Voyeur

She said, “I need a shower.”

It was Sunday evening, and she rarely showered in the evening. Plus she had that look. Distant, inward, a slight flush to her cheeks. She’d been writing and he thought he knew about what.

“Sure, babe. I need to run to the store. You need anything?”

She smiled vaguely without quite meeting his eyes. In his heart, he was hoping she’d say, Oh yeah. You, Gorgeous. But she didn’t.

She disappeared into the the bedroom, and he grabbed his coat and car keys. She came out with a wad of silk and knit in her arms, and he leaned in and pecked her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful.” It was absent, distracted.

He closed the front door behind him, then stopped. He wanted so badly to be part of her moment, that moment when her eyes rolled back in her head, and she said oh, fuck over and over. Like they used to do. Like when he’d put his mouth on her and drink her while she climbed…

He went back through the door, closing it quietly. He listened to the hiss of shower spray, the rattle of the exhaust fan, the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. The door was cracked slightly, just enough to allow a seep of humid steam, and he caught the pink shadow of her through frosted doors.

There was another sound, beneath everything. A small buzzing. A vibration.

She hummed for a couple of minutes. He thought she was soaping herself, and he imagined the white froth sliding over the contours of her voluptuous body. Over full pink breasts, over dark, sharply erect nipples, over her full belly, her ginger-furred mound- his hand found his erection through his pants, and he stroked himself, watching, listening.

Then he heard her voice. His heart rate increased. He felt it in his ears, in his cock. The moans began soft and low, sweetly, in a slightly breathless rhythm. Within moments, they were escalating, rising with the steam, and words crept out of the syllables. Her repeated fuck, fuck yes, and oh, God increased with each new exclamation.

He’d opened his fly without thought, and his fist pumped. His blood rode her rising cries.

She crescendoed with, “Yes! Fuck me, Danny, harder!” and his cock melted in his hand. His face burned and lust turned to hurt turned to anger that rose while her voice softened and fell into a gentle murmuring croon. Her. Satisfied.

By someone named Danny.

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