I’m already in my en-suite shower as I hear Michael and Carrie reach the bedroom. The bathroom door is open in invitation.
Carrie has her hand in Michael’s. She tugs him along after her as she heads in my direction.
I slide open the shower door and she steps inside, turning back to face him as he ditches his boxers on the tiles.
I’m glad I’m a man who prefers opulence over budget, because it’s just as well I opted for a shower big enough for three. Carrie grins as she joins me under the water, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as the warmth lands on her face. Mike presses up behind her, his arms around her waist as I grab the body wash from the rack. I squeeze a load into my palm and slap it over my chest, lathering it up before I offer the bottle to Carrie.
She laughs as she dribbles it over her tits, the filthy little minx making quite a spectacle of soaping her nipples. I brush her hands away and take over the job, soaping her nice and good before dipping my fingers between her legs. I lather up that delicious little pussy, washing our stickiness off her as she rests her head back against Michael’s shoulder. His hands palm her tits, his hair nearly as dark as hers under the showerhead. He kisses her wet hair and I browse the bottles on the rack for the fancy shampoo one of my last female guests left here.
I hand it to him and he gets to work. Her expression is one of wonder as his fingers work her scalp, and under all this, under all the dirtiness and the sex and the come-ons she’s been giving us, I’m reminded again that this girl hasn’t really known tenderness before. She’s never been looked after before.
It’s never been more obvious than it is right now. Never been more obvious than it is in her pleasure at having her hair washed by someone else’s hands.
Her eyes are closed in rapture, mouth open as she tips her head back for him. He gathers her hair up onto her head, soaping her with surprising skill as she murmurs under his care.
“That’s so nice,” she whispers, like it needs saying. She moves exactly as he guides her to let him wash out the suds. She turns to him when he’s done, her clean hair hanging in perfect wet waves against her back. She takes the shampoo and reaches up to him, and my heart flips as she mimics what he did in perfect concentration.
I suddenly wish I had more hair than I do.
She soaps him right down, her eyes on his in nothing short of adoration as she works her hands over his body.
I should feel jealous, but I don’t. I should be weirded the fuck out, but I’m not.
My cock is hard again, but that’s secondary to the wave of devotion I feel to this beautiful creature in front of me.
It’s secondary to the pleasure I feel in seeing my best friend so enamored by the girl he’s been in love with for months.
When she’s done, she shoots me a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes are hooded but twinkling. I love the way the water droplets glisten on her eyelashes.
“You next,” she tells me, and I press in closer. She turns between us, a fresh load of soap on the skin I already lathered, but I don’t care.
My mouth dips to her neck and I lick up the water from her throat. She runs her soapy fingers between my ass cheeks and guides my thigh between hers.
She must be tender but she doesn’t show it. She wriggles between us, wrapping an arm back around Mike’s neck to steady herself as he grinds against her from behind. We pin her, wet bodies rubbing wet bodies, soap and fingers and groans as our tender little wash session descends into another wave of hard dicks and needy pussy.
“This is love, right?” she asks as I hitch that sweet little pussy tighter against my thigh. “We love each other?”
The nervousness in her eyes breaks my fucking heart.
My answer is easy, even though it’s been impossible with every other woman I’ve ever had in my bed.
“Yes, this is love,” I tell her.
Her smile lights up the world.
Mike’s lips press to her temple, his eyes closed as he trails his fingers down her throat.
“I love you,” he says. “I’ve always loved you.”
She turns her face to his. “And Jack, you love Jack, too? We’re in this together, right? The three of us?”
Her breath comes in little rasps as she grinds against my thigh.
I save him the self-consciousness.
“Yes, he fucking loves me,” I tell her. “He wouldn’t be sharing if he didn’t.”
She seems happy with that, and so am I.
“I want you inside me,” she groans. “I want it again. I want us to love each other again.”
It seems now Carrie Wells has opened up to the love word she can’t get enough of it.
It’s sweet. It’s beautiful.