OLIVER

"I love that you love sex." I squirt a dollop of soap from a bottle and run it over Charlotte's beautiful tits.

She giggles and tips her head back. It's Christmas morning, and I've got the best gift ever lying on top of me. Her back is to my front, her tight ass against my dick, and we're soaking in hot water in the big tub in her bathroom. "You have enough room? Am I hurting you?"

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried." Unless you tell me you don't want to see me after this vacation. Then you'll slay me.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous," I growl as my hands run down her wet body. "I can't get enough of you."

She opens her legs a little, and I touch her. While I stroke with the fingers of one hand, I slide two fingers of the other inside her. She spreads wide, a foot on either side of the tub. It's the best fucking feeling, touching her.

I don't watch porn a lot, but I am a guy. So I've seen it from time to time. What we're doing right now, with my hands exploring every fold and curve of her pussy, her curvy body glistening from the water and the soap, rivals anything I've ever seen. Her nipples poke out of the water like tiny pink mountains.

I'll probably jerk off to this moment for the rest of my life.

"Can I try something?" I murmur in her ear. She seems to like that.

"You can try anything."

"I want to go down on you. Again."

She rolls over like an otter in a river, and we're now stomach to stomach. Her hair's piled on her head, and I brush a strand off her cheek.

"You do? Is that what you want for your Christmas present? Because I didn't get you anything." Her mouth lifts into a foxy smile, and she flutters a kiss on my lips. "Had I known you were going to be here, I'd have gotten you something. Like a six-pack. Or an iTunes card."

"As tempting as those gifts are, I'd prefer to go down on you." I'd licked her in the middle of the night, but then she wanted me inside so I didn't get the chance to really savor the experience.

"Well, you don't have to ask me twice. It's a gift both of us can enjoy." Her laughter echoes against the slate gray tile walls of the bathroom.

See what I mean? I love how eager she is. How accepting. How much she wants me.

Please, let this be real.

CHARLOTTE

"Up here." Oliver's eyes are half-lidded, lust-filled. He grins and pats the wide ledge of the whirlpool tub, the part closest to the wall. I hoist myself up and lean back. He kisses one knee, then the next, sending sparks shooting up my legs and into my core.

I giggle as he parts my knees. It seems like this tub setup is specifically made for what we're about to do. He's at the perfect angle.

Water sloshes onto the floor, but he's too busy looking at me as if he's starving. Then he chuckles. The best part of this is that we're having fun. Together. It's not just some anonymous hookup that's forgotten by the next Tinder update.

"We'll mop up that water later," I say, then shiver when he runs a finger down the seam of my sex.

He bites my inner thigh, just hard enough to make me gasp.

"Too much?" He licks the sting.

"Just right."

"Fuck, you are so beautiful." He's staring between my legs and stroking my swollen labia softly with his thumb. Instead of feeling creepy or lewd, as it has in the past with other guys, being exposed to him feels intimate.

And crazy-hot.

"Your pussy's gorgeous and perfect, you know that?"

I grin and run a hand through his hair. Will any man ever compliment me as much as he does? Probably not.

He leans forward and gives my clit a long lick. Oh, yes, please. Moaning, I spread my legs wide.

He looks up, and he's wet, either from sweat or the bath or me. My clit's pulsing, demanding more. We stare into each other's eyes, captivated. With a maddening slowness, he trails his hand up my inner thigh, then slides his middle finger inside me.

Without taking his eyes off mine.

I stop breathing for a few seconds while he finger fucks me slowly. Implosion might happen soon. I'll be the first woman to ever spontaneously combust in a full bathtub.

"I love..." My voice trails off, and I catch myself before I say something too serious. He glances up. "I love how you touch me."

I don't think I'll be able to keep this, us, to one Christmas holiday. I hope he feels the same way.

"You're a quick learner, aren't you?" I bite my lip as I watch him. It's so freaking hot the way his two fingers are sliding in and out of me.

While his fingers make me even wetter, he gives me a teasing lick, ending with a little flick of his tongue on my clit.

