Bathing

Erotic Poetry

The steam rises like a veil, turning the en-suite into a sanctuary of salt and rose. 

I let the silk slide from my shoulders, a brief glance at my reflection, the sharp response of skin to the humid air, a body standing to attention before the water. 

You arrive, and the air shifts, my nipples rise harder, my belly turns over. I feel my moistening flow as I slowly start to ground and let go. 

"Seduce me room by room," I breathe. You curl into my space, not with force, but with the quiet wisdom of a cat, one eye open, tracing the architecture of my thoughts rather than the lines of my skin. You are a master of the emotional unpicking. 

My thighs quiver, my mind runs a river over you and around you with my eyes. 

You're reading the silence. 

And catch the thought before it forms, passing the wine glass to my lips as if to prove you’ve already been inside my head. I sip, held by a gaze that never wavers. 

It’s the pause that seduces, the hollow air between us filling with a weight that words can't carry. My longing to feel you fill me rises, second by second. 

I lean back against the cool porcelain of the sink, licking wine from my lips, a quick fix before the slow burn. 

No games here. We are adults, grounded and certain. 

You take the glass, the resin clinking as you set it aside, and press my hands to my own hips, reminding me exactly where I begin and end.

The taps are still running, forgotten. 

I am slick with steam and intent, my heart a frantic rhythm against the stillness of your clothes. 

I cross my ankles, a playful gatekeeper, holding onto the power of the tease. But you lean in, manoeuvring me deeper, into the heat, reclaiming the momentum with a kiss that tastes like surrender.

Your hands slide a map from hip to waist, finding the perfect anchor. 

You lift me, weight shifts me,  to the basin’s edge, and the world narrows to the space between us. 

You sink to your knees, and I finally open not just to your touch, but to the gravity of the moment. Wide-legged and longing, I push your head between my thighs and hear you release at my taste. 

The water overfills, a silver spill. 
Your sounds a rhythmic pulse against the quiet floor. 

While time dissolves beneath your steady will, I'm seen, not a secret anymore.

You close my ache amidst the soft and sudden heat, where salt and petal meet the rising tide. 

The ritual is holy and complete, with nowhere left for wanting to reside.

Copyright: Vianne Armour