Free In the Night of the Heat by Blair Underwood

against the shower tiles.
    My guest shower is built with a narrow elevated shelf in the corner, probably designed as a shampoo caddy, but it has other uses as well. When April sat on the shelf, her face nestled my groin. Her tongue lapped at the beads of water that had washed away the soap. Any man knows that hot water makes testicles stretch and breathe, and April enjoyed having more skin to play with. Her hands roamed, and her mouth followed.
    A slight adjustment of her face, coupled with my unconscious rising to my tiptoes, and I felt April’s lips and tongue slide along my skin, then clamp tight. Gently, she sucked and caressed while wet fingers stroked above making spirals and counterspirals that made my breath catch. She was like someone new. After weeks of reserve, April had set herself free.
    â€œDamn, girl…” I whispered, almost a plea. Please stop. Please never stop.
    Instead of falling shut, my eyes fought to stay open, searching for hers.
    When our gazes caught, electricity broiled from my groin up and down my spine. The vision of her petite sweetness nearly overwhelmed me. Beautiful. Whatever that word meant to me, April defined it. April was beautiful. You could marry a girl like this , a new voice said, before my thoughts were swallowed in the void of sensation. It wasn’t my Evil Voice, this time. It was a voice I had never heard before.
    Gently, I held April beneath her armpits and lifted. “Stand up, baby,” I said. Following my guidance, April carefully stood up on the shelf, bracing herself against the wet shower walls. I held her waist tightly. “Don’t worry,” I said, desire hoarsened my voice. “I’ve got you.”
    Again, the shelf put us at the perfect height.
    I don’t mind unwashed skin—I can delight in a woman’s 101 flavors. But freshly washed skin has its rewards, too, if only because women often worry that their taste won’t be fresh enough. April’s hips pivoted forward as she presented herself to me.
    April never waxed, but she kept her pubic hair clipped low. Beneath my careful fingers, folds of dark brown gave way to the blood-fed pink hidden within. I explored her with the matching pink of my tongue, gently probing, lapping at the water in hopes of a taste of her. I lathered my hand with soap and reached behind her. While my tongue worked on April from the front, my slippery finger probed from behind.
    April let out a gasp, shivering, and her arm fell from the shower wall, tightening around my neck. Her whole body went so tight that my index finger was held hostage inside of her.
    â€œI’ve got you, baby,” I said again, and she relaxed. Freed from the tight clamp, my finger wormed its way deeper. Even after years of marriage, most women’s bodies are terra incognita to their men. The vagina gets most of the attention, but there are plenty of nerve endings in its backyard, too. In a shower, there’s no excuse to leave any entry untended.
    April hissed into my ear, clinging for balance as her knees trembled. “Oh, God…Ohhh…” To keep from crying out as an orgasm jittered throughout her frame, she bit into my shoulder.
    Biting from April was something new. The flash of near pain sharpened my senses, and my need to be inside of her surged. Carefully, I turned April around and helped her ease down from her perch. With one arm wound around her waist to help her keep her balance, I lifted her leg, resting the crook of her knee across my forearm. My body sought its way to hers. Penetration is much easier from behind in a shower, but I held April facing me. I didn’t want to lose sight of the joy and wonder in her face, even for a blink.
    We had plenty of soap, but I wasn’t tempted. Soap is an irritant to a woman, and there’s no quicker way to spoil the moment. Water isn’t the lubricant it appears to be, either. Instead, I trusted the juices my foreplay had stirred inside of