Ebony & Ivory [H.S]

Forty-Three

Looking back on when we first met, I cannot escape and I cannot forget. Baby, you're the one, you still turn me on. You can make me whole again'

Standing underneath the shower head I let the water pelt over my neck, and upper back, the pressure doing wonders for my tired muscles. I've no reason to be here having finished my shower routine long ago. It's quite funny, as there's no way I'd ever be able to have this kind of luxury back at home due to the never-ending droughts. Fortunately in London however, there seems to be an endless amount of water, therefore my guilt is only short-lived.

Hearing the bathroom door creak open, I squint my eyes through the frosted glass pane of the shower door, to Harry sneaking his way in, closing the door behind him.

"Well hello there sleepyhead," I greet, referring to his late wake up. Granted that he ended up working early into the morning, I'd say it's warranted, though sometimes I can't help myself when it comes to teasing him.

"Just got off the phone to Mum," he announces, voice still croaky with sleep, as he undresses. Opening the door of the shower, he joins me without any invitation, though his presence is certainly welcomed.

"She apologised for not calling sooner, but they had no reception where they were yesterday," he explains. "But she wanted to call and thank us both for the gift, or more specifically - you."

"That was kind of her," I return, shuffling aside to share the shower head with him. Wordlessly, I squirt some shampoo into my hand and begin washing his hair, watching his worries drift away once I start massaging his scalp.

"There's still no better feeling than having your hair washed," he decides, melting away with each touch.

"Debatable," I laugh, referring to the other things that we do together.

"I can't seem to think of what ever you could be referring to," he replies, feigning dumb.

I can't help but ogle his adonis like figure, his perfectly toned body, and then... well, that.

"Oh... is that right?" I ask, playing along. Looking down at his hardening member, I kneel, teasing him.

Grasping him lightly in my hands, I stroke, my touch being more firmer with each movement. Looking up at him, his mouth slightly ajar, head tilted back, I marvel at how beautiful this man is, and the raw power I hold over him. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one in the relationship who's so magnetised to him, though it's times like these that I can revel in the fact that he's just as affected by me, as I am by him.