The bathtub was full, steam rising, and Elena sat on the edge in a white tank top and nothing else, her feet in the water, watching Damion. She was twenty-eight, he was thirty-two, and tonight was the night she’d been asking for: the golden night, no shame, no hesitation, just the two of them and the water.

— Rules, — he said, standing over her, already naked, his cock half-hard. — You tell me what you want, exactly, and I give it to you. Safeword’s red, like always. But I don’t think you’ll need it. Will you?

— No, — she whispered, her pussy already wet, her heart pounding. — I want all of it. Cover me. Make me drink.

He smiled, slow and dark, and stepped into the tub, the water sloshing, and sat back against the slope, and pulled her in with him. She settled between his legs, her back against his chest, the hot water lapping at her breasts, her white tank top going translucent, clinging.

— Take it off, — he said, and she pulled the tank top over her head, and dropped it on the bathroom floor, and she was naked in the water, her breasts floating, her nipples hard.

He soaped his hands and washed her, slowly, his palms on her breasts, his fingers on her nipples, rolling and pinching, and she moaned, arching in the water. He washed down her stomach, between her legs, his fingers sliding through her folds, and she spread her thighs, and he pushed two fingers into her, deep, and she cried out, the water amplifying everything.

— You want my piss, — he said, his fingers working inside her. — Say it.

— I want your piss, — she whispered, her face flaming, her pussy clenching. — I want you to cover me. I want to drink you.

— Good girl.

He stood, water streaming off his body, and she knelt in the tub, looking up at him, and he positioned his cock over her breasts, and he let go, and the hot stream hit her chest, splashing over her breasts, running down her stomach, and she gasped, the heat and the taboo of it making her pussy throb.

— Open your mouth, — he said.

She opened, and he directed the stream into her mouth, and she drank, the hot salty fluid filling her mouth, and she swallowed, and swallowed, her throat working, and her pussy was pulsing, her clit throbbing, and she moaned around the stream.

— That’s it, — he groaned, his cock hardening in his hand. — Drink me. Take it all.

She drank until he was done, and then she licked his cock clean, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting him, and he groaned, fully hard now, thick and throbbing.

— My turn, — she whispered, and she stood, and straddled his lap, and positioned herself over his chest, and she let go, her own stream hitting his chest, running down his stomach, and he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, his cock hard against her ass.

— Fuck, — he breathed. — You’re so hot like this. So filthy. So mine.

She finished, and she slid down, and took his cock in her mouth, deep, her throat working, tasting herself and him together, and she sucked him hard, her cheeks hollowing, and he groaned, his hands in her wet hair.

— In the water, — he said, pulling her up. — I want you in the water.

She turned around, her back to him, and he pulled her down onto his cock, her pussy sinking onto his thick shaft in the hot water, stretching around him, and she moaned, the water and the fullness together almost too much. He gripped her hips and moved her, up and down, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy, the water sloshing, splashing over the edge.

— Oh fuck, — she gasped, riding him, her breasts bouncing, the water lapping at her clit with every movement.

He reached around and rubbed her clit, and she came, her pussy clenching around his cock in the water, her come mixing with the bath, and she screamed, her body shaking, and he kept moving her, his cock throbbing inside her.

— Again, — he growled. — Come again for me.

She came again, sobbing, her walls pulsing around him, and he groaned, and stood, lifting her, water streaming, and he bent her over the edge of the tub, her cheek against the cold tile, her ass in the air, and he drove into her from behind, his cock pounding into her pussy, deep and hard, the water sloshing violently.

— You like being my dirty girl? — he growled, spanking her wet ass. — My soaking wet slut?

— Yes! — she screamed. — Yes, I’m yours, I’m your dirty girl —

She came, violently, her pussy convulsing around his cock, and he roared, and came inside her, his cock jerking, hot thick spurts filling her, mixing with the water, and she felt every pulse, her walls milking him.

He pulled out and turned her around, and pushed his cock into her mouth, and she sucked him, tasting the water and their come, her throat working, and he came again, smaller this time, in her mouth, and she swallowed, and licked him clean.

— One more, — he whispered, his eyes dark. — The full cover. Like you asked.

She lay back in the tub, spread, her breasts above the water, and he stood over her, and he let go, and the hot stream covered her — her breasts, her stomach, her pussy — and she moaned, her hands on her own breasts, her fingers on her nipples, her pussy throbbing, and she came, her body shaking in the water, covered in him, soaked, his.

He climbed in with her, and pulled her against his chest, and held her, the water warm around them, both of them breathing hard.

— Check in, — he murmured.

— Green, — she whispered, grinning. — Soaking wet. So green.

He laughed, and kissed her, tasting himself on her lips, and she kissed him back, tasting herself on his, and they stayed in the cooling water, tangled, wrecked, his.

They drained the tub and he turned on the shower, hot and pounding, and they stood under it together, and he washed her with slow, thorough hands — her hair, her breasts, her stomach, between her legs, his fingers gentle on her swollen pussy — and she washed him, her hands soapy on his chest, his cock, and he hardened under her hands, and she smiled, and dropped to her knees on the shower floor, and took him in her mouth.

The water pounded down on her back as she sucked him, deep and slow, her throat taking him, her tongue lashing his shaft, and he groaned, his hands in her wet hair, his cock throbbing in her mouth. She pulled back and looked up at him, water streaming down her face, and she opened her mouth, and he understood, and he let go, the hot stream hitting her tongue, filling her mouth, and she drank, swallowing, her throat working, her pussy pulsing, and she moaned, and the sound vibrated around his cock.

— Fuck, — he groaned. — You’re incredible. You’re so fucking incredible.

She finished drinking and went back to sucking, her mouth working his shaft, her tongue swirