't taken a sip in minutes.

"Please, Babe?" Kit coos. "You don't even have to do anything--just lie back and enjoy it. I'll do all the work!" 

Karen's face--yeah, she's a Karen now--curdles into pure scandal. Bless her.

Thank God, I don't know any of this lot. 'Cause if this ever got back to mum or nan? I'd be dead before I could explain it was just a bit of harmless ribbing with strangers.

Buried under my mum's roses. No headstone--just a plaque that read, 'he had it coming.' 

Still, it's all just teasing.

... She is just teasing, right?

Christ, I better just pray this don't end up going viral on someone's bloody TikTok. Alright, I've pushed my luck enough.

Time for the finale.

I shoot her a wink, nod toward the door. Time to make a quick getaway before Kit gets us nicked by the BtP.  

"Alright, love," I let out a sigh and put on my best serious face, "It's only been a week, but--if you want a baby, I'll give you one. Might take all night though--hope you weren't planning on sleeping."

The carriage stops, and I grab her hand. "Let's crack on!"

As soon as the doors slide open, we hop the gap onto the platform. The doors snap shut behind us, and I look back just in time to catch the look on that woman's face.

Mouth open, catching flies. Eyes wide as saucers. She's on her feet for some reason, but before she can so much as squawk, the carriage lurches and rolls away.

Classic.

I give her a cheery little wave, and Kit--bloody menace--grabs me by the collar and lays one on me.

Not a kiss, a moment. Proper showstopper. The kind that belongs in a film, timed perfectly as the train disappears into the tunnel behind us.

What's the lesson to be learned here? Don't try and shame Kit when she's the one trying to behave, I suppose.

"Did you see her face?" 

Her laughter's infectious, and I'm trying to keep mine in check--don't even come close. I glance back, half expecting a riot of angry Karens coming to aid the call of their own, but really, there's just a few folks giving us some side eye for being so noisy and causing a scene. What'dyou suppose you call an angry group of Karens?

A complaint? Entitlement? Ah, the mysteries of life.

"Best hope I don't make mates in this neck of the woods," I mutter. "Or I'll have a tough time explaining that one. That one's got some cracking tea-time stories now."

"So technically," Kit says, still grinning ear to ear, "we did her a solid..."

She just shrugs, unbothered--and keeps grinning like we didn't just scar some poor pensioner for life. I blow out a breath and start toward the stairs, boots scuffing the edge of the platform.

"Think our kids'll inherit your horns and pointy tail or my halo and wings?" I toss back over my shoulder.

She goes all wide-eyed and mock-offended, like I just accused her of kicking puppies. "Whatever could you mean, Benjamin?"

Oh--she just called meBenjamin. Not sure if I like that. At least she didn't say Benji... haven't been that since I was a lad.

I cock a brow, smirking as I step in close. "Angel act's not fooling anyone, love. You're a little devil, you are."

She pats the top of her head, combing through her hair for a pair of horns, then twists to look over her shoulder, like she's checking for a tail. No luck. Nice arse, but still--no tail.

"Think I'm missing some critical accessories." 

"Well," I catch her round the waist, pulling her into my arms and steering us toward the stairs--right where a broken gutter's pissing down like it's trying to drown the entire station. "Only one way to be sure."

I crowd in like I'm aiming for a kiss, all soft and slow--then tip us straight into the downpour.

"--Bit of holy water!" 

She shrieks, flailing like a cat in a bath, but I've got her locked in tight.

"Ben! Rainwater isn't holy water, you twat!" 

She called me a twat. Bloody adorable. It's funny hearing her drop our words with that American accent of hers. Might be the cutest thing I've heard all day.

"Close enough, ain't it?" I say, grinning. "Should count yourself lucky it's just rain--most Londoners'd call thissunshine."

"Ben, come on, I'm already soaking wet!" 

She definitely didn't mean it like that, but well, you know how it goes.

"Are you now?" 

Just like that, she's not fussed about the rain anymore. I take a step, slotting myself between her and the downpour. Yeah, we're both drenched, and we must look completely mental, but these clothes weren't gonna last much longer anyway, and my place ain't far. What's a bit more water, eh?  

I steal a kiss--no need for theatrics now, just the two of us. It's a proper belter too, the kind that makes it easy to forget we're practically standing under a tap.

We're halfway to a scene that'd get us an ASBO when a pointed cough cuts through the spell. It's a station bloke. Arms crossed, all official and zero amusement--seems like word of our antics got around.

"Come on, son," He grunts, no doubt this ain't the first time he's had to break something like this up. "At least take her somewhere nicer than here." He jerks his head to the stairs, "Move it along."

"Yeah, alright. Come on."

We head up the stairs like it's a summer's day in Camden, not a monsoon in March--soaked to the bone, still cackling like a pair of fools.

It's just starting to let up as we rock up to mine. Swinging round the side of the building and climbing the metal stairs--clanging with every step, rusted in spots, and moaning like they've seen better years. Kit slows to eye the peeling posters slapped along the brick wall. Old gigs, old names, long faded. Bit of charm to 'em, same as the gym below.

The steel door's as stubborn as ever, tends to stick in the rain--which is to say most of the damn time. I give it a hard shove with my shoulder, and it jerks open on a groan like it's been personally offended.  

"Charming, innit?"

She snorts. I catch the door before it swings shut and jam my foot against it to hold it open.

