I Could Use A Shower

I open the door to your bathroom.

There's steam already and you're humming a little, but you stop when you hear me come in.

"Hey," I say, moving closer to the shower, "Can I come in with you?"

Silence. 

I slip out of my jeans, pulling my shirt over my head.

"My eyes are closed," I say to the steam and silence.

I step into the shower slowly with my eyes closed, feeling your gaze on me instead of seeing it. 

My skin prickles, imagining those blue eyes sweeping me from head to toe. The distant spray of water is chilly. Arms out, my fingers reaching for the spray, I graze your chest. And then your mouth is on mine. 

"You really don't have to," I whisper, water streaming down my face. The terror of you seeing me naked makes me breathless.

It occurs to me suddenly that you might feel pressured to act. I don't want that.

"I want to. I've wanted to. But you gotta be sure," you finally say back. Your voice is deep and a little raspy and I feel a drop in my stomach - it's the usual heady wrench of panic at being close to you, plus the the familiar ache of wanting so badly to touch you - to wrap up in you. It's a combination that always makes me feel drunk and unable to coordinate my thoughts.  I wipe the water from my eyes and meet your gaze. I step closer to you, tracing a line from your jaw, down your neck to your chest. I'm trying desperately to think of the next steps but there is water in my face and you're unhooking my bra. Your hands are on my body now, pulling me to you and you're hard against my hip and the only thought I can catch in the chaos of my brain is how I want you so very badly. 

I am vaguely aware of the universe tipping upside down, time inverting and bending around us, and the very molecules of our story irrevocably shifting to the core. We've already come so far. We've already been too long waiting.

This was inevitable. 

"Step out of these, or I'll rip them off," you say softly, one finger tugging at the waistband of my panties.