It was Elena who brought it up first.

They were in the shower together on a Saturday morning — her head on his chest, the hot water pounding down — and she said it quietly, almost shyly, into his skin:

— Papacito, can I tell you something I’ve been thinking about?

Damion, thirty-two, looked down at his twenty-eight-year-old wife and smiled.

— You can tell me anything, mamacita. You know that.

— I want to try — she hesitated, her cheeks flushing. — Water sports. I want you to pee on me. In the shower. I want — she swallowed — I want to drink from you. I want you to mark me.

He was quiet for a moment, the water running over both of them.

— Have you been thinking about this a while? — he asked.

— Months, — she admitted. — I didn’t know how to say it. But I want it. I really want it.

— Then we plan it, — he said, kissing her forehead. — Like everything else. Rules first. We do it in the shower — easy cleanup, warm water. You tell me exactly what you want, and we go as far as you’re comfortable. Safeword still works. Red stops everything.

— I want all of it, — she said, her voice stronger now. — I want you to stand over me and mark me — my tits, my belly, my pussy. And I want to kneel and drink from your cock while you fill my mouth. I want to feel how much you want to claim me.

— Jesus, mamacita, — he breathed, his cock already hardening against her belly. — Okay. Tonight. After dinner. Just us, the shower, and all the hot water we want.

She spent the whole day buzzing — nervous, excited, wet just thinking about it. By the time they got to the bathroom that night, her hands were shaking.

He turned the shower on hot, the steam filling the room, and they stepped in together. He looked down at her — naked, trembling, her eyes bright.

— Last chance to set limits, — he said. — Tell me now.

— No limits tonight, — she said. — Just you. All of you. Everything.

— Color? — he asked.

— Green, papacito, — she whispered. — So green.

He started slow — his hands on her body, soaping her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they stood hard. He kissed her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, his hands sliding down to cup her ass.

— On your knees, — he said softly.

She sank to her knees on the shower floor, the hot water pounding down on her back, and looked up at him. His cock stood thick and heavy in front of her face, already hard, the head flushed dark.

— Open your mouth, mamacita, — he said, his voice low and rough.

She opened wide, and he guided his cock to her lips — not pushing in, just resting the head against her mouth.

— Ready? — he asked.

— Ready, — she breathed.

She felt it then — the first hot stream hitting her tongue, filling her mouth. She moaned, the sound vibrating around his cock, and swallowed — again and again — drinking from him, the hot salty stream filling her mouth, running down her chin, dripping onto her breasts.

— Fuck, — he groaned, his hand in her wet hair. — Look at you, mamacita. Drinking from your papacito’s cock like a good girl.

She moaned and swallowed, her throat working, taking everything he gave her. It was the hottest thing she had ever done — kneeling in the shower, his cock in her mouth, drinking him down, completely his.

When he finished, she licked him clean — long, reverent strokes of her tongue — and looked up at him, her lips glistening.

— More, — she whispered. — Mark me, papacito. Please.

He pulled her to her feet and turned her around, pressing her hands against the tile wall. She spread her legs, trembling, and felt the hot stream hit her back — running down her spine, over her ass, between her thighs. She moaned, her forehead pressed to the tile, as he marked her — her back, her ass, her legs — claiming every inch.

— You like being marked? — he growled, his hands on her hips. — You like being your papacito’s territory?

— Yes! — she gasped. — Yes, mark me, I’m yours!

He turned her to face him and aimed the stream at her breasts — hot water and his marking stream running over her nipples, down her belly. She cried out, her hands flat against the wall behind her, her body arching.

— Fuck, you’re beautiful, — he breathed. — All wet and marked and mine.

Then he sank to his knees in front of her — and she gasped, because she hadn’t expected this — and buried his face in her pussy. His tongue licked through her folds, tasting her, tasting the traces of his marking, and she screamed, her hands fisting in his wet hair.

— Papacito! — she cried. — Oh God —

He ate her pussy hungrily, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, drinking her wetness. She was moaning nonstop, her thighs trembling, the hot water pounding down on both of them.

— I’m gonna come — she gasped. — Papacito, I’m gonna —

He stood up suddenly and drove his cock into her pussy in one deep thrust, pressing her back against the tile wall. She screamed — the fullness, the heat, the wetness everywhere — his thick cock stretching her, filling her completely.

— Fuck, — he groaned. — So tight. So wet. My marked little mamacita.

He fucked her against the wall, hard and deep, the water streaming over them, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy with wet, slick sounds. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, moaning into his mouth.

— You taste like me, — he growled against her lips. — You drank from me, and now I taste me on you. You’re mine, mamacita. Inside and out.

— Yours, — she gasped. — All yours, papacito.

He pounded into her harder, his cock hitting deep, and she came — her pussy convulsing around his shaft, her scream echoing off the tile. He kept going, driving her into a second orgasm, his own release building.

— I’m gonna come, — he groaned. — Where do you want it, mamacita?

— In me! — she screamed. — Come in me, papacito! Fill me up!

