POV: Olivia

“Quiet, mi amore. Let me.” He didn’t enter me, not yet. Instead, he washed me with reverent thoroughness, his fingers gliding through my slit with slippery precision, cleaning his own release from me while simultaneously stoking new heat. The soap stung faintly, a bright counterpoint to the warmth pooling in my core, and then his mouth replaced his fingers, and I cried out at the sudden, wet heat of his tongue.

He licked me without urgency, as if we had all night, as if the water might run forever. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open to him, while his tongue traced every fold, every sensitive edge,...