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He wasn’t supposed to be there.
 
He had arrived early and was sitting in a small room of the house—watching the dancing silhouettes of cigarette smoke slither and snake through the last rays of sunlight that fell through the shutters.
 
It was the sound of water falling on porcelain that pulled him out of his ethereal evening dream. Unsure if it was new, or if his senses were dulled by an absent mind, he rose—the worn maroon leather of the armchair creaking as it shifted and rubbed in the absence of his weight.
 
He placed the pad of each of his feet with militaristic precision—moving over the old pine floors like a crane patiently ambling towards opportunity. The sound of music and song swelled as he moved down the hallway. Finally, his face against the door frame and body pressed against the cool drywall, he pressed the brass door handle forward only slightly—allowing fresh plumes off steam to pour through the bright crevice.
 
Long, cream-colored limbs bathed in orange light danced in the reflection of his eyes like ripe peaches bobbing in a bucket of water. Water whipped across the partly opaque shower curtain, followed by innocent but inviting cheeks now pressed clearly into view. The smell of crucial oils and soaps was reminiscent of a spa in a land he had yet to visit.
 
With a still head and unmoving eyes, he slowly pulled the shirt from his torso and let the rest of his garments fall from his waist. Already stiff and aching from the scene, he reached down to grab the sensation—tugging on it with the slow diligence of someone stirring honey.
 
The moment ceased abruptly as the sound of falling water came to a halt and the shower curtain rang open. He threw himself against the wall to avoid notice—the cool drywall a relief against his flushed face and hot limbs.
 
Patting her face dry, she paused—her whisky-colored eyes pouring over the fluffy white towel and onto the corner of a shirt protruding from the door frame. Flushed with a red mixture of excitement and fear and now keenly aware of her intruding voyeur, she turns around with a coy smirk. Walking towards the window, she pauses—letting the towel drop with a hollow thud on the pine floor, and bends over to open the stained glass window and let in some cool summer air.
 
As she leans back into the room, he drapes himself onto her—his long stiff shaft running over her vulva, his hips pressed magnetically against her soft cheeks, his warm chest against her back, and arms crossed in front of her torso to cup each of her falling breasts. Kissing the baby hairs on her neck with gentle affection, she shudders ecstatically as goosebumps ripple across her skin and her dark nipples prick up between his fingers…

;;)

NSFW: yes

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