Spied In The Shower

Isiah crept up the hallway with a hand mirror, heart hammering. His best friend's little sister had turned into trouble the second she walked through their door. Now she stood naked behind that frosted door, and he angled the glass, catching the curve of hip, the swell of breast as hot water cascaded down her brown skin. Soap suds ran over dark nipples, trailed into the cleft between full cheeks, over the lips she spread open with two fingers. She slid the vibrator along her seam, slow, deliberate, working her clit in tight circles until her legs shook and her breath hitched. Isiah’s cock throbbed against the drywall, and that’s when their eyes met in the reflection. Olivia smiled, wet and reckless. “You’ve been staring long enough, don’t you think?” She turned off the spray, pushed open the stall, steam rolling out. “Come here.” She pulled him inside, palmed his shaft through soaked jeans, squeezed. Then peeled his clothes, shoved him against cold tile, sank to her knees. Her mouth closed over him, tongue tracing veins while the vibrator hummed against her own clit. Up again, she hooked one leg over his hip, rubbed her soaked folds along his length until he couldn’t take it. He lifted her, drove inside; her back slapped the wall, legs wrapped tight. Water bounced off shoulders, ran between them as he thrust deep, balls-deep, sliding in lather and friction. She clawed his back, whispered filthy promises against his ear—how tight she’d stay for him, how often they’d steal this. When she clenched and came with a broken moan, he followed, pulsing inside her, both knowing the secret belonged to steam and silence. They swore the shower would hold its tongue. Isiah’s girlfriend would never hear a word.