Steaming Regrets

The wooden bench bit into my thighs and the heat wrapped around me like a fever dream. I hadn't seen Mira in seven years, not since graduation, and now here we were, two towels and a cloud of eucalyptus steam between us.

"Fuck, it's hot," she breathed, leaning her head back against the wall. Sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts, disappearing beneath the white towel.

"Turn it down if you want."

"No." She opened her eyes and looked at me. "I like it. Makes everything honest."

I remembered her ears, the delicate points that had made boys whisper "elf girl" in the hallway. She'd hated it then. Now she tucked her damp hair behind one and I saw the tip, pink from the heat, and something tightened in my chest.

"You're staring, Leo."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She shifted, crossing her legs, and the towel rode up her thigh. "We're both adults here. Old friends. What's a little looking?"

I poured water over the stones and steam hissed, billowed, thickened the air between us. When it cleared she was watching me the same way.

"I used to dream about you," she said.

"What?"

"In school. Stupid, right? The quiet girl with the weird ears, dreaming about the captain of the football team."

"Mira..."

"Let me finish." She uncrossed her legs and sat forward. "I'm not that girl anymore. I don't hide. So I'm going to say this once." Her voice dropped. "I want you to fuck me."

The words hung in the steam. My heart hammered. "Here?"

"Where else?" She untied her towel and let it fall.

Her breasts were full, pale, tipped with nipples hard from the heat or from wanting. Sweat glistened on her collarbone, her stomach, the dark hair between her legs. She didn't look away.

"Seven years," she said. "I've been thinking about this for seven years."

I reached out and touched her knee. Her skin was slick, burning. She parted her legs.

"This is insane."

"Good insane."

I kissed her. Her mouth opened under mine, hot and desperate, and her tongue found mine like she'd been waiting for it. Her hand slid up my thigh, found I was already hard, and she laughed against my lips.

"God, Leo. Don't make me wait."

I pushed her back on the bench. The wood creaked. She pulled at my towel until it came loose and then her hands were on me, fingers wrapping around my cock, stroking slow and deliberate.

"Like this," she whispered, guiding me to her entrance. "I want to see your face."

I pushed inside her.

She gasped, arched her back, and her nails dug into my shoulders. The heat of the sauna was nothing compared to the heat of her, tight and slick and pulling me deeper.

"Fuck," I groaned.

"Yes. Yes, like that."

I moved slowly at first, watching her face — the way her eyes fluttered, her lips parted, her elven ears flushed pink. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me deeper.

"Harder," she said. "Don't be gentle. I've waited too long for gentle."

I drove into her and she cried out, a sound that echoed off the wooden walls. The bench groaned beneath us. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto her chest. I licked it off her skin, tasted salt and her.

"Tell me," I said. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it for days." She bit my lower lip, hard. "I want you to remember this when you're alone at night."

I fucked her harder. Her moans came faster, higher, and her nails raked down my back. She was close — I could feel it in the way she clenched around me, the way her breath caught.

"Look at me," I said.

She did. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and something raw passed between us — seven years of wanting, of wondering, of regret.

"I'm coming," she whispered.

"Let go."

She did. Her body shuddered, her back arched, and she cried out my name — a sound I'd imagined a thousand times but never heard. The sight of her, the feel of her, pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came, hot and long, and she held me through it.

Afterwards we lay tangled on the bench, breathing hard, steam still rising around us.

"Well," she said finally. "That was worth the wait."

I laughed. "Seven years?"

"Maybe I should have said something at the reunion."

"I didn't go to the reunion."

"Neither did I." She grinned. "Guess we both suck at planning."

I kissed her forehead. "What now?"

"Now?" She sat up, grabbed her towel, and tossed mine at me. "Now we shower, get dinner, and talk about whether we're stupid enough to try this again."

"And if we are?"

She smiled, slow and wicked. "Then I'll show you what I've been thinking about for the last seven years."