It was all three, I sensed.
I slid my palms up from her hips to her waist, and she rested her hands on my shoulders. I ran my palms across her back, smearing the water on her skin, tasting shower spray on my lips. I closed my eyes, and felt myself falling forward. Falling. Falling. My mouth parted, and my lips touched her flesh, hot, silken, wet, the skin of her stomach under my mouth. A kiss. Her voice scraped out in a breathless moan, almost a sob. I moved my hands back down her spine to hold her hips once more, and my lips slid up her flesh to kiss her ribs, and then between her perfect breasts, and now my hands were holding her to me, cupping her ass. I wasn’t aware of grabbing her there, but I had, at some point, and she was leaning into me, into my kiss. I massaged the muscle and flesh of her ass, kneading, caressing.
I rested my head on her stomach and let out a breath. “Kyrie. God, my Kyrie.” It was a prayer of relief.
“Yes, Valentine. Yours. Your Kyrie.”
“Why?” I kissed her again, right between her breasts, and then looked up at her. “Why?”
She knew what I was asking. “Because you made me yours. Because I want to be yours. I love knowing I belong to you.” She cradled my head in her hands, fingers curling in the hair at my nape, thumbs grazing my cheekbones, my ears. Tipped my face back, so I was looking up into her tumult-rife blue gaze. “And Valentine…you’re mine. You don’t belong to her. You belong to me. Don’t you?” That last was equal parts plea and demand and declaration.
“Yes….” I breathed. “I do. Completely.”
I was gazing up at her from between her breasts, and now she took a deep breath, swelling her chest and letting it out. Her eyes remained on mine as she shifted, twisted her torso just slightly, and now her nipple brushed across my face, slid down, and fit between my lips. I took the taut peak into my mouth and tasted her, and my eyes fell closed, my hands still splayed on the firm, generous bubble of her backside.
The taste of her skin, the heat of the water, her hands on my face and in my hair…my universe had shrunk to these things.
I gave in, letting my need take over.
Letting my love take over.
I twisted, pulled at Kyrie’s hips to bring her to a seat on the bench, and I moved to my knees in front of her. Our faces were at eye level then, and she spread her knees apart, pulled me into the “V” between her thighs and wrapped her arms around my neck. Crushed me to her, our bodies clasped together, my arms going around her waist, hands on her back, in her wet hair. Water splattered on us, still hot. Time was forgotten. Everything was forgotten as she palmed my cheeks and our eyes met, hers wet with tears, mine wavering and vulnerable.
She kissed me. Or, I kissed her. Both at once, perhaps.
It was not a deep, endless kiss. It was a burst of passion, a momentary eruption of need between us. And then I removed my lips from hers, bent, and kissed the slope of her left breast, and then the right, and then took her right nipple into my mouth. I felt rather than saw her head tip back on her neck, and she held tight to my skull with shaking hands, fingers trembling in the wet plaster of my hair. The other nipple then, a reverent kiss, tongue sliding gently over the pebbled peak. And downward, a kiss to her belly.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My mouth was busy kissing, sliding my lips across her wet skin, kissing her hip, the crease near her thigh. The muscle of her quadriceps, then in and around to the soft inner skin. I knew by taste and by touch the sweetness and silk of her core, knew indelibly each fold, each and every millimeter of flesh. She shivered, sighed, and let her thighs fall apart. Giving in.
How could she still trust me? But she did, and I wouldn’t question it.
But I would earn it.
My thumbs traveled delicately from the apex of her vagina down the slick warm crevice of her opening, down the seam, parting her ever so gently.
A kiss, at first. Just a kiss.
She sighed, a deep frantic breath.
“I love you, Kyrie.” It was a murmur, a muttered admission. Barely audible, perhaps drowned by the noise of the shower.
She knew. But I had to show her.
Nearly falling backward on the bench, holding on to my head, she flicked her eyes open and craned her neck to look at me, a panicked need on her features. “What did you say, Roth?”
I looked up at her. “I said, I love you.”
She seemed to melt somehow, inside. “Oh, Valentine. Valentine. My love.” Her eyes spilled tears, and she swallowed hard.
I kissed her other thigh then, as I had the first, outside to inside, my thumbs caressing her soft, damp skin. She breathed out hard, sucked in a breath, and clung to me. The next time my lips touched Kyrie’s flesh, they pressed against her opening, and my tongue parted her and slid in. She gasped, and I tasted her essence. She clutched my head, my face, and I swept my tongue up and in, lapping at her, parting her further. The marble was hard beneath my knees, but I didn’t care. The water was still hot but beginning to cool off. I didn’t care. I tasted her, my thumbs keeping her spread apart for my tongue. I found the small, hard nub of her clitoris, and I tasted that as well, and this time she whimpered, her fingers curling feverishly into my hair. I flicked my tongue against her clit again, and again, and her hips moved in time with my tongue.
I slid the middle finger of my left hand down the seam of her pussy, and then in, pushing in, and in, and she leaned back and lifted her hips, expelling a harsh breath. I delved into her slick warmth with one finger, curling up and in, sliding out, then back in. Kyrie’s grip on my head tightened, and she pulled me closer, sucking in a breath and letting it out with a moan.
“Valentine, oh god. That feels good, baby. Keep doing that.”
I glanced up at her as I slid my tongue against her clit, and her eyes met mine. Her gaze was hooded, heated. I held her stare as I slipped my ring finger in beside the middle, and then found the rippled rough patch of skin high inside against the inner ridge, caressed it, suckling her clit between my lips.
She bucked against me, whimpering. Pulled my face against her core, and I tongued her in a slow rhythm, speeding up with tongue and fingers as her writhing turned frantic, as her gasps turned desperate. When her ragged breathing and bucking hips reached a frenzy, telling me how close she was, I slowed nearly to a stop.
“No, no, Valentine, don’t stop, please don’t stop. I need to come. I need you to make me come. Let me come, baby, please.”
“You’ll come when I’m ready to let you come.”