#stevenose

There’s a convenient built-in shelving feature on the wall behind your back, allowing you to lean your weight into your hands while your hips roll mindlessly against Steve’s mouth. 

Steve’s groaning. The echo of it fills the space just as much as the steam- interrupted every so often by his hand leaving your hip to stroke his cock- a wet, frantic sound before he’s back on and in you again.

Steve curls his tongue, stroking the textured wall of your pussy, making your knee seize and mold to his ear; his hand moves again, this time to smack sharply at your ass.

You interpret this correctly, chest heaving, tilting your pelvis and arching to rest just your upper back on the shower wall so Steve can get in deeper.

And he does- nose pressed tight to your aching clit, moaning and sending the vibrations spasming through to your core. Your pussy tightens in response, clenching around the thick muscle of his seeking tongue.

The shower head is aimed directly at your back, cascading down the length of you- there’s a fine layer of mist across Steve’s body, chestnut hair a shade or two darker from the runoff. 

You were briefly worried about the possibility of his drowning, but based on the way his nails are digging into your hips, pulling you closer and attempting suffocation, you think he might die happy.

“Steve,” you sigh out, the word getting swallowed up by all the other noises- namely, the slick one of his fists around his cock, again. “Feels so good…”

You lean more of your weight into your left hand, still anchored by a knee over Steve’s shoulder, to sink the fingers of your right hand into the roots of his dampening locks. The angle of his mouth is perfect, and you aim to keep him there, stealing a glance down as you do-

Steve looks like an angel, of course. Tawny skin stretched bare, all for you, brows knit together in exultation and concentration, eyes closed and lashes sweeping at the inside of your thighs. 

The crown of your head drops back to the wall when Steve starts fucking his tongue in and out of you, in quick, short movements, aided by your hand glued to his skull. 

The whole time, he’s making this sick, needy, low-pitched groaning noise, one that has you gasping, stuttering out his name in warning- 

“St-Steve, gonna- fuck, fuck, baby, like that-”

There’s another sharp smack to your ass before his hand comes to rest on your tummy, a loving stroke over it before his thumb dips down, works its way to your clit. 

As if his nose wasn’t enough. This way, he can rub tight circles in tandem with his tonguefucking, and focus his mouth’s attention solely on your spasming cunt.

Another noise is ripped from your lungs, this time, louder than all the water and white noise- it’s pure pleasure, a high, keening thing that makes Steve lightheaded. If his mouth wasn’t so full, he’d be talking you through it and singing your praises.

He lets his hands speak for him. Increases the pressure on your clit, works over in fast little movements, and leaves half-moon nail marks in the plush fat of your ass as he drags you closer, as you cum on his tongue.

 The orgasm pushes another long noise from your lungs, a mix of moan and whine, breathy and sweet- it ends in a sharp gasp, and Steve’s pulling his head from between your thighs, ever attentive.

“S’too much?” His speech is slurred, partially from pussy-drunkenness and partially from the mouthful of your slick and cum he’s storing. 

“No, no, so good, baby, just the metal- thing.” You gesture vaguely behind yourself, weak from coming, but Steve’s already rising to his feet.

He swallows, swipes the back of his hand blissfully across his mouth before going in for a kiss. “Sorry, honey, should’a had you in a different spot, just couldn’t wait.”

“I don’t mind.”

He’s already hard… again.

“Come here, darlin’.”

You oblige, watching in wonder as he opens his pants enough to free his fat cock, still covered in your creamy essence. He licks his lips and holds it, running his fingers through the bush at the base, all slicked back because of you and your mess. “Look at this mess. See what you did to me? Pull your panties down.”

You know where this is going, or… you think that you do.

The sopping wet crotch sticks to your cunt, stringing as you tug the ruined fabric off and let it pool at your ankles. He groans, hazel irises obliterated to a midnight black. He’s literally dripping out of you.

“Open yourself up. Wanna see you.”

You nod, heart rate accelerating, your thighs parting as you separate your still-sensitive folds, glistening with new slick and combined essences. He strokes his cock a few times and tilts his head back, his gold chain glistening beneath his black button down (that he’d undone after work, before making it home to you). “That’s my filthy girl. You gonna have a seat?” He looks down in his lap, his massive girth already red and painfully hard.

Your eyes widen at the implication. You expected him to have you fully naked for dinner, maybe touch yourself, but this? An intimacy stirs at your belly, slapping an ache between your legs, feet carrying you to him before your mind can comprehend. He spreads his legs, hair peeking out of his dirty jeans, that he’s gotten wrapped around his waist.

“Gator,” you whisper as you clamp your palms onto his shoulders, straddling him, his cock kicking up as your heat nears.

He’s damn near gone, but firm-set, and awaiting your answer. “Mhm? I’m leaking back outta you, darlin’. Can’t have that, now can we?”

“I don’t think I can. Gonna be too sore —“

His free hand finds the plush of your waistline. “Have I ever not made it up to you, sweet girl?” He pulls you down with a sudden yank, mouth by your ear, fresh stubble caressing the shell. “You forgetting where my tongue was buried last night? Hmm? Greedy little cunt just sucked it right in, spilled all over my fuckin’ mouth, didn’t it?”

You’re whimpering, nodding, sighing as he hovers at your entrance, teasing with the thick head, pushing. He pulls you back by your neck’s nape. “Yeah? Use your manners and words, sweetheart. Let me know.”

You nod and he’s sinking into you, cream spilling out around where you’re joined, soaking the seam of his jeans, making an audible and embarrassing noise. He groans into it, rubbing your back. You expect him to start moving, but he doesn’t, and that’s when you do start to cry out, eyes filling with tears. You’re so fucking full.

“Shh, hush up. Let me eat my dinner and then we’ll go upstairs and I’ll take care of you. Just keep quiet and sit still for me. You gonna do that?”