"Oh fuck, right there, Oliver."

"That's what you want." He's not asking a question. He's making a statement, and the answer is an enthusiastic, whimpered, most definite yes.

I tell him something filthy about how I love the way he eats my pussy, and that seems to inspire him to suck and circle with even more finesse. Those full lips on my swollen skin, my God. His technique on all fronts has improved in twelve hours. If we keep this up? I'll be the most satisfied woman on the planet. I don't think anyone's ever been so focused, so reverent, while going down on me.

Damn.

Just as I'm pressing his head closer into me, right as I'm on the brink of coming, I think I hear a voice.

"Babe? Did we leave the TV on?"

"Mmm, I love when you call me that," he responds. The vibration of his hum makes my pelvic muscles clench in anticipation of a release.

He reaches up and pinches my nipple. I gasp, loud. "Oh, fuck, I'm going to come," I whisper, tossing my head back.

He slides a second finger in me and murmurs that my pussy's beautiful. "Pink and perfect," he whispers.

I concentrate on letting go, ready to plunge into the bliss of orgasm abyss. In between licks, he's saying dirty things, like come in my mouth and I can't wait to bend you over the sink and fuck you hard. I'm so on board with this whole plan. My legs are shaking, my eyes are closed, and I'm starting to see little flashes of blue and white light when...

I hear the voice again.

A twinge of fear rips me from the brink of orgasm. I put my hands on either side of Oliver's head and pry him from my clit.

"Do you hear that?" I whisper.

He sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The bathwater streams down his glorious abs in droplets.

"Holy shit," he murmurs. "I think that's my dad."

Then, what's possibly the most horrific sound comes from behind the half-shut bathroom door.

A dog's panting.

"Oh, God. Harry!" I cry out in a loud whisper.

"What? Who?" Oliver's looking at the door in confusion.

"My mom's dog. Oh. My. God. Get out. Get out!"

The next few seconds are chaotic, a riot of arms and limbs, of me climbing over him to drain the water and him trying to step out of the tub without slipping on the wet floor.

While we're doing this, Harry barges in, tail wagging. And barks once. A short, sharp bark. As if to say, Hey, guys, I found them! I'm a good boy!

"Thanks a lot, Harry. Get out," I hiss. Then I point at the door. He scampers away.

"Charlotte?" My dad's faint voice wafts into the room. It sounds like he's downstairs.

I let out a long string of swear words under my breath. Our parents are here with no warning notice, no call, no text, just as Oliver was giving me the most delicious oral sex of my life.

Or maybe they'd tried to call and the cell network was down. Regardless, this isn't the way I want to introduce our new relationship to everyone.

I grab a towel and wrap it around my body. By now, Oliver has donned one of the white, terry cloth robes that's hanging by a hook on the back of the door. It looks ridiculously small on him, the sleeves coming only halfway down his forearms. Of course, he can't put his pants on because our clothes are who the hell knows where.

In his bedroom? Mine? The living room?

"Oliver? Are you here?" It's his mom's chipper voice now. She sounds frighteningly close. "Rafa, they must be here because the gas fireplace is on. They wouldn't have gone skiing without turning it off."

"That boy always leaves the lights on, so who knows," grouses Mr. Menendez.

Looking at Oliver, who's standing frozen next to the toilet, I point at the door. "Go," I mouth.

He doesn't move. I can hear footsteps and voices in the hall. My mom, my dad, Oliver's parents.

"Get out there," I hiss, flailing my arm in the air.

He shakes his head, his beautiful dark eyes wide with panic.

I yank another towel off the rack and throw it on the floor, hoping to hide the tsunami of water. Then I take another and wrap it around my hair, hoping to make it seem like I was casually about to take a shower and not just pressing my pussy into Mrs. Menendez's youngest son's face.

The tub makes a loud gurgle, signaling that it's done draining.

