Transfixion

The cool glass against my breasts stings and my nipples seize into hard buds. As steam-filled as the room is, through the droplet spattered shower door, I see you clearly.

The sight of your skin, gleaming taut over the frame of your bones, dark against the white tiles, is a dreadful exquisiteness. It catches in my throat and claws all the way down when I swallow.

Under the spray, tendrils of your sodden hair resolve into water shapes on your forehead, on your chest, your lower belly.

The steam is heavy with the scent of citrus. For a fleeting moment, my memory drags me back to the first time I grazed my lips over unbroken orange peel: felt the complexity of texture, inhaled the sharp density and tasted the bitter ghost on the tip of my tongue. And then I’m back, watching.

The large hand that curls around your erect cock does it with an elegant familiarity, a comfort of the body’s place within the body. I’ve got no words for the surety with which you sit in your skin, just mute admiration.

I know you aren’t perfect – no one is – but as you begin to stroke yourself languidly and the tawny head of your cock disappears rhythmically into your curled grip; as you relax back against the tiles and part your legs just a little wider for balance; as you prepare to be engulfed in more than just steam, or water, but the entirety of the sensation, you are wholly perfect to me.

That moment, when the room, the hiss of the water, the heat of its sting disappear for you; that moment when your focus curls inward to bring yourself: this is my reprieve. Even if you are looking at me, I know the teasing invitation is gone, lost to pleasure.

Before you orgasm the sinews in your thighs tense, your chin lifts, your jaw tightens, your brows knit and, beneath the skin, your stomach muscles ripple like a vast disturbance beneath the surface. And there, cutting through the sound of the water is the raggedness of your pleasured breath. I know you’re so very near.

What is the flaw in me that stops me at the glass? I can’t look away and I can’t come closer. To close the distance between us would be to murder the moment of your intense beauty.