One Last Time Again, Final Part

Follows on from Part 4.

I fumble with your cock, try and pull you into me. You are a little shorter than me, but we're standing up and the angle is still all wrong. I move into the corner of the shower cubicle, stand up on my tiptoes on the ledge around the bottom, and with a thrust you are in me, and I moan loudly, tears squeezing from my eyes because nothing I've ever experienced comes close to being as amazing as the feel of you inside me, the weight of my body bringing you further into me with every upward thrust from your hips. Your mouth is on my breast, your tongue flicking across my nipple, sucking the moisture from my skin, your hand cupping my breast from underneath, squeezing and feeling and experiencing as you send shivers of pleasure shooting through my body. Standing on my tiptoes has all the muscles in my legs screaming but the adrenalin coursing through me masks the pain and all I can think about it bringing you, pulling that low, primal moan from your mouth as you can no longer hold onto your orgasm and you expel yourself inside me with violent shudders.

We have settled into a rhythm, and with each upward stroke you push yourself further inside me, until I feel that if you tried to fill me any more I would explode. I can feel you growing and I know that you cannot be far away, and a stab of pain runs through my chest as I realise that when you come that will be it, there will be no more us again.

I try not to sob and suddenly I can hardly breathe but the sorrow only heightens the intense emotion of the moment, as with a cry you come. I echo your sound, revelling in your pleasure as though it were my own. Your heart is pounding, your chest hot against mine, heating the water running down our bodies, connecting us even where our skin isn't touching. Tears are pouring down my face as you slow your rhythm, your climax achieved. I haven't come but my body is exhausted, as though you had brought me several times. My toes ache as I ease myself on the ledge into a standing position, and you withdraw from me gently. You pull me close and the shower jet is over the top of my head, water pouring over my face and into my eyes and my mouth and I imagine it is washing away all of me until I stop feeling again, stop trying to swallow the sorrow and the pleasure of this encounter, until I am an empty shell again, devoid of feeling, vaguely aware of what we have just done from my own pounding heartbeat.

We sit on the floor of the shower, the water pooling between our legs, scrunched up in the small space, not dissimilar to the back seat of my car. I rest my head on your shoulder and feel like I could fall asleep. I don't want to think what happens when I wake up.

“We can't, you know,” you say in a small voice, and I nod, no words left because I knew that already, and this was just a reminder of what we have to leave behind, a rebellion against what we know to be true but cannot bear to give up completely.

Later, as I stand outside your front door, we look at each other for a long time, and I know that it will never truly be over. I will live with the pain of knowing that there will always be another time, even though we will not truly be together. You kiss me softly on the forehead and I wonder if either of us really has the self control to stay away from each other. I whisper goodbye and turn to the road back to my car. I hear the door close behind me with a click.

Never again. Until the next time.

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