Sarah Echavarre Smith

“She wraps her legs around my waist, and I walk us slowly down the hall.
"Mmm, wait," she whines against my mouth. "I haven't showered. I'm so gross, and I don't..."
She trails off as I turn into my bathroom, then set her down. She shuffles her bare feet against the gray stone tile, an inquisitive look on her face as she looks around the narrow space bathed in neutral hues.
I push open the glass door and turn on the shower. Water cascades from the waterfall showered.
"Oh," she says as she grins and bites her bottom lip.
By the time we've helped each other out of our clothes, the water's warm. I help her in first, then step in. And then, under the hot stream of water, we resume our dirty kissing and grabbing.
"Wait, wait." She presses a hand against my chest, then reaches for the shampoo bottle on the ledge. "I do need to get clean first."
I laugh and follow her lead by shampooing my own hair and doing a quick rinse with body wash. She holds her hand out for the loofah, but I shake my head. "Let me?"
A devilish smirk tugs at her perfect mouth. When she nods and licks her lips, I have to take a second. God, this woman. The way she's sweet and filthy all at once is enough to make me lose it right here. But I refuse. Not before she gets what I'm dying to give her.
I work up a lather and run the loofah all over her body. I take my time, paying attention to every part of her. These beautifully curved hips, the fullness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her waist, her arms, her hands, the swell of her boobs. And then I lather up my hands and slowly work between her legs.
She clutches both hands around my biceps, and her toes curl against the earthen-hued river rock that lines the shower floor. Her eyes go wide and pleading as she looks up at me.
I lean down to kiss her. "Tell me what you want."
"You. Just you. Please."
With her breathy request, I'm ready to burst. Not yet, though.
She reaches down to palm me, but I gently push her hand away. I want this to be one hundred percent about her.
When she presses her mouth against my shoulder and her sounds go louder and more frantic, I work my hand faster. She's panting, pleading, shouting. When I feel the sting of her teeth against my skin, I grin. Fuck yeah, my girl is rough when she loses it and I love it.
I love her.
She explodes against my palm, the weight of her body shuddering against me. I've got her, though.
I've always, always got you.
When she starts to ease back down, she lets out a breathy laugh.
"Oh my god."
I nod down at her, which only makes her laugh harder. Then she glances down at what I'm sporting between my legs and flashes a naughty smirk. "Let's do something about that."
Soon it's me at the mercy of her hands. My head spins at the pleasure she delivers so confidently, like she knows every single one of my buttons to push.
When I lose it, I'm shuddering and grunting. For a few seconds, my vision's blurry. She's that incredible.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore

“Soon she comes back into focus. The flicker in her eyes, the most angelic smile, pure tenderness and joy in her expression as she gazes up at me. I'm toast. I've lost all words except for one.
Love.
I ache to say it as water rains around us, creating the most surreal shield. Nothing and no one can penetrate this bubble we've created for ourselves.
But before I can utter a word, she places her hands on my shoulders and pulls me down to her mouth. Another slow, long, teasing kiss. It goes on for more seconds than I can count, until all I can hear is the thud of my heartbeat in my ears and the sound of our pants. And then I decide that this is a perfect moment on its own, these seconds where there are zero words exchanged between us, where it's just our bodies expressing what we feel for each other.”
― Sarah Echavarre Smith, The Boy With the Bookstore