Chapter 22

The dressing-room showers were built for one pop-star at a time – tight white tile, a single rainfall head, and a fogged-glass door that never quite closed. Perfect for privacy, terrible for sharing. Which was exactly why Dani had dragged you in first, calling “Dibs!” loud enough that the rest of the girls groaned in unison.

“Couples discount,” she grinned, already peeling off her sweat-soaked stage tank. “We’re conserving water. Very eco-friendly.”

Manon fake gagged. “Eco-friendly is not the phrase I’d use.”

Sophia lobbed a clean towel at your heads. “Ten minutes. After that we’re coming in with a plunger.”

Yoonchae just giggled into her phone, Lara yelled “Don’t use all the hot water!” and Megan mumbled something about needing therapy.

Inside, the lock clicked. Dani twisted the dial; hot water thundered like applause. Steam rose, filling the cubicle until the mirror disappeared and the world shrank to tile, skin, and her.

“Hi.” she said, voice already rough from the encore. Droplets caught her on her lashes. “Miss me?”

“You were literally on stage thirty minutes ago.”

“Thirty minutes too long.” She stepped in, arms sliding around your waist. “Besides, I like the way you taste when you’re mixed with shower gel and adrenaline.

You rolled your eyes – then gasped when she backed you under the spray. Water plastered hair to both your faces; the space was so narrow every inhale meant brushing her. She took advantage, slotting a thigh between yours like it belonged there.

“Still annoyed by us?” she teased, lips ghosting your ear.

“Terribly,” you deadpanned, arching just enough to feel muscle meet sensitive skin. “We’re the worst.”

“The worst,” she agreed, and kissed you – slow, deliberate, tongue flicking past that spot behind your teeth that turned your knees to confetti. The shower roared overhead; her hands roamed lower, tracing the slope of your spine, the curve where hip met ass, squeezing like she was testing ripeness.

You retaliated – nails down the defined lines of her abs, stopping at the knot of her bikini bottoms. “These are cute,” you murmured, tugging just enough to threaten. “Shame they’re wet.”

“Everything’s wet,” she shot back, voice husky. “Your move.”

You slid your palms up, tracing the underside of her breasts – water making the motion slick, friction-less. She exhaled through her teeth when your thumbs brushed against her nipples, already peaked from temperature and want.

“Ticklish?” you asked sweetly.

“Try deadly.” She spun you, reversing positions so your back met cool tile. “My turn.”

Her mouth found your neck, tongue drawing nonsense lyrics against your pounding pulse. One hand pinned your wrists above your head; the other traced lazy circles down your ribs, over your stomach, stopping just below the waistband of your bottoms – hovering, teasing, promising.

Every drop felt like percussion. You could hear the others outside – Lara humming, Manon’s laugh – but the water and her breath swallowed the world. When she finally pressed her thigh up again, slow and sure, your gasp echoed off tile.

“Dani- “

“Right here.” She released your wrists so you could grip her shoulders, nails biting crescents into slick skin. “Let me hear the chorus.”

You would have answered – maybe with sarcasm, maybe her name – but she rolled her hips and words dissolved into a breathy moan. The rhythm built: her thigh, your answering grind, water drumming metronome against both of you. Steam turned the cubicle into a private cloud, every exhale fogging glass until your silhouettes blurred into one.

Her lip scraped lower, tracing the swell of your breast just above fabric. “Still too many layers,” she muttered.

“Fix it.”

She did – one tug and the bow at your neck gave; triangles floated free. Cool air hit, then her mouth – hot, relentless – tongue swirling until your head thudded back against the tile. You threaded fingers into her hair, holding her there like a microphone you never wanted to drop.

Outside, Megan knocked once. “Five-minute warning, lovebirds. Some of us require non-communal hygiene.”

Dani lifted her head just enough to smirk. “Tell them we’re conditioning.”

“Very deeply,” you added, voice ragged.

Laughter erupted behind the door, but it felt miles away. Here there was only slick skin, shared breath, and the delicious ache coiling tighter with every lazy circle of her hips.

You switched positions – this time you pushing her under the spray, palming her breast, thumb flicking the barbell piercing she never told the press about. She bit your shoulder to stifle a groan, the vibration travelling straight to your core.

“Close?” she whispered against wet skin.

“Close to kicking the door down if you stop.”

She laughed – low, filthy – and her hand slipped between your bodies, fingers tracing the edge of fabric, slipping just beneath – enough to tease, to promise, to make your legs shake. Water sloshed over both of you, carrying away sweat, makeup, any last pretence of patience.

Another knock – softer. Sophia: “Hot water’s gonna run out. Wrap it up before we freeze the encore tomorrow.”

Dani pressed her forehead to yours, breathing hard. “We good?”

You answered by kissing her – hard, desperate, tasting mint and stage lights and something uniquely hers. She swallowed the sound you made, fingers still moving in maddening circles, until your vision tunnelled to water, steam, and her name breaking against her lips.

The world narrowed – then exploded in bright, pulsing waves that left you sagging against her, forehead on her shoulder, water drumming applause across both of you.

She held you until breathing evened, then reached around to retie your top with ridiculous tenderness. “Annoying couple status: renewed.”

You huffed a laugh. “Eco-friendly and efficient.”

“And very, very clean.” She pecked your nose, turned off the spray, and cracked the door enough to holler, “Next!”

Manon’s voice floated back: “Took you twelve minutes. New record – congrats, menaces.”

You stepped out wrapped in one towel, Dani in another, both flushed and grinning like kids who’d broken into the candy aisle. The others fake-booed, then tossed dry clothes and mock applause.

Dani sling an arm around your shoulders, dripping on the carpet. “Group shower. Ten-out-of-ten, would recommend.”

You elbowed her, but leaned in anyway, tasting chlorine and future on her lips. “Next venue, bigger stall,” you whispered.

She wiggled her brows. “Already googled blueprints.”

Behind you, Megan sighed at the ceiling. “We’re gonna need a bigger plunger.”

———-

A girl can only wish…

Anywayssss… 😉