Page 72 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

It was never like this for me. Where all I wanted to do was give and give until I filled him up to the brim with all the happiness he could ever want. I swallowed shower water as I licked his cock and sucked with long, drawn-out movements, my hand on the base, my tongue swirling the crown.

He was hot to my touch, in spite of the cool water, and I looked up at him, blinking against the spray. Rivulets ran down his taut belly, silver through his pubic hair.

“Okay?” I asked, checking in.

His expression looked to me like he doubted any of this was meant for him. The pleasure and the cozy stall, the growing warmth of the water. The intensity of my touch. The suck of my mouth. But what he said was, “Don’t like you on your knees.” When I blinked, puzzled, he added, “Shower floor is hard, any way you look at it.”

He wasn’t wrong. So I took the washcloth and then pointed for another and folded one beneath each knee.

“Better?” I asked.

He nodded, his eyes glowing, maybe because I had just been so stinking clever. And now I could continue with what I wanted: giving him what he wanted. What he deserved, which was my best effort. Everything I had to give.

I sucked him a good long time. Licked. Nibbled. Never hurried. Never rushed.

I wasn’t even being patient; I was simply there, present in a way that let me focus solely on him, shutting everything else out. The shower stall, hard and cheap, was our shelter. The water our cloak. The connection between our bodies a force field that could never be broken. No one would ever find us, not as long as we stayed right where we were.

The taste of him, beneath the water, his salt, the deep scent between his legs, the texture of his cock, water-slick, the texture of his balls, thick crinkles. All of it I absorbed, my eyes half closed, a sense of peace surrounding me.

When I felt him tighten, his head going back, I held his balls gently in one hand and sucked slowly up and down his cock, feeling the pulse of his body, and heard the faraway sound from his throat.

When he came, I swallowed everything in greedy gulps. Held the shudder of his body between my two hands, and let go of him to stroke his thighs, slowly, up and down.

He reached for me and pulled me to my feet with a low grunt from his chest. He blinked away droplets of water as he looked at me, drawing me to him with those cut-glass eyes, green and gold and blue. Like a deep ocean, I wanted to drown myself in.

He pressed me to his wet chest, my hands on his shoulders when he kissed me, a salty, warm kiss. Then he took a clean washcloth and washed me all over with his plain soap, making me smell like him.

He washed my hair with the same soap and rinsed it twice until it was squeaky clean. I needed to get this man someconditioner. In the meanwhile, he needed more kisses. More of anything he wanted.

“It’s your turn,” he said.

“For what?” I asked.

I didn’t truly expect him to give me a blow job here in the shower. For one thing, my knees would buckle. For another, there wasn’t enough room for his long legs.

“To fuck me,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

I flung my arms around his neck and rose on my toes to kiss him as he turned off the shower. I got a jet of chilled and then scalding water over my back, but what did that matter when I had him plastered all up and down my front?

“Do we have stuff?” I asked, thinking back to the last location of the small bottle of lube that I’d bought. Was it next to my cell phone beneath the driver’s seat, halfway to boiling? Was it beneath the shade of a cottonwood tree along the banks of Snow Creek? Should I get dressed to go get it?

“Don’t need any,” he said as he stepped out of the shower.

“What?” I asked as I followed him, thinking I’d not heard him right.

“Just use spit,” he said, buffing me down with a white towel.

I grabbed at the towel to still him. “Spit?” I asked, my voice rising. “Spit?”

“I like it that way.”

He returned to his task of drying me off. I found another towel and attempted to do the same for him, but before I was halfway done, he was pulling me out of the small bathroom. He dragged me to the double bed, with sheets and blanket and pillows in an untidy heap, and threw me on it face-first.

I didn’t mind the throwing, but I did mind the idea of fucking him without anything to ease the way. I struggled against the press of his body against mine. The kisses he trailed along my ear distracted me with shivery pulses.

There was no lube. We’d lost the bottle. He didn’t even have any lotion, so I could use that. Did he expect me to fuck him like a linebacker?

He held me to his chest and drew his hand down my back, and then between my buttocks, leaving behind more shivers. He plucked at my hole with a finger, and my body lurched forward as if to replyYes, yes, yes. Fuck it. Use spit.