We are not going back

SMUT part two

[Still a few months after they were shot]

The water was warm as it cascaded over our bodies, the steam filling the air between us. Kamala stood in front of me, her skin glistening under the shower’s soft spray, her eyes dark with that familiar mix of tenderness and desire. We had been quiet for most of the night, the kind of comfortable silence that came after long, exhausting days. But now, as her hands moved over me, sliding soap along my arms, across my chest, things were shifting, the air thickening with something unspoken.

Her touch was gentle, methodical, as if she was taking her time to savor every inch of me. I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over her body- strong, powerful, marked with the faint scars we both shared. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical, like we were healing each other in moments like this, one touch at a time.

Kamala’s hand moved up to my neck, her thumb brushing against the hollow of my throat. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice low, almost reverent.

I smiled softly, my hands moving to rest on her hips, feeling the warmth of her body under my fingers. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” she replied, leaning in to press her lips to mine, slow and soft at first, like she was tasting me, savoring the feel of my mouth against hers. Her kiss deepened, her tongue sliding against mine, and I felt a familiar heat building between us.

The water poured down over us, but it did nothing to cool the fire that had sparked in my chest. Kamala’s hands slid lower, her fingers brushing over my breasts, teasing, then lower still, her fingertips just grazing the sensitive skin between my thighs.

I gasped softly against her mouth, my body reacting instantly to her touch. “Kamala…”

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” she murmured, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice thick with desire.

I nodded, my breath hitching as she turned off the water, her hand in mine as she led me out of the shower. We barely bothered to dry off, our skin still damp as we tumbled onto the bed, our mouths meeting again in a heated kiss.

Kamala’s body pressed against mine, her thigh sliding between my legs, her lips trailing down my neck, over my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. My fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, my hips rising to meet her as she pressed her hand between my thighs, her fingers sliding easily through the slickness there.

I moaned softly, my body arching into her touch, needing more. But then, just as things were building, just as the pleasure was starting to spiral, Kamala pulled away.

I opened my eyes, a soft sound of protest escaping my lips as she moved off the bed. “Where are you going?”

She smiled, a glint of something mischievous in her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched as she walked over to the closet, my heart still pounding in my chest, the anticipation thick between us. When she turned back around, I saw what she was holding, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was a strap-on.

Kamala must have noticed the shift in my expression because her smile softened, her eyes meeting mine with that calm, reassuring gaze she always gave me when I was nervous about something.