"Mom, we're in here." Out the corner of my eye, I see him pick something out of my makeup bag and throw it in the toilet. Whatever it is, it makes a splash in the water. I'm going to kill him if that's my new MAC lipstick. He grabs a plunger that happens to sit near the wall, almost behind the toilet tank.

I shoot daggers at Oliver with my eyes, dread filling my chest. What's he doing? Why is he calling them in here? Why is he holding the plunger?

The door flings open. Oliver's dad comes through first.

Then my dad.

Oh God, kill me. Right now. Strike me dead.

Then our moms. The four of them look like they've stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue because they're all dressed in jeans, duck boots, and fleece jackets in primary colors.

A tail-wagging Harry runs in, skidding on the wet floor. I scream silently in my mind.

Nooooo.

Naturally, our parents appear baffled as to what their half-naked children are doing in a steamy bathroom covered in water and towels. The space is pretty big, but with six people and a dog, it's disturbingly claustrophobic.

"Hey, what's up?" Oliver says casually.

"Son?" His dad sounds stern.

"Sharkie?" my dad says in a hesitant voice.

"Oliver?" his mother adds, flicking her long chestnut hair behind her shoulders.

My mom emits a soft snort. She knows exactly what we've been doing. Her barely concealed snicker makes me want to laugh. She pulls Harry by the collar over to a corner and sits on a bench. When I meet her eye for a beat, I have to immediately look away because I'll collapse into a shriek of laughter if I don't.

"What's going on here?" my dad asks, glancing around. His eyes land on the floor and the obvious, freshly used tub. I feel droplets of water running down my ankles. I shift on my feet, the bathroom rug making a surprisingly loud squoosh noise.

Mrs. Menendez looks me up and down with a slight frown. "Ahh, kids, you busy?"

I open my mouth, then close it. Glad you asked, Mrs. Menendez. Your son and I have spent the last twenty-four hours fucking everywhere in this house, and we thought it would be a good idea to take a bath and for him to French kiss my clit.

"Sharkie dropped something in the toilet." Oliver holds the plunger as if brandishing a torch. "I'm helping her get it out."

I stare at him, rubbing my lips together. Sweet baby Jesus, he has a hickey on his neck. A deep purple bruise. Probably from last night. Or this morning. Or...

My dad clears his throat. Everyone is standing awkwardly in the bathroom with wide eyes and slack jaws. Well, all but my mom. She's buried her face into Harry's head.

I let out a strangled half-groan, half giggle. This cannot be happening.

"See?" Oliver plunges his hand into the toilet and triumphantly holds the pink item up in the air.

What the...oh shit. Don't let that be what I think it is.

brrrrrrvvvvvvvvv

It's my clit bullet vibrator, and somehow he's pressed the button on the bottom and it's pulsing. Vibrating. Loudly. My parents stare at my vibrator. His parents stare at my vibrator. Harry wags his rope-like tail against the leg of the bench.

Oliver glances around nervously. The vibrating sound and Harry's tail hitting wood bounce around the room.

I take a giant step toward him and snatch the vibe out of his hands, slipping it into my robe pocket. The mirror above the sink is starting to defog, and I notice my reflection. My face is as red as a radish, either from being enthusiastically eaten out in a hot bathroom or utter, soul-shattering embarrassment.

Or both. Yes, both.

"You finally made it! How were the roads? Clear?" I cry with a manic glee. It's a pathetic attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Guys, why don't you go downstairs and open that nice bottle of Cabernet?" Mrs. Menendez says gently. She puts her hand on my dad's shoulder and on her husband's.

"Take Harry with you." Mom points at Dad. We all watch as the dog snaps to attention at Dad's side.

"He's so well trained compared to the last time I saw him," I say, trying to gloss over everything until the earth can open up and swallow me forever.

Our dads nod and hustle out. Harry follows.

brrrrrvvvvvvv

The vibrator goes off in my robe pocket, and I reach in and wrap my hand around the little plastic device, wondering why it's turning on randomly at the worst possible time. I haven't even used it in a while because it never reliably worked.

