Breath in the Sound of Water (2) — The First Touch of Breath
The Hero drew in a breath instead of answering.
When the Saintess turned, her wet silver hair spilled forward over her shoulders. A single droplet clinging to her collarbone slid down toward her chest. The Hero’s gaze followed it for a moment before rising again to her flushed face.
Under that gaze she gripped the bottle of body wash with wet hands. The foam kept slipping across her palms, so she rubbed them together once more. Everything was slick with water, and her fingertips still trembled.
She gathered the sliding foam again and laid her hands on the Hero’s arms. The arms first—from shoulder to elbow to wrist. His skin was warm and wet; the muscle beneath her palms shifted low and steady. Matching that movement, her fingertips paused, then continued downward.
Next was his chest. Her palms settled over it. Beneath them his breath rose and fell in a slow, deep rhythm. Her hands traveled from shoulder to chest, from chest to abdomen. The tension in his shoulders eased; lower down, his stomach grew firmer. The moment her palms met his abdomen, the hardness beneath them transmitted itself at once. Under the tightly clenched muscle his breath moved shallowly.
Her fingertips halted just below his abdomen. She remembered how his grip had softened every time she lost her breath earlier. She lifted her face to look at him. His fingers had already gone a little rigid. She lowered her eyes again and carefully moved her hands lower still.
A hot, solid weight filled her palm. The stream of water made it slippery, yet the low, pulsing tremor beneath was unmistakable. She closed her fingers around the hard shaft. The Hero’s abdomen clenched sharply under her hand. Her own wrist slowed for an instant. Fingers still wrapped around that rigid column, she moved them upward the barest fraction, as if confirming the heat.
It was hot. Earlier the heat had only reached her chest; now it beat directly inside her palm. Through the slick film of water the hardness in her hand trembled with heat. She swallowed.
Her palm closed firmly around the hot center. When she stroked upward in a short sweep, her thumb brushed just beneath the wet tip.
Slick.
The viscous bead gathered at the tip spread under her thumb, and the Hero’s breath cut off low in his throat.
Throb.
The hardness in her palm jerked larger. She lifted her eyes at once. Tension had locked into his shoulders. His lips were slightly parted; his breath snagged low between the rush of water. When she slowed her motion, that breath unspooled a little longer.
“When I touch you…”
The words were so small they nearly drowned in the water’s sound. She drew her hand down again, then swept it up along the same path. His breath broke once more. Only after it returned did he finish.
“Your breathing changes.”
The Hero could not answer at once. His wet arm braced against the edge of the shelf; his fingers pressed deep into the tile. Her hand moved again. At first the motion was still close to washing—following water and foam—yet little by little it became a grip that held and stroked the hard shaft.
Slide.
Her palm, pressure lightened, descended and closed around the base once more.
Slick.
This time she stroked longer from base to tip. The wetness inside her palm and the slick bead at the head slid together. When she eased her strength his breath lengthened; when she moved a fraction faster his abdomen hardened. The sound of breath loosening in his throat made her lighten her grip again. Her palm stayed wrapped around the rigid column, traveling the same path up and down.
“Ria.”
At that voice her fingertips trembled.
“Yes…?”
“Just like that.”
The words were short. She bowed her head. Her fingertips shook, yet her palm continued along the same path. A little more. Just a little more. She shifted her wrist in a small motion. The shaft she held rose and fell inside her palm; every time the wet tip brushed under her thumb, the Hero’s breath snagged short. Water and body heat slid between her fingers. His breath collapsed deep. The fingers braced on the shelf tightened. His wet shoulders locked low; his abdomen clenched hard. This time his hips followed in the tiniest motion.
Her fingertips trembled. She left them trembling and traced the same path once more.
“Ria…”
At that voice she flushed. Her gaze dropped. A small bead of moisture clung to his tip—longer than ordinary droplets, smaller, remaining even under the stream, a little slicker, a little more lasting. She swallowed. The center in her palm had grown harder still; the pulse inside her hand beat faster than before. She looked up at his face again. His eyes were fixed on her. He could not look away; the fingers braced on the shelf pressed harder.
Her wrist quickened a fraction.