I take her bag and drop it by the door, and toe off my boots next to the radiator to dry out. She takes a second longer, peeling off her soaked high-tops as a small puddle forms under her. Doesn't look like much of her stuff made it through dry. Suppose that's my fault, but that's a problem for later.

"Shower," I nod down the hall.

As soon as her head is turned, I hook an arm around her waist and chuck her over my shoulder--because I bloody well feel like it.

"Ben! Put me down!"

She shrieks, grabbing on like she thinks I'm about to toss her out a window. Please. I deadlift more than this before breakfast. She's safe--and she knows it. Girl's lucky I didn't carry her from the station.

"Nope," I say, popping the P.

"You're a caveman!"

"Yeah, yeah," I grin, giving her arse a hard smack and she shrieks again. Didn't miss this time. "But I'm a caveman with central heating."

She gives up any pretence of fighting, giggling the rest of the way, bouncing against my back as I carry her. Right past my bed--sheets still a bit rumpled--and I catch her sneaking a glance at the mirror again, like it might still hold a replay of Sunday's antics.  

Little trip down memory lane, that. Maybe we'll revisit that later.

I crank the tap as hot as it'll go, and within seconds, steam starts curling. The mirror is already fogging up by the time I peel off my shirt and toss it onto the radiator with a slap. I half expect Kit to hop in first, but she doesn't--she's just standing there like she's sizing me up.

She looks toward the shower, then back at me--and that's the only warning I get. Next thing I know, she's on me, tongue teasing the seam of my lips. It's a kiss that goes from cheeky to full-blown filthy in seconds.

I'm still reeling, trying to keep up, when she starts walking us backward--her hands in my hair, her mouth not letting up. Before I've even caught my breath, she's got us under the spray, and I'm still half-dressed like a bloody amateur.

Sod it.  

Everything sticks like clingfilm, and every move just reminds me how much I want less between us. I reach down to get my belt off, but Kit's already tugging it loose with a wicked little flourish. Then her fingers curl over the bulge in my jeans, pressing her hand along the seam like she already knows exactly how I like it. My cock kicks at the pressure, thickening fast--straining against the denim.

She works her hand inside, palming me through my boxers, and I can feel the heat of her hand through the cotton. I'm in a state, stiff and aching, and I couldn't stop the noise that comes up from my chest if I tried.

By the time I think to participate, she's got them halfway down my thighs. A bit of kicking sends them off into some forgotten corner of the shower--there's a hard thud.  

Fuck, was that my mobile?

This is the second time she's had me stripped to my boxers before I've gotten a single button off her.

How the hell is that fair? Yeah, alright. Time to fix that.

Good as my clothes look on her, she's not getting away with this one-sided nonsense, not again.

"Nick anything else I should be worried about?"

If she did, she admits to nothing and comes at me again--maybe a kiss, maybe a bite--but I pull back before she can land either. With a nudge, she lifts her arms, letting me peel the shirt--my shirt--over her head.

It lands, God knows where, with a wet smack. Should probably chuck it in the basket, but washing's the last thing on my mind.


Skinnies may be eye candy for us blokes, but wet? They're practically shrink-wrapped to her thighs, fighting me every bit of the way. She starts giggling when I struggle, hips swaying like she's helping. It absolutely doesn't help.

"Need some help?"

I scowl and give one hard yank. The denim--fishnets too--give way with a sharp tear.

Whoops.  

"Ben!"

Not sorry.

I chuck her clothes over my shoulder, and when I look up, I can't help myself "Gonna give us a spin?" 

She pivots--fluid and unapologetic--throwing me a look over her shoulder that lands somewhere between you're welcome and try not to drool.

Smug little thing knows exactly the effect she's having.

The bra's a plunge-cut job, probably light grey, but soaked through it's darker. Straps biting into her shoulders, lifting just enough. Nothing fancy about those knickers--no lace, or strings. Just practical, low on the hips, cut high enough to show off the kind of view that makes a bloke forget why he walked into the room.

There's not a single thing in this world better than a soaking-wet woman in your shower, looking at you like she wants to break you.

Go ahead. Try and top it. I'll wait.

My palms drift up the backs of her legs, mapping every inch from calf to thigh. I rise with them, slow and steady, until my fingers are splayed across her hips, holding her like a prize I don't plan to share.

Start from the top, work my way down.  

Take my time. Make her melt.

That was the plan, anyway.

Before I can get started, that tongue of hers is in my mouth again--hot, playful, and trouble--then she gives me a little push.

It's barely a shove at all, but it's enough to send me back a step against the wall. Cold tile against burning skin, and the ache in my bollocks flares like a punch to the gut. Fucking Hell! I've been hard so long, even a breeze might've done me in--but sure, let's throw me at the wall too.

"Steady on there, Kit--" It comes out as a grunt.

She freezes, just for a second. No words, but the wince says it all.  

Oops.

Her hands smooth down my chest, then dip low--knuckles brushing my abs before curling into my waistband. She's gentle when she drags my boxers down, and the second they're off my hips, my cock springs free--heavy, thick, throbbing. I give them a quick kick off my feet, and they're gone.

Dunno where, don't care either because she's already back on me.

There's just something about neck kisses, innit? Doesn't matter how big and tough you are--that's the spot that makes you crumble. Like static under your skin, sharp and sweet all at once.  

The lads at work gave me the stick last time, but if they knew how I got 'em, they'd be queuing up to shake my hand.

"Fuck..."

It comes out more hiss than word--can't be helped.

