A/N: I'm still working on Come to my Window, but I got distracted by the smut_a_thon on livejournal. Many thanks to my awesome beta on this, sharp2799.
He found her in the bathroom, just emerging from the tub, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her hair was twisted into a loose knot below her neck, resting between the fine bones of her scapula. The water had drained until it hit her right where her back curved gracefully into her stunning little ass. He stood mesmerized as she stretched and reached for a towel, stepping gingerly out onto the bath mat.
The room smelled like vanilla; her skin was damp, beads of moisture rolling down, down, down until she captured it with the towel, rubbing the fabric over her body. Humidity drifted through the crack in the door and warmed his already overheated skin. Transfixed, he watched as she shook her hair loose, the blond curls falling like a wave of silk over her shoulders.
Damn but she was beautiful.
Turning her head, she caught his gaze and stared back at him with just a hint of a smile, innocence and seduction in her eyes.
Hey there, Delilah, he thought, as he pushed open the door. He was Samson, giving in to temptation. Bind me up, tie me to a chair and cut my hair. You're the only strength I have anyway.
He didn't say a word, just set his cane aside and drew her into his arms, her back pressed against his chest, his mouth pressing kisses to her neck and then to her mouth when she turned her head to meet him. The little breathy sounds he elicited from her encouraged him, and he moved one hand up to palm her breasts.
It wasn't enough; nothing with her would ever be enough. He needed to taste her. As if she'd read his mind, she leaned forward just as he began trailing kisses down her spine. Bent over the sink, her legs slightly parted, she looked decadent, forbidden, all damp peach skin meant for his hands and his mouth.
He knelt behind her, fingers parting her delicate pink flesh, tongue darting out to slide inside her. Her moan would've spurred him on, but he was already intoxicated, an addict going in for another fix. With his hands splayed against her cheeks, he spread them a bit for better access and dove right in, his thumbs brushing against her clit.
Her breathing was labored. So was his. In only moments, she cried out, her head tossed back and the ends of her hair brushing against the top of his head as she arched and came against his face.
While she struggled to catch her breath, he caught her gaze in the mirror above the sink. Her skin was flushed pink and her lips turned up in a satisfied smile. He stood and toed off his shoes, removed his shirt, unzipped his jeans and let them slide to the floor with a clunk as his belt buckle hit the tile.
She turned, pushing her entire body against him, her delicate fingers sliding his boxer briefs over his erection and down his legs. He kicked them off and sat on the ledge of the tub, planting his feet firmly on the rug for leverage and bringing her with him until she was straddling him. As she sank down on him, he kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his hands moving moving moving so that he could touch as much of her as possible: cupping her face, sliding into her hair, roaming down her back as he tugged her closer.
She started moving, undulating over him like a leaf caught in the gentle current of a stream. Pulling away from him a bit, she arched her back and closed her eyes, her lips parting to form a little O. Her hands slid up to his biceps, and she held on tight as he kissed down her collar bone to one of her breasts, drawing it into his mouth and laving the stiff peak of her nipple with his tongue. His fingers left little white marks on the flesh of her hips as he gripped her. Her ankles crossed behind his back and he surged upward, eager to meet her willing movements.
She began to move faster, her inner muscles working him over until he felt the familiar tightening that signaled his impending release. His hand slipped between their damp bodies and he pressed her clit, sliding his finger over it until they were both crying out in climax.
Trembling, she clung to him and he held her close, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades while with the other, he reached over and turned on the tap for the tub until it began to fill again.
She nuzzled his neck and then eased off him, stretching like a slinky little feline. Stripping off his socks, the only clothing he'd failed to remove, he lifted his legs over the edge of the tub and lowered himself into the water, leaving an open space in front of him. Reaching a hand out to her, he caught her gaze and waited.
My strength is gone, Delilah. I can't fight you anymore.
She slipped between his parted thighs and rested against his chest, her hair falling over his own shoulder, the ends darkened with dampness. He gathered it up with his hands and twisted it into a knot the way she'd had it when he first saw her in the tub. Then his arms came around her, his fingers entwining with hers, every part of him wrapped around her. Her smooth cheek came to rest against his, whiskered and weathered, and he placed a tender kiss on her temple.
On his tongue, her taste lingered, like sweet, sweet surrender.