Slap, slap.
Each time her palm stroked the hard shaft up and down, the wet tip brushed under her thumb.
Throb.
The slick bead at the tip caught against her palm, then stretched long with the next stroke. His abdomen clenched tight. His eyes wavered. The fingers on the shelf pressed deeper. Seeing that reaction, she moved her wrist faster still.
Slick-slap.
Her palm stroked the wet shaft quickly.
Throb.
When the wet tip caught under her thumb, his breath snagged low again. Only after hearing that breath did she finally speak.
“I… want to try.”
Only the stream of water passed between them for a moment. The Hero’s hand swept her wet hair behind her ear. His fingertips trembled slightly.
“If Ria does it for me…”
His voice sank low.
“I think I’d be happy.”
The Saintess loosened the strength in her fingertips a little. Then she bent her knees. The Hero’s breath cut off low. Listening to that breath, she brought her lips close. Just before they touched, the hand still wrapped around him slowed first. Even under the falling water the pulse in her palm beat low and fast. His breath shuddered once, low; the fingers braced against the wall tightened.
Her lips first brushed the tip as lightly as a kiss. That brief contact alone snagged his breath between the water’s rush. A faint salty taste touched the tip of her tongue. At the unfamiliar flavor her fingertips stiffened first. She swallowed. Then she moved the hand holding him. When her palm stroked the wet shaft upward, his breath snagged short between the water’s sound. Only after hearing that reaction did she part her lips a little.
At first she rounded them and touched only the tip. The swollen head pressed into the inside of her lips, and heat hotter than she expected met her tongue at once. Unlike when she held him with her hand, there was nowhere to retreat. She drew a short breath through her nose. The inside of her lips opened a fraction more, and the wet tip entered another knuckle’s worth.
Suck.
Her wet lips carefully closed around the swollen head. The soft sound made the tips of her ears burn hotter, yet her palm stroked the wet shaft upward again.
Slick.
When the heat inside her lips and the slickness of her palm rose together, the Hero’s breath stopped short. Behind the sweet scent of body wash, the scent of his skin rose closer. Heat hotter than water pushed into the inside of her mouth. Her wrist locked in place. The palm wrapped around the base moved upward once more, very slowly.
It was different from holding him in her hand. In her palm she could read the pulse; inside her lips the hot heat was nearer still. Water poured over her shoulders and back. Wet silver hair spilled across her collarbones and chest. The Hero braced himself against the shower-stall wall. His wet palm pressed the tile; his gaze was lowered to her.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. Her palm rose and fell slowly from base to just beneath the wet tip.
If Ria does it for me… I think I’d be happy.
The words still lingered in her ears. She lightened the strength in her hand. She also eased the pressure of her lips around the tip. His breath unspooled slowly. Hearing it, she moved the barest amount. The first motion was only a tiny push and return from the place her lips rested. Her wet lips stayed; her palm first made the path. Holding the lower part, she stroked upward, then eased her strength and came down again. His breath shuddered low once more. At that sound she tried to come a little closer.
In that instant tension locked into her jaw. Her lips had stiffened more than she realized. The hard tip between them brushed her teeth lightly. His breath cut short; the hand braced on the wall tightened.
“Ria, wait.”
She pulled her lips away at once.
Pop.
Her eyes widened.
“Did I hurt you?”
Her voice trembled small beneath the water. Her lips had left him, yet her fingers, still wrapped around the base, moved upward once more, very slowly.
Slide.
The wet tip slipped along the inside of her palm.
Throb.
When the slick bead at the tip met the pad of her thumb, his breath shuddered short. Only after hearing that breath did her wrist slow.
The Hero steadied his breathing with one hand still braced on the wall. The other rested on her hair. That hand slowly unclenched atop her wet silver strands. His fingers carefully smoothed the tangled hair. Only after her startled breath had quieted a little did he speak low.
“A little. Your teeth brushed me.”
“Ah…”
She touched her own lips lightly with a fingertip. The more she tried to steady her breath, the more tension gathered in her jaw. His hand smoothed her hair once more. Wet fingertips paused for a moment beside her ear.
“Just ease the strength in your lips a little… and come back to me.”