Especially when her moith is on my neck and her palm rolls over the head of my cock, heel pressing in just right. A shudder rips through me--no warning. She's got the perfect rhythm--not too soft, not too tight. Each stroke dragging skin down, baring the swollen head, making my hips jerk forward like I've got no say in the matter.

Been nearly two hours since that bloody video call, and while no one's ever died of blue balls... At least not that I know of-- I've been living a little too dangerously today. And after charging across the city, all because she showed me exactly how she comes when she's thinking of me?

Yeah. Bashing one out alone was never gonna cut it.

Should've asked if she'd let me record it for later--though who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll give me an encore.

"Poor Ben," she purrs. "Came all the way to save me from my cold, lonely flat, like this?"

I grunt something that sounds like a 'yeah', jaw locked, head tilted back.

"Were you this hard watching me?" She purrs. "Legs spread--vibrator buzzing while I begged? You thinking about my fingers? Or my mouth? My wet pussy?"

Yeah, all the above. That.

"Or the way my mouth dropped open when the vibrations hit just right?"

She leans in, tongue brushing the corner of my mouth while she gives a slow, indulgent squeeze and long, confident pumps, wrist twisting on the upstroke.

"I brought it with me, you know." She whispers that bit. "Maybe later, you can show me what you want me to do with it next time."

Let's just see if I survive the bloody shower first.

She moves her mouth across my neck and down my chest. Not even trying to kiss me properly, just dragging her tongue like she's licking something off. Her teeth graze, tongue slick, and it's got my cock twitching hard in her hand.  

"I think I need to make you cum, now..."

I let out this half-laugh, half-moan, shaky as hell. No idea why.

Maybe it's because I've had this exact fantasy since Year 11. Back then, it was a teacher I had no business thinking about--didn't stop half the student body from thinking about hers. Tight pencil skirt, soft voice, eyes that could pin you down.

Now it's Kit on her knees, calling me baby, and yeah... this version's a whole lot better.

She doesn't tease, and thank God. Just goes straight down--taking me till I hit the back of her throat, slowly easing back just enough to let her tongue glide along the underside. One hand working the base of my cock with steady pulls that catch right under the head; the other cups my balls with just enough pressure to make my knees go soft.

My head thuds against the shower wall, and something downright indecent claws its way out of my chest--low, guttural, obscene.

"Kit--" I breathe, already wrecked. "Oh fuck... that's--"

I can't even finish it.

Every wet suck pulls a groan out of my chest like it's being torn from somewhere deep. The pressure is fucking unreal. The occasional brush with the edge of her teeth--then she smooths it over with the soft drag of her tongue over the head like she's sucking a lollipop--greedy, indecent.

And the sounds.

That soft gag when I hit the back of her throat? The way she pushes through it--taking me all the way again, like she's got something to prove.

My fingers slip into her soaked hair, smoothing it back. Forcing my eyes to stay open is a struggle, but I need to see this.  

Lips pink and stretched around my cock, sliding up and down in smooth, hypnotic bobs. Her cheeks are flushed, with spit in the corner of her mouth, her eyes locked on mine, half-lidded and burning, like she's daring me to last. Water slicks her skin, cleavage glistening, tits shifting just enough to make me twitch.

I blink through the steam, fighting to keep my eyes open.

And when she moans around me, I feel it everywhere.

"Fuckin' hell... T'so fucking good."

Being buried in her throat is amazing--And yeah, it's a special kind of treat--just lying back while she swallows every drop, and all I've got to do is give it to her.

I'm not touching her.  

Can't feel her clench around me when I slide in hard, can't hear the way her breath stutters just before she moans--like I've ruined her for anyone else..

I want those sounds she only makes when she's full of my cock.

"--Kit."

Her eyes open, lips still wrapped around me--and that cocky little smirk starts to show. She slows--barely--her lips hugging the head of my cock, sucking soft and deliberate. Just enough to make me twitch.

My fingers twist gently into her soaked hair--no pull, no pressure.  

"Get up here."

For a second, she just looks... surprised. Maybe even disappointed--like I told her she was doing a shit job. Far from it. One of these days I'll have to see just how fast she can suck me off.

My hand ghosts over her throat, fingers slipping behind her neck. I pull--gentle, but firm.

And like a good girl, she rises.

It's not force. It's want. She gives in easy, lets me guide her as I turn us around, trading places--now she's the one pressed to the shower tile.

At least I warmed it for her.

Thoughtful, right?

There's no finesse when my mouth sinks onto hers--it's rough, messy, all teeth and tongue. One hand rests against her throat still, the other pressed flat to the tile beside her head as I cage her in.

"That mouth of yours is amazing, Kitty-Kat," I pant, forehead pressed to hers, lips brushing hers with every word. "But I need you wrapped around me."

Her bra's off in one sharp tug--shoulder strap snapping as I wrench it off, tits spilling out with a soft bounce.

Don't care. And the look on her face? Stunned, turned on--maybe even a little nervous.  

Bloody priceless.

Most blokes would call me mad for turning down a mouth like hers. But nothing--and I mean nothing--beats bottoming out each time and knowing you're the reason she's losing her mind. The way her body opens up like it doesn't know how to say no.

Her knickers cling for half a second too long, but I'm in no mood to be patient. I hook my fingers and yank them down hard enough to hear a seam tear.

She's still wide-eyed when I grab her thigh and hitch her leg up, spreading her open. Her fingers curl into my shoulder and the back of my neck--clutching like she needs something solid to hold onto.

She is nervous.

"Feel that?" I rasp, grinding my cock against her--thick, heavy, aching. "That's all you, sweetheart."

