He crawls up out of the tub, catlike (if there were some cat that loved water), slinky and sudsy and seductive. The mirror’s right there, and I know he’s admiring himself, but—well, let’s just say that I have the better view.
I clear my throat, going along with the fiction that he doesn’t yet know I’m there as he preens. “I’d be careful, climbing around all wet like that. You might slip, or fall, and break something.”
"Or I might slip, or fall, and impale my tight ass on your bare dick over and over and over again, until you groan that you can’t resist it anymore and unload your nut in me."
"Well," I say, untying my robe, "93% of accidents do happen in the home."