He drove deep and came, his cock pulsing inside her, shooting thick hot cum into her pussy. She moaned at the feeling — the heat, the fullness, his seed mixing with everything else, all of it his, all of it hers.

They stood under the water, holding each other, his cock still inside her, both of them shaking.

— Color, — he whispered.

— Green, — she breathed, laughing softly. — Papacito — that was — I don’t even have words —

— Good words or bad words? — he asked, smiling.

— The best words, — she said, kissing him. — The best everything.

They stayed in the shower until the water started to cool, just holding each other, kissing lazily. He washed her hair with gentle hands, soaped her body carefully, treating her like she was precious — because she was.

— Did I miss anything? — he asked quietly, checking in the way he always did. — Any yellow? Anything you didn’t like?

— Nothing, — she said. — Every second was perfect, papacito. I felt — she searched for the word — claimed. Like you marked me inside and out, and everyone would know I’m yours.

— You are mine, — he said simply. — And I’m yours. That’s how this works.

He toweled her off and carried her to bed — she was boneless, wrung out, glowing — and they curled up together under the blankets, her head on his chest.

— Can we do it again? — she murmured sleepily.

— Anytime you want, mamacita, — he said, kissing her forehead. — The shower’s always there.

She fell asleep smiling, dreaming of hot water and his hands and the feeling of being completely, thoroughly his.

A week later, she surprised him.

He came home from work to find the bathroom door open, the shower already running, steam billowing out. And Elena — naked, on her knees on the shower floor, looking up at him with those bright, hungry eyes.

— Get in here, papacito, — she said. — I need you.

He stripped fast and stepped into the shower, and she was on him immediately — her mouth on his cock, sucking him hard and deep, her hands on his thighs. He groaned, his head falling back, the water pounding down on them.

— Fuck, mamacita — he gasped. — What brought this on?

She pulled off him with a wet pop and looked up, grinning.

— I couldn’t stop thinking about it, — she said. — About drinking from you. About you marking me. I need it again, papacito. Please.

— Color? — he asked, his hand in her wet hair.

— Green, — she said. — Green, green, green.

He guided his cock back to her lips, and she opened wide — eager, enthusiastic — and he let go, the hot stream filling her mouth. She moaned and swallowed, her throat working, drinking him down, her hands gripping his thighs.

— That’s it, — he groaned. — Drink it all, mamacita. Take everything I give you.

She took everything — swallowing, moaning, her eyes locked on his — until he was done, and then she licked him clean, thoroughly, lovingly.

— Now mark me, — she whispered, standing up, pressing herself against him. — Everywhere, papacito. I want to be covered in you.

He turned her around, bent her over slightly, and marked her back — the hot stream running down her spine, over her ass. She moaned, her hands braced on her knees, trembling.

Then he turned her to face him and marked her front — her breasts, her belly, down to her pussy. She cried out, her head falling back, the sensation overwhelming — hot, intimate, possessive.

— Mine, — he growled, his hands on her marked breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. — All mine.

— Yours, — she gasped. — Always yours, papacito.

He lifted her against the wall — she wrapped her legs around his waist — and drove his cock into her pussy, hard and deep. She screamed, the tile cold against her back, his body hot against her front, his cock filling her completely.

— Fuck me, — she begged. — Fuck me hard, papacito!

He fucked her hard — his hips slamming against her, his cock driving in and out of her pussy, the water streaming over them. She was moaning wildly, her nails digging into his shoulders, her pussy clenching around his shaft.

— You like being fucked after I mark you? — he demanded, his teeth on her neck. — You like knowing you’re full of me, inside and out?

— Yes! — she screamed. — Yes, papacito, I love it!

He pounded into her relentlessly, and she came — hard, her pussy convulsing around his cock, her cry echoing off the tile. He came with her, his cock pulsing deep inside her, filling her with his hot cum.

They stood under the water, holding each other, both shaking, both laughing softly.

— Color, — he whispered.

— Green, — she said. — Forever green, papacito.

That night, in bed, she curled against him and said what she had been thinking all week:

— I love that we can do this, — she said quietly. — The weird stuff. The stuff I’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone else. I love that I can tell you anything, and you just — you get it. You make it ours.

He held her tighter, his lips against her hair.

— There’s nothing you could tell me that would scare me off, mamacita, — he said. — You’re my wife. Your desires are my desires. Whatever you want to try, we try it — together, safe, ours.

— I love you, papacito, — she whispered.

— I love you, mamacita, — he said. — My marked, claimed, beautiful girl.

She fell asleep in his arms, safe and satisfied, already dreaming of the next shower — the steam, the water, his hands, his mouth, the golden rain that marked her as his.

And he held her all night, the man who would give her anything — everything — because she was his, and he was hers, and that was the only rule that really mattered.

The next time, she wanted the bathtub.

— More water, — she explained, grinning, as she ran the bath — hot, deep, steaming. — I want to be surrounded by it. By you.

He watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, smiling.