Still no words, but her eyes flutter closed at the brief contact. And honestly? I love that.

"Up." My voice drops. "I need you like this--Right fucking now."

Her arms lock around my neck as I hoist her up, hands gripping her thighs, using the leverage to keep her right where I want her. Just long enough to slip a hand between us--

No fumbling. No pause.

I line myself up.

And I drive in.

All the way.

Her moan cuts through the steam, and her legs tighten around my waist, like she didn't expect it to hit that good.

Two hours of blue balls. Worth it.

Her heat, her tightness--the way she's pulsing and squeezing me like it's what she was made for. My cock throbs inside her and in response, I swear she's squeezing every inch like she wants to keep it.

God, I needed this.  

My head drops to her neck, jaw clenched, lungs barely working as I try to regulate my breathing.

Yeah...

I might need a second.
  Maybe two.

"Ben..." She breathes--soft, sultry, coaxing. "You just gonna hold me like this, or are you gonna ruin me?"

Brat. Oh, I'll ruin her, alright.

I pull out just far enough for the head of my cock to tease her--then slam back in.

"--Fuck!"

Her head knocks back, nails biting into my shoulders as she arches, caught between trying to handle it and needing more.

"Again," she pants, "baby--just like that--"

Say less, sweetheart.

I pound into her, slow and steady at first, relishing the stretch, the drag, the heat. Each thrust is deliberate, deep enough to make her gasp, to make her clench around me. Her body jerks with every roll of my hips. She wants more. She takes more.

When I bottom out again, she squeezes around me, hips rising to meet mine in a desperate grind that steals the air from my lungs. Her heels dig into my lower back, sharp enough to ache--but all it does is push me harder. Makes me want to feel her everywhere.

I grit my teeth, driving in slow but unrelenting, pushing us both right to that sweet edge. The sound of her--choked-off moans, breathy little curses--rattles something loose in me. I'm not sure how long I can keep this pace. Not when she's this wet, this tight, this willing.

I feel her pulse around me again, close--so close--and I don't want to rush it. I want to draw it out. Make her fall apart on my cock again and again, until her voice is wrecked and my name's the only thing left on her lips.

She keeps closing her eyes--and I'm not sure I like it. Not when I want her here with me for every second of it.

I shift my weight, press her into the wall with my hips, using the leverage to cup her jaw and tilt her face to mine.

"Eyes up," I growl. "If you're gonna fall apart on my cock, you better let me see every second of it."

She doesn't answer. Just turns her head and pulls my thumb into her mouth, grazing it with her teeth and sucking.

I drop my hand back to her thigh--both of them under my grip now--and slam into her, harder.

Dammnit.

 It's like she wants me to blow my load right now. Wouldn't take long to bounce back, but that's not the point. I want this to last.

She jerks, clenches tight, lets out that sweet little gasp--fuck, I love that sound. So I do it again. Same reaction. Tighter. The shower fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, steam curling around us like it wants to watch.

And just when I think it can't get better--she leans in, breath hot at my ear, and murmurs:

"That's it, baby. Give me more--I can take it."

"God, you're so thick, Ben. Don't stop."

"Feel how tight I am for you? That's yours, baby--all of it."

So much for making this last.

I double down. My grip tightens on her thighs--fingers digging deep enough to leave marks.

"Look at me, Kit." My voice scrapes out--more demand than request.

She does, eyes glassy and wide, lips parted around a moan she's barely holding back. Every part of her's strung tight, clinging to me like she's about to come undone--and fuck, if that doesn't light me up.

"This what you want?" I rasp, dragging my hips back, then slamming in again--just to feel her jolt. "You want me to fill this pretty cunt? Make a mess of you?"

She gasps--sharp, needy--and clamps down around me like she's trying to hold me there.

"Yeah, thought so," I mutter, burying my mouth against hers--messy and hot. She moans into it, clutching at my shoulders. Her body's twitching, pulsing around me like she's trying to milk every last bit of control I've got left.

"Say it," I growl against her lips. "Tell me you want it harder."

"I want it, Ben," she breathes, voice wrecked. "Harder--I can take it"

That's all I need.

I haul her in tighter, fucking her into the wall with everything I've got. The slap of skin echoes through the steam, loud and filthy. I can barely breathe--but I'm not stopping. Not till she screams. Not till I've given her everything she asked for--and then some.

She bucks against me, nails raking down my shoulders--burning, beautiful pain. Every gasp, every moan, the way she clenches around me like she owns me--it's all petrol on the fire.

She's close--I can feel it in how she trembles, how her breath stutters against my neck.

But I'm closer.

Her nails dig in. Her body locks up.

Too hot.
Too tight.
Too fucking perfect.

"Fuck, Kit-- that's it,"I snarl, losing what little control I had left. "I'm gonna come. You ready to take every fucking drop?"

She nods--barely--eyes glazed, lips parted, those soft, helpless little uh-huhs tumbling out like a prayer.

I slam into her again, hard, desperate for that last drag of friction--and I break.

Pleasure detonates in my spine, hot and violent, stealing the breath straight from my lungs as I come--hard. My cock throbs deep inside her, release tearing through me in thick, punishing waves. It's not just an orgasm--it's a full-body short circuit. Every muscle locks, every nerve lights up, and for a second, I swear I black out.

But I don't stop moving. I can't. My hips stutter through the aftershocks, chasing every last drop, every twitch, like my body's still afraid to let her go. I'm shaking, spent, barely upright--riding the high straight into freefall.