Mom's doubled over, her entire body quaking with silent laughter.

Mrs. Menendez either must be deaf or exceedingly gracious because she doesn't look at me and ignores Mom's amusement. Instead, she walks up to Oliver, takes the plunger out of his hand, sets it on the floor, and embraces him. He's a lot taller than her, and he pats her on the back. By his wince, I can tell that the magnitude of the past few minutes is sinking in.

"Hi, baby. It's good to see you. Why don't you show me around the cabin? Take me to the room where Dad and I will be staying. C'mon."

"Hi, Mom. Okay."

Sending a brief, final, horrified glance my way, they walk out.

That leaves Mom and me. She sits up, tears rolling down her face. Chortling. Like I've never seen.

I sit on the edge of the tub and begin to giggle. Soon, I'm in hysterics, too. This is the good part of having an erotica writer as a mom. Of having a mom who thinks sex is normal and fun and should be celebrated. Even really embarrassing sex.

"Oh, Sharkie," she gasps, holding her chest. "I've never laughed so hard."

brrrrrvvvvvvv

The vibrator goes off again, and we dissolve into another roar of hilarity.

"Mom, I can't breathe."

"Oh God. I might pee my pants."

This goes on for a while. Then she stills. "Sharkie. I love you. You're my everything."

Then it hits me: her test result. Tears spring to my eyes. "Mom, did you hear from the doctor?"

She extends her hand toward me and nods. I take it, trembling.

"I'm okay, baby. I'm okay. It was just a calcium deposit. It was deep in the tissue, and they did extra tests to be sure. Your dad had three doctors and two radiologists look at the X-rays. It's definitely not cancer."

I'm crying now, tears of happiness. Relief. She comes and sits next to me on the edge of tub, wrapping her arms around me. I hug her, dragging her signature vanilla scented perfume into my nose.

"I was so worried, Mommy. I kept thinking about what I'd do if you were really sick. What Dad would do."

"I know. We all were. But I'm okay. Your dad got a second and third opinion."

"Of course, he did." I shudder in a breath. "This made me think of the future. Of you and dad, and how you're getting older. How I'm going to be an adult. Am an adult. About what I'm going to do next."

She laughs softly. "I'm not ready for the nursing home just yet."

"I know. But..." I sit up and wipe my eyes. "It did make me think about how I'm alone."

"You've got me and Dad. And tons of friends all over the world."

"No. I mean a partner. A boyfriend. To support me when things get difficult. To love."

"I'm sure you will find that someday. Maybe someday soon. You're incredibly lovable." She quirks an eyebrow, and I know exactly what she's thinking.

"We'll see. I'm glad you guys made it. Even though, you know." I wave my hand around the bathroom, which looks more like an explosion in a towel factory than a luxury cabin.

She strokes my cheek with the back of her fingers. "Oliver's worshipped you for years. Justine and I talked about this a while ago. We figured it was only a matter of time."

I take a deep breath. "I don't know how much she'll like me now, after this."

Mom shrugs one shoulder. "It's no big deal. It's not like she and Rafael haven't—"

I hold up my hand. "I prefer not to think about Oliver's parents having carnal relations."

She chuckles. "Sharkie, did I ever tell you about meeting your grandparents for the first time?"

I shake my head and half-laugh, half-sniffle.

"Your father and I had been dating six months. And I was so in love with him, even then. He asked me to his house. He didn't tell me his parents were coming over because it was supposed to be a surprise, so I could meet them. I took it upon myself to wear nothing but a trench coat and high heels. Red high heels."

I gasp. "No! You must have been mortified."

She nods. "See? Your father and I made it through that, and I didn't die from embarrassment. It's no big deal. Even if it involves vibrators or trench coats and red fuck me heels. Silly and crazy and wonderful things happen when you meet the right person. It's all part of life, kiddo."

"I hope so, Mom." I lean my head on her shoulder and think about Oliver and I staring into each other's eyes while standing on snowshoes in the woods. "Because I really, really like him."

____