Steam, Wine, and Forgiveness

The bathhouse was thick with heat, and through the rolling steam I could only make out her silhouette—warm, lit by the dim lamp, droplets clinging to her shoulders. We hadn't spoken for three days after that stupid fight about moving. Now she sat across from me, sipping red wine from a heavy glass, her gaze tracing over my body. Slowly. Lingering.

"Did you miss me?" Her voice came out rough from the heat, but there was a teasing edge to it.

I stayed quiet, but my hand reached for her knee on its own. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned forward, and I could see the sheen of moisture on her chest, the way it rose and fell heavily with each breath. I slid my fingers higher, over the smooth skin of her thigh, and she bit her lip.

"Katya..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Shh. Don't ruin it."

She set the glass down on the bench, and I heard it clink against the wood. Water dripped from the ceiling, steam burned my face, but all I could smell was her—herbal, with a hint of sweet sweat. She climbed onto my lap, wrapping her legs around my hips. Her wet hair fell across my shoulder, and I gripped her ass, pulling her closer.

She exhaled against my neck: "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."

My cock pressed against her belly, and I could feel her shifting, teasing, almost lifting up and sinking back down. I slid my hand between her legs—hot, soaked, my fingers instantly slick with her arousal.

"You're already ready," I whispered.

"And you're not," she smirked, squeezing me through the damp fabric. I hissed with pleasure. She leaned in and dragged her tongue along my collarbone, sucking at the skin. I tipped my head back, gripping her hips.

She rose up, and I finally freed my cock—hard, throbbing. She took it in her hand, running her thumb over the head, and I nearly came from that single touch.

"Don't rush," she murmured, guiding me to her.

Slowly, inch by inch, I pushed inside her. She was tight, scorching, and I felt her clench around me, trembling. She sank lower, and when I was fully buried, we both froze. Just steam, just breath, just her damp palms on my shoulders.

"God," she breathed, "that feels so good."

I started to move. Slow, rocking her on me, finding that rhythm that made her throw her head back and part her lips in a silent moan. She moved with me, her hips circling, and I felt the heat building—not from the bathhouse, but from us.

"Harder," she demanded, "don't hold back."

I flipped her onto the bench. She was slick, open, and I thrust back in, deeper, making her arch off the wood. Her tits bounced, nipples rock-hard, and I leaned down, taking one in my mouth. She fisted my hair, pressing my face closer.

I fucked her faster, feeling her tighten around me, her nails raking down my back.

"I'm close..." she whispered.

"Come with me," I answered.

She came with a sharp cry, her whole body bowing, and I felt her muscles pulse around me. That pushed me over, and I flooded her, deep, shuddering.

We lay tangled together in the quiet, just steam and our breathing. She traced a finger along my cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

「私も。」

We each took a sip of wine, and I kissed her shoulder. The fight dissolved into the steam, like it had never happened.