I drop my forehead to her neck, breath catching, legs jelly, heart hammering like I've just gone ten rounds in the ring. All I can hear is the thrum of the water and the rasp of my own lungs trying to remember how to work.

Fuck me sideways.

I just need... a second to exist again.

And then I hear it.

Soft. Warm. Laced with that impossible little spark only she can light.

Her laugh.

"Feel better, babe?" She purrs--fingers dragging lazily across my back.

The lilt in her voice makes my eyes snap open.

Wait a fucking minute.

I lift my head, eyes narrowing at that sly little grin she's wearing.

Cheeky little minx.

That laugh? That look? She knew exactly what she was doing. Every tease, every bite, every filthy little whisper--it was all to wind me up, get me going just right. Hell of a way to pull the pin.

And it worked.
 Fuck, I might be falling for this girl.

"Like a million quid," I laugh, still trying to catch my breath. "Haven't come that hard in ages."

My body presses into hers again, hand slides down to her arse--like I can't help myself. Because I can't. One kiss turns into two. Then three. Faster. Hotter. The second her mouth opens under mine and I feel her tongue tease against my lips--fuck, I get greedy.

"Easy, tiger," she teases, giggling between kisses as her hands push lightly against my chest. "I know I'm amazing, but try not to pass out thanking me."

She shrugs--like that's it.  

Just starts wriggling out of my arms, smug little grin still plastered across her face, like she's punching out after a job well done.

"Hey--hey," I frown, trying to process. "Hang on." I step in front of her. "Where d'you think you're going?"

"Uh, gonna get out and dry off?" She says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I just stare for a beat. It was banging for me, but I know she didn't come.

And she really thinks I'm going to let her just... go?  

Not a fucking chance.

I let her get half a step in--just enough to think she's in the clear--before I hook an arm round her waist and yank her straight back under the spray.

"Ben--!"

"Oh no," I say with a breathless grunt. "You're not going anywhere."

I nip at her neck, and she squeaks again--arms flailing a little as I crowd her up against the wall again. She's squirming with little bursts of half-laughter, half-squealing, but she goes quiet as soon as I tell her what I'm thinking.

"We're not done till you come for me."

"Relax, Ben. I got my fix earlier, remember? Video call?" She says, like it's no big deal--just toss a bloke an orgasm, no problem.

I grin, wicked. "Oh, I remember. Burned into my brain, that. But here's the thing--wasn't me that got you off, was it?" 

I let the words hang in the air.  

"And that's a problem."

"A problem?" She sounds like she doesn't quite think I'm serious--has this girl learned nothing about me?

"Too right." I lean in, voice low. "Only a complete wanker leaves his girl all worked up and lets her walk."

She gives me that look--the one with the raised brow and the sharp tongue right behind it--but I cut her off before she can use it.

"It's a matter of honor--and manhood. Or... I dunno, something sacred." I give a little shrug, glancing upward like I'm searching the ceiling for divine validation. "Probably in the Bible somewhere."

"The Bible?"

Ok, I'm reaching with that one.

"Yeah. Somewhere in there, I'm sure. Old Testament, maybe. Before it got soft." I shoot her a crooked smile--the kind that'd make the Vicar mutter 'for fuck's sake' into his tea.

She rolls her eyes at me, but she doesn't try to leave again.

"And they say chivalry is dead..." she mutters, lips still curved into a smart little smirk.


"Nah," I say with a grin. "It just prefers to show, not tell."

Before she can come up with a comeback, I catch her by the hips and pull her in--close, slick, skin to skin--and kiss her. The kind that says you're mine, and I'm not done with you yet.

Hungry. Deep. Dirty--tongue curling against hers, until she's moaning into my mouth. Her arms wind around my neck, fingers twisting into my wet hair, holding tight, pulling me closer.

When I finally break away, she looks all soft and dazed.  

"So..." she drawls, eyes locked on mine, "how long till your hot water gives out?"

Bold of her to think she'll last that long.

I look at the showerhead, and an idea sparks--something I've seen in plenty of dodgy pornos--never thought I'd be in a position to try it myself.

Funny how we've been under the water this whole time--but she's still plenty filthy--time to see to that.

"Don't you worry about that. You'll be a shaking mess long before that's even on the table."

I reach up for the body wash behind her.

The gym's closed for three days while the floors are being refinished. No one else around. Hot water's endless if the system never drains. But she won't be standing by the time it matters.


"Hands behind your back, love."

She doesn't protest. Her hands just slowly move, clasping behind her--dripping wet, tits rising with every breath--looking at me like she's daring me to do something about it.

Kit's got a sweet smell about her--like something you'd lick off your fingers. But the thought of her smelling like she's been tangled up in me all day? Well, that's just too tempting to pass up.

The bottle snaps open. Loud in the tight space, louder than it should be. Her eyes track the thick ribbon of soap as it drizzles from the bottle, landing first on her chest, then sliding into the valley between her breasts.

White. Glossy. Thick.

I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face, picturing what it'd feel like to come between those perfect tits.

The soap slides lower, past her ribs, pooling at her belly button. I spread it with my fingers. Working it into a slick lather across her tight little stomach.

The suds trail down her hips. I follow with both hands, gripping, squeezing. God, she's soft in all the right ways. Makes me want to bite down and mark every inch of her.

She squirms a bit when I make my way back up her chest, it's a spot near her ribs--right, ticklish this one. Put that in my pocket for later.

I keep going.

