Hot bath

The bath fills. Steam gathers on the glass. She lowers into the water, the foam rising to her shoulders, and begins to spread shower gel over herself. Her hands move with patience. She glides over her stomach, down her hips, then lingers at her breasts, circling with the thick white lather. Fingers pause at each nipple, roll, tug. Her legs part a little wider beneath the surface. She is already slick in two different ways. She traces the line between her thighs, finds the soft swell there, rubs with the pad of her middle finger. Slow circles. The water laps against her wrist. She exhales through parted lips. The foam spills across her chest, over her curves. She keeps touching. The bubbles shift and break. Her other hand cups a breast, squeezes, releases. Heat spreads through her belly. She sinks lower, lifts her hips just enough so the water brushes her open thighs. Her breath catches. She bites her lower lip, keeps her hand moving. Steady, slick, until the shudder hits and her head tips back against the rim of the tub.