Pure, each droplet of water born from the cage of metal and gray. Transparent, clear, unblemished, devoid of the taint of human input. Or so it would look to the naked eye. Most found their way on Namdi's light chocolate coloured skin, some starting from the curls of his jet black hair. Unable to escape the reality of change, their purity became a sacrifice for another.
The running water was a salve to his pounding head. Memories of the night before, previously drowned by the devil’s water came back to life. They flitted across his mind, his most pressing concern the father of his beloved. “He definitely knew something,” Namdi thought with an uneasy conviction. It could not be something concrete or else his father-in-law would have resorted to more drastic measures rather than the intimidation he had subjected him too. Pounding in Namdi's head began to intensify as his thoughts flowed, the throb moving from affliction to torment. In a bid to survive the hangover, he quieted his mind.
Glass walls surrounded the shower, an enclosed box, a barrier keeping the rising steam from the rest of the bathroom. White, thick, it built up, sparing no single surface. Visibility was impeded, a truth that had no impact on Namdi whose lids were firmly shut as he drowned out the space around him for a time.
Pain blossomed on his upper back, right below his shoulder. It was short and sharp. He did not reach nor cry out, his only reaction a gentle bite of his lower lip. Pain, again, sharper, now on the opposite shoulder, a small bite barely penetrating his tightly corded muscles. A groan from his throat was muffled by the running water. Soft lips soon followed, pressed against the shallow teeth marks, tender, loving, sealing the pain with words unspoken. Breath as hot as the vapours around him reached his neck, two pillows pressing against his back. Namdi saw nothing as he felt everything, one sense deprived intensifying another.
Her finger traced the path of his spine, nail carving into the softened flesh, unhurried, enjoying each vertebrae that managed to poke through the folded tissue. Starting from the small of his back, the journey continued till she reached the base of his neck, leaving an unseen thin red streak. On the tips of her toes she stood, making his lobe her possession, a bunny nibbling on a wisp of lettuce. She bit, her hand snaking around him for support. He stood there, rooted, seemingly firm against the storm that fell on them; betrayed only by her arm that felt the slight tremor as she bit into him, so close to his ear she couldn't resist.
She said, barely heard over the sound of running water, her reasons why left unexplained. Her feet left the blend of stone and marble floor, ending up wrapped around Namdi's waist, arms circling his neck. His hand reached out, the water reduced to a light dribble. Without a word, he adjusted her position till her hardened peaks pressed against his bruised chest. The expected ache was barely felt, a hand running through her damp hair. Faintly he noticed the scent of violet. Her bum quivered, suspended less than a feet away from his hung inches. In the steam, their lips found each other, feasting, stealing, igniting a need within them both. Zainab's back connected with the glass, an act lost to her, all sense of touch concentrated on the pink that danced in her mouth. In her mind a small bomb exploded, a big one ticking down beside it. The shower got a little wetter, her arms around his neck tightening as she strained to draw him deeper.
To the world above, his head tilted as he drew a much needed breath, his powerful neck stretched taut. She leaned forward, planting kisses on his apple. With a flicker, her small pink darted out, seeking, tasting, caressing. The sensation of vigor and tremor spread to her mouth, furthering her delight, growing her need to the point of running over. Instinctively he felt it, a primal state awakening, a thirst that could no longer be held back as the blood from the extremes of his body raced to his center. From within the shower room, through the steam, their bodies remained hidden except for two perfectly shaped butt cheeks pressing over and over against a steamed glass.
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