At first, just a featherlight pass--fingertips barely there. Goosebumps rise across her skin, nipples tightening before I've even touched them properly.

So I press in--cupping her tits in both hands, letting my thumbs roll over her nipples in tight little circles, teasing the hard little pebbles.

Every pass gets me another excited little gasp, another roll of those hips, like she doesn't know what to do with herself. She's so fucking sensitive, it's criminal. And I'm definitely not about to let that go to waste.

I keep circling, then give one a light pinch--just enough to make her gasp. A firmer roll, and she arches for me, biting her lip like she's trying not to moan.

"You always this sensitive, or have I got the magic touch?"

She hides her smile, biting her lip harder.

Thought so.

"Makes me wonder..." I give her nipple one last twist. Her breath stutters. "If I had one hand right here--"

My other hand drifts down, fingers stopping just above her slit. "And the other just about..."

Her hips jump at the ghost of contact. "... here."

Grinning like the bastard I am.

"How quick d'you reckon you'd come for me?"

Her eyes drop to my hand, still hovering just above where she wants it most. She can't seem to work up an answer to that one.

"Bet you'd be loud, too," I add, thumb tracing lazily. "Just a messy little thing begging me not to stop."

My fingers slip between her thighs--slick heat beneath the soap, a mess of suds and what I left inside her. I glide through the foam, slow and deliberate, skimming just shy of her clit. Close enough to tease. Close enough to make her squirm.

It's a mess. A filthy, gorgeous mess.

The lather lets me glide easily, but I keep the pressure almost nonexistent. Every pass sinks a little closer to where she wants it. Her breathing's gone shallow--panting now. Hips rocking forward, chasing more. Whimpering when she doesn't get it.

For someone who gave me lip about getting her off, she's suddenly real fucking needy.

My fingers keep working just beneath. "So tense, Kitty-Kat..." I murmur, voice low and sharp. "Still think you don't need seeing to?"

She doesn't answer--can't, maybe.

S'alright. Her body says plenty--shoulders hitching on a breath, thighs squeezing together like she's trying to trap the tension there.

"Close your eyes."

She does--instantly.

I let a second pass, just watching her. Then I reach up, unclip the showerhead, and tilt the spray toward her neck.

She doesn't flinch. Just stands there with her hands behind her back, chest lifted, like she's offering herself up for inspection. Back arched--subtle, intentional--just enough to make me stare.  

The second the water hits, the suds begin to melt--thick, pearled trails sliding down her skin. It rolls over her collarbones. Slips down her tits--slick and glossy, weaving between them. I hold the spray there longer than I need to.

Not sorry.

I shift lower, guiding the heat down her stomach, taut and trembling under the stream. It flows over her hips, down her thighs, across that perfect arse I'll never stop thinking about.

Every curve is glistening, every stream flowing like it's drawing me a treasure map.

And when the water reaches her knees? Yeah--my cock's already making promises.

So I drop to mine, ready to make good on every single one.

The suds swirl at her feet--spinning like cream in coffee before disappearing down the drain. She probably thinks we're finished. Washed up. Rinsed off. Done. But she should know better by now.

I set the showerhead aside, gliding my hands up the backs of her thighs. When I reach the top, I give them a subtle nudge. Need a bit more room.

She doesn't ask why. Just shifts--feet widening, knees parting--until I've got exactly what I need.

Perfect.

My mouth grazes the inside of her thigh as I press a kiss there. Then another--higher.

And I lick--right over her slit.  

Her mouth parts on a soft little sound. Not a moan. Not a scream. Just this fragile, breathy thing that sounds like surrender.

I do it again. And again. Tongue curling along her slit, teasing her clit in featherlight strokes--barely there, maddening.

She thought she liked the way I ate her pussy before? She hasn't felt anything yet.

"You like that?" 

She nods--barely. A little sigh tumbles out of her, half purr, half prayer.

"You're gonna love this."

My hand slides up, catching behind her knee. I lift, resting her leg over my shoulder--opening her up, all for me.

She wobbles a little, hands pressing to the wall, fingers splayed like she's holding on for dear life.

I grab the shower head again. The water's warm--just hot enough to make her melt. I start slow--spray low--letting it roll up her thighs, inch by inch. Teasing. Testing. Letting her feel it build.

Her breath stutters. Fingers dig in--bracing, grounding.

I watch her belly twitch--those soft little muscle flutters that tell me her body knows exactly what's coming.

The water creeps higher. I hold the stream steady.

Press a kiss to the inside of her thigh--once, twice--gentle. Misleading. Like I'm gonna play nice.

Till I don't.

I angle the spray dead-on. Right to her clit.

She jolts--whole body tensing like a live wire. Hips jerk forward, then back, like she can't decide whether to run or ride it out. And the sound she makes?

Fuck. It rips right out of her--half gasp, half moan--raw, messy, unfiltered.

Her thighs tremble. Knees threaten to cave. But I've got her. Leg locked over my shoulder, held wide open. She's mine to unravel.

Her head falls back. Lips part. Another one of those wrecked little gasps punches free--and Christ, I feel it like a hit straight to the chest. Every sound has melted into one long string of moans and slurred little noises that may have once been words.  

Might even be my name.

Her hands curl into tight fists against the tile--knuckles white, trembling--and I swear I can feel it like her nails are digging into my back instead.

I'm barely lifting a finger here--the water's doing most of the work--but hey, no harm in giving it a hand, is there?

I lean in. Drag the flat of my tongue right over her pussy-- just enough pressure to send her reeling.

