Under the shower

Iwia slides the glass door shut. Water beads on her collarbone. She turns the nozzle to pulse and aims it between Angel’s thighs. Angel braces one palm against the tiles, legs parting. The jets strike right where she needs them. Her breath hitches, a short sound swallowed by the steam. Iwia watches her shiver and turns the dial higher, every throb precise. Angel tugs Iwia closer. Fingers glide over slick skin, dip lower, find her open. Two knuckles push inside while Iwia keeps the shower head steady. Their hips tilt together. Water pours between them, racing the strokes of Angel’s hand. Iwia tips the nozzle so the jet skims Angel’s clit and back again, never still. She curls her own fingers, meeting Angel’s rhythm. Angel bites the corner of Iwia’s mouth, then drops to her knees. Tongue flat, she licks up the inside of Iwia’s thigh until the water runs warmer than her breath. She seals her lips around the swollen nub, sucks once, releases. Above her Iwia groans, angle shifting. The shower head falls; now it’s all tongue, spit, and the press of Angel’s fingers sliding back in. Iwia’s nails scrape tile. She cums with a small, quiet sound, hips jerking, water sluicing down both bodies. They switch before the water cools. Angel on the ledge, Iwia kneeling, shower head reclaimed. The stream beats over Angel’s open cunt while Iwia’s tongue presses lower. One finger traces, pushes; the other hand adjusts the nozzle in tight circles. Angel arches, heels slipping on wet stone. She pulls Iwia’s hair, holds her steady, grinds until her thighs shake and the noise she makes is nothing close to quiet. Steam curls around them when they finally rise. Wet hair clings to flushed skin. Fingertips still twitch. The shower head drips, idle now.