In the bathroom of the restaurant, she went to the row of sinks to wash her hands. She pressed the pump on the dispenser, and as she scrubbed her hands, the scent of the soap drifted up to her. Lavender. The fragrance was so similar to the body wash she used the last time they made love. As the warm water ran over her sudsy hands, her eyes glazed. She no longer saw the reflection of her hands or the faucet.
When he entered the kitchen, he stopped at the table. Overnight, the lavender had dried on the paper towels. Along with rosemary, mint, and basil, a friend had given him the lavender. He didn’t know why he accepted it. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He picked up a sprig and after crushing it between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled the dried flowers, leaves, and stems, in his hands, fully releasing their aroma. He dipped his nose into his cupped hands and inhaled. Closing his eyes, he remembered her.
She was in the shower. With her right foot wedged between the thin rim of the tub and the wall, she used the poof to soap her upper thigh and knee. She heard the curtain open, felt the cool outside air displace the cocoon of steam so that the temperature difference sent chillbumps all the way up her back and even to her scalp.
“You’re letting the cold air in,” she said, smiling to herself. She knew that stating the obvious amused him. She heard the curtain shift closed, heard him hum before his hands, his always-warm hands, glided up her back. “I’m almost done,” she said. “Then, the water’s all yours.”
His fingers, now wet, slid over her, into her. With the simple stroke, she was ready, but he liked to take things slow. He liked to savor her building pleasure, hear her, smell her, taste her. Only when he did these things did he receive complete fulfillment.
He reached forward and cupped her breast, urging her to stand up straight. Her back pressed against his chest, and the top of her head slid neatly under his chin. He skimmed his fingers over the top of her thigh and all the way up and between her legs. He watched as her arm shot out – the one holding the poof – and he smiled as she tried to steady herself with one soapy hand. He nipped at her earlobe and trailed kisses down the side of her neck as his fingers danced in and out, back and forth, round and round in a rhythm just for her and with just enough pressure to bring her to a quick climax. He would have liked to prolong the foreplay, repeatedly bringing her up and backing off, until she quivered all over and could hardly breathe. It teased them both, and made him hard to the point of pain, but this afternoon, he wanted to take her while the water was still hot.
He cupped her breast, felt her heart thudding against her ribs along the side of his hand and up his pinky finger. He squeezed gently and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Her head slipped to the side and rolled back against his shoulder, her mouth open as she panted. He could feel her grip his finger when it slid inside her. She tilted her hips and spread her legs as far apart as the width of the shower. She bucked and jerked as she grew closer and closer.
When she made the sound, somewhere between a squeal and a sigh, he knew she hit the top, and he twisted to he could capture her mouth with his. His finger still moved in quick circles over the small knot of nerves, and she tore her mouth free of his.
“Now.” She gave the primal demand that loosed his inner animal.
She bent forward and, reaching back between her legs, found his cock. With one simple tug, he came forward and slid home. She moaned with it and, dropping the poof, planted her palms against the front of the shower.
She had given, and now, gripping her hips, he took. She could hear him, sucking air between his teeth and letting out gasps as her butt slapped wetly against him. When she felt the hair of his legs brush against the backs of her thighs, she arched her back and lifted her chin so he could go deeper and deeper.
Water poured over her face, making her soaked hair slick over her eyes. She smiled, but when his fingers found her swollen clit again, she cried out and moaned until he found release.
Movement…slowing…stopping. He pulled her back up to standing. Still inside her, he kissed her neck, wiped her hair from her face, massaged her creased wrists. As their breathing returned to normal, he wrapped his arms around her and held her until the water ran cold.
Her hands were red from the heat of the water. She slapped off the faucet and, still in the fog of memory, moved over to the paper towel dispenser. Lavender. She half-smiled and left the restroom.
He lowered his hands and let the crushed blooms drop back onto the paper towel. Then, he turned to the fridge to make breakfast.