She damn near jumps off the wall.

"Fuck, Ben!"

Ah. So she can speak.

"That feel good, Kit?"

She nods--too fast, too tight.

I go again. Slower this time, deeper. Letting her feel every inch of my tongue as it sweeps up--while that spray keeps streaming over her clit, hot and relentless.

She whines--this desperate, strangled little sound that shoots straight through me. Her leg's locked around my shoulder, lip caught between her teeth, trying to hold herself together.

It's a hell of a show from down here. Better than the one she gave me earlier--and that's saying something.

And just like that, it's all I can think about.

"You had my cock so fucking hard earlier, Kit," I growl, voice rough with memory.

"Fucking aching. Watching you tease yourself with that little toy..."

I drag my tongue up to her clit again.

"Loved every bloody second of it."

I move the shower head--angle the spray just a touch--moving it side to side across her pussy. Her whole body jolts with every pass, moans rising and falling like she's completely at the mercy of the rhythm I've set.

"Said you brought that toy with you, did you?" My voice dips darker, thick with want and wicked thoughts. "Reckon I could prop you up in front of that mirror again--make you watch while I tell you exactly what to do."

Her legs tremble, breathing shallow at best, muscles taut. But I don't stop.

I just keep talking--same way she did earlier when she had me on the ropes, whispering filth in my ear while I fucked her against the wall.

"My bratty girl likes being told what to do, doesn't she?"

She whimpers--a full-body shiver--right as I slide two fingers inside her, curling deep. The shower spray hits her clit dead-on.

"--Fuck! Ben!!"

Now she's writhing under the water, panting, eyes squeezed shut like she's already halfway there--and yeah, she is.

I don't let up. Just keep that steady rhythm--fingers fucking her slow but deep, coaxing. I hunt out her sweet spot with practiced strokes, watching her unravel, her moans turning messy--slurred, high, breathless little whines as her hips chase every thrust like she's starving for it.

"You close, sweetheart?" I murmur against her hip. My voice is low, coaxing. "Gonna come for me?"

She gasps--broken, desperate. "Ben--fuck--please, I'm--gonna--"

"That's it. Come for me, you good girl."

My tongue flicks again--just right--and she breaks.

Her cry rips through the steam, raw and wrecked. She clamps around my fingers, pulsing slick and hard, hips jerking, thighs trembling as she rides it out.

"Fuck--Ben--ohmygod-ohmygod!"

She bucks once--twice--hard enough to make the water splash off the tile. Her body bows sharp, a sob catching in her throat like she's trying to climb out of her own skin.

I don't stop.

I keep fucking her through it--slow, deep thrusts, dragging it out. Watching her twitch, tremble, melt. Greedy for every second.

She falls apart on me, and I take it. I own it.

Thighs shaking.
Belly quivering.
Chest heaving.
Nipples tight, mouth slack--those perfect whimpers hitting me straight in the cock.

Even after she comes undone, I don't move--just take a second to soak her in. Her scent. Her breathing. The way she's still fluttering around my fingers like her body hasn't quite figured out it's over.

I ease out slow, careful, dragging one hand up the inside of her thigh--just to feel her shake. Just to remind her who did that.

Then I press a kiss to that quivering skin and rise, catching her leg to wrap around my waist. She's flush against me now--dripping, spent, her palms still braced against the tile like her body's running on autopilot.

I palm the back of her neck and tilt her face toward mine.

"You with me, sweetheart?" I murmur, low and rough.

She nods, dazed--head full of fog and nerve endings, eyes heavy with it. She looks absolutely wrecked, and fuck if that doesn't light something up in my chest.

I kiss her--deep, claiming--and her arms melt around my neck. When I pull back, I don't give her much space.

"Think you can take a little more?"

Her eyes flash, lashes damp. There's a flicker of doubt--tiny thing--but I feel the heat still burning under her skin. She twitches against me, wavering.

"I--uh..."

Then she nods. Small. Breathless

.  

I grin like a bastard who just got handed the keys to a Jaguar coupe.

 "That's my good girl."

I angle the showerhead again--starting low, letting the spray glide over her thighs. No rush. She's too sensitive. This isn't about driving her over the edge again. Not yet.

This kind of pleasure? It's a slow build. Push too hard and she'll crash--when I want her to soar.  

The stream rolls over her clit--not direct, but close enough.  

She gasps--sharp, strangled--followed by a string of half-curses as her body jerks. Arms tighten around my neck, face pressing into my shoulder--

But I stop her with a gentle hand under her chin.

 "No, no. Let me see you, love," I murmur. "C'mon--eyes on me."

It takes effort, but she lifts her head--blinking through the haze. Still present. Still trying. And fuck, she's perfect like this.

"Look at you," I growl, pride thick in my voice. "Taking it for me. My good fucking girl."

I nudge the spray just a little closer--nearly there.  

She moans--loud, filthy, broken. Her hips twitch, caught between running and grinding harder.

"That's it, sweetheart," I murmur, brushing my mouth to her ear. "Just a little more. You're doing so fucking good for me."

She's close again--I can feel it. The way her thighs tremble. The way she clings like I'm the only solid thing keeping her grounded.


If I angle the spray just a touch lower, I could push her right over--Have her sobbing my name, shattering in my arms. Give her a taste of what it really means to let go.

But not yet.
 Not quite.
Just enough to show her the edge.
Just enough to make her crave the fall.