— Get in, mamacita, — he said.

She sank into the hot water with a sigh, spreading her thighs, and he knelt beside the tub, his eyes dark on her body.

— What do you want tonight? — he asked.

— I want to watch you, — she said. — Stand over the tub. I want to see it. I want to feel it rain down on me.

His breath caught — and he stood, stripping off his clothes, his cock already thick and hard. He stepped to the edge of the tub, towering over her, and she looked up at him — her husband, her papacito, completely unashamed — and spread her arms wide.

— Mark me, — she whispered.

He let go, and she watched — mesmerized — as the golden stream arced down onto her breasts, splashing hot across her nipples, running down her belly, into the bathwater. She moaned, her hands sliding over her wet breasts, rubbing it into her skin.

— Fuck, — he groaned. — You’re so fucking hot, mamacita. Look at you —

She sat up in the tub, water sloshing, and took his cock into her mouth — still wet from marking her — sucking him deep, her tongue swirling around the head. He groaned, his hands fisting in her wet hair.

— Suck me, — he ordered. — Suck your papacito’s cock, mamacita.

She sucked him with everything she had — deep, hungry, devoted — her throat working around his thickness, her hands gripping his thighs. The bathwater lapped at her breasts as she bobbed on his cock, and he was throbbing in her mouth, swelling, getting close.

— I’m gonna come, — he warned, his voice strained. — Where —

She pulled off him and looked up, her lips glistening.

— On me, — she said. — Mark my tits with it, papacito. Come on me.

He groaned and stroked himself — once, twice — and came, thick white ropes shooting across her breasts, landing hot on her skin, dripping down into the water. She moaned at the sight — at the feeling — rubbing it into her breasts with her hands.

— Beautiful, — he breathed. — So fucking beautiful.

He climbed into the tub behind her — the water sloshing over the sides — and pulled her back against his chest. His cock was already hardening again against her lower back, insatiable.

— My turn to mark you properly, — he murmured in her ear, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts — still covered in his cum — kneading them, his thumbs brushing her nipples.

She moaned, arching back against him, and his hand slid lower — through the water, between her thighs — finding her pussy, already swollen and dripping.

— Spread your legs, mamacita, — he said.

She spread wide, and he pushed two fingers deep inside her, stroking her inner walls, his thumb circling her clit. She cried out, her head falling back against his shoulder, the water lapping at her chin.

— Papacito — she gasped. — Fuck —

He fingered her relentlessly — deep, hard, his thumb grinding her clit — until she was sobbing, her hips bucking in the water.

— I’m gonna come — she cried. — Papacito —

— Come for me, — he ordered. — Come in the water, mamacita. Let go.

She came — her pussy convulsing around his fingers, her cry echoing off the bathroom walls, the bathwater churning around them. He held her through it, his fingers still moving, drawing it out until she was shaking and pushing weakly at his wrist.

— Too much — she whispered. — Papacito —

He turned her around in the tub — she straddled his lap, facing him — and guided his thick cock to her entrance. She sank down onto him slowly, taking every inch, her pussy stretching around his shaft, the water sloshing around their joined bodies.

— Fuck, — they both groaned.

She rode him — slow at first, then faster, her breasts bouncing in his face, the water churning. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she cried out, riding him harder, her pussy gripping his cock.

— You feel incredible, — he groaned, his hands on her ass, guiding her, slamming her down onto him. — So tight, so wet —

— Papacito — she gasped, her arms around his neck. — I’m gonna come again —

— Come, — he commanded. — Come on my cock, mamacita.

She shattered — her pussy clenching around his shaft, her scream raw — and he came with her, his cock pulsing deep inside her, filling her with his hot cum, his groan muffled against her breast.

They stayed in the cooling water, holding each other, his cock still inside her, both of them spent and shaking and laughing softly.

— Color, — he whispered.

— Green, — she said, kissing him. — The greenest green, papacito.

He drained the tub, ran the shower hot, and washed her — gently, thoroughly, reverently — rinsing away every trace, kissing her clean shoulders, her throat, her mouth.

— I love you, mamacita, — he murmured.

— I love you, papacito, — she said. — My everything.

In bed, she curled against him, her body humming, her heart full.

— Best shower ever, — she murmured sleepily.

— Best wife ever, — he said, and held her until she fell asleep — marked, claimed, and completely, blissfully his.

From then on, the shower was theirs — their place, their ritual, their secret. Sometimes it was just a shower. Sometimes it was golden rain, and marking, and drinking, and the hottest, wettest, most intimate thing two people could share. Either way, it was theirs — planned in daylight, executed in steam and heat, sealed with a safeword that never needed using and a color that was always, always green.

— Golden rain, — she whispered to him once, curled against his chest, half-asleep. — That’s what I’ll call it. Our golden rain.

— Our golden rain, — he agreed, kissing her forehead. — Forever, mamacita.

— Forever, papacito, — she said, and drifted off smiling — claimed, marked, and loved beyond measure.