My first short story [25F] [shower setting] the title will be something like Strawberry Kisses [mature audience]

The steam from the shower wrapped around them, a thick, humid cloud that smelled faintly and sweetly of strawberries. Warm water sluiced over his broad shoulders, tracing the defined muscles of his back before cascading down to where her body met his. She was pressed against the tiled wall, the cool porcelain a stark contrast to the heat flooding her skin.

His hands, slick and warm from the soap, slid down her soapy thighs with a possessive certainty that made her breath hitch. His touch was firm, knowing, mapping the territory of her body as if he owned it. And in that moment, she felt that he absolutely did.

“You’re so good for Daddy,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her very core, cutting through the patter of the water.

A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips as she arched into him, her hips pushing forward of their own volition, seeking the solid, heated pressure of him. Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed. The sensation was overwhelming—the scent of strawberries, the steam, the water, him.

“Every time,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the shower’s spray. “Every time you say that, it just…”

“It just what, little one?” he prompted, his hands moving back up her thighs, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on the sensitive skin of her inner legs, just shy of where she desperately wanted them. “Tell me.”

“It unravels me,” she confessed, the words a gasp as one thumb finally, finally, brushed against her core.

A deep, satisfied sound came from his chest. “That’s my girl. So honest for me.” He dipped his head, his lips finding the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. His tongue tasted the water and her skin, a salty-sweet combination that was uniquely her. His teeth grazed her collarbone, a gentle threat of pleasure that made her knees weaken.

His fingers continued their lazy, torturous exploration, sliding through her wet folds, gathering the slickness that had nothing to do with the shower. He stroked her, slowly, deliberately, his touch light enough to be maddening. She whimpered, a pleading sound she didn’t recognize as her own.

“Please, Daddy…”

“Please what?” he asked, his voice thick with a desire that mirrored her own. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.” She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her hip, a promise of what was to come. It fueled her desperation. “I need you. Inside. Now.”

A groan ripped from him at her directness. “Fuck, baby. When you ask so nicely.” In one fluid, powerful motion, he hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted her. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms circling his neck for support. The new angle brought him right to her entrance, the tip of him pressing against her, a tantalizing, almost unbearable pressure.

He held her there for a agonizing moment, his dark eyes locked on hers, watching the raw need play across her features. Water plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and droplets clung to his eyelashes. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I want to see you when you take me.”

She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his. And then he pushed forward, filling her in one long, slow, devastating stroke.

A cry was torn from her throat, a mix of relief and overwhelming sensation. He was so deep, stretching her, completing her. He stilled, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust to the feel of him. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the water beating down around them.

“So perfect,” he growled against her ear. “So tight and wet for me. All for me.”