I kill the water and toss the shower head aside. Gently lower her leg. She looks almost disappointed. Still gasping. Still trembling.

"You alright, Kitty Kat?" I ask, brushing a soaked strand of hair from her face.

She exhales shakily, half-laughing, dazed to hell. "I think I saw God," she murmurs. "And she is a woman."

I bark a low laugh. "Come here."

She stumbles into me, all bare skin and limp limbs--boneless, clinging like her body's still buffering. Her cheek presses against my chest, slick and flushed, breath hitching as she sinks into my hold.

Poor thing.
I really am a menace.

Then her mouth finds mine--hot, uncoordinated, all hunger and no finesse. She kisses me like she's still drunk on it--on the heat, the edge, the fact that I didn't let her tip over again. Tongue greedy, lips parted, chasing more even when she's already trembling.

Let her take what she wants. Because she earned it.

And maybe--just maybe--I like being clung to.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, looks up at me all glassy-eyed and grinning, and hits me with:

"Look at you. Kinkier than a slinky." Her voice shakes a bit, but the sass is there--lip gloss and steam, all bite.

"I contain multitudes," I say, deadpan.

She snorts--tries to hold in a laugh, but it slips anyway. Her eyes flicker, though. The look she gives me is priceless--somewhere between intrigue and excuse me, what?

Hook set.

"Trust me," I say, brushing my fingers along her thigh. "You think that's something? That's nothing, love. Wait till I tie you to the bed."

Her eyes go wide, and for a second she looks like she's buffering again.

"Kidding," I add, grinning. "Unless I'm not."

"You're a menace," she breathes, but there's no heat behind it.

"And you like it."

She doesn't argue.

"Come on, let's get you dry. Dunno about you, but I'm starving."

Her eyes light up like it's Christmas morning, and I have to laugh. We definitely worked up an appetite. We'll need it--if we want round two. Or three.

I survey the absolute disaster that is my bathroom floor. Clothes scattered like a crime scene, everything damp or dripping. I grab a towel, wrap it round my waist, and toss her another.  

"Here, toss those on, love. We'll sort your stuff later."


We start getting dressed. Nothing she brought survived the flood, so--being the chivalrous bastard I am--I hand her a pair of my joggers.

"So, what're you feeding me?" She asks, all innocent. "Besides your dick, obviously."

I bark a laugh, ruffle her damp hair.

"Cheeky little shit."

"Takes one to fuck one."

I can't argue that. We head into the kitchen. She looks smug. I look at her like I'm still considering skipping food and having her instead.

"Alright," I say, pretending I'm focused. "What d'you fancy?"

"You gonna cook or are we ordering out?"

Yeah, I can cook. But one look at the kitchen--still in a bit of a state from this morning--and I'm not in the mood to scrub pans when I've already earned a medal today.

Right. Decision made.

"Takeaway," I say. "We need carbs. We earned them."

"Sounds good to me."

I pull on my shirt, thumbing through the takeaway apps. "D'you like Indian?" I glance up at her.

Never in my life did I think I'd be asking a girl to put clothes on. She's still just in my joggers, towel-drying her hair, tits out, standing topless in my kitchen like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like I'm the weird one for struggling to focus.

"Sure," she says. "Spicy?"

I'm having a full-on crisis trying not to ogle her chest--it's enough to make me forget how to read. Or breathe.

Food, Ben. Focus on the food.

"Yeah, alright," I mutter, only half-paying attention as I scroll through listings. I'm still sneaking glances at her like a man who's one second from forgetting how phones work.

And I am still staring.

"Ben--hey!" She snaps her fingers in front of my face and finally pulls the damn shirt over her head, ruining the view. "Pay attention."

"Sorry," I lie, badly.  

Then I step in and wrap her up, pulling her close. She lets out that adorable squeak when my hands slip under her shirt, warm palms to soft skin, and I nuzzle into her neck.

"Tell me something," I whisper, low and rough. "How hungry are you really? 'Cause I've got something else right here we might enjoy more than Indian."

"Ben. Don't tempt me." She groans."As much as I like your dick, I don't think you want me to bite it."

Fair play.

"S'not my fault you're so fucking edible."

She laughs--tries to smother the sound by biting her lip when I kiss along her jaw, then lower, right to that sensitive spot at her throat.

"We're ordering, right?"

"For now," I smirk, letting her go, though it costs me. "But you're dessert."

Hey there, my darling Macabrelings--
 (Yes, that's what I'm calling you now. You chose chaos by reading this far, so it fits.)

Hope you enjoyed the latest installment of our favorite sexy disaster duo, Ben and Kit. I've been reading your comments--and yes, their story will continue. These two aren't done with us yet. (Frankly, I don't think they ever will be.) I try to put a ton of research into writing these two, so it takes some time to get it as close to 'right' as my perfectionist brain will allow, so I hope it was worth the wait.

Ben's still a challenge to write--charming, filthy--but I love him. Somewhere out there, this man exists, and when I find him? I'm tying him to a chair and grilling him for tips on how to write him better. For research. Obviously.

In the meantime, I've got plenty of other projects brewing--full of spice, angst, and beautifully unhinged dynamics. If you've got ideas, want sneak peeks, or just want to see what I'm up to, check out my socials in the profile.

Thanks for reading, commenting, and enabling my smut-gremlin tendencies.
 You're all terrible. I adore you for it.

Stay chaotic,


Ms. Macabre

Tetley or PG Tips? Settle it in the comments like civilised hooligans. But before you throw punches, throw me some compliments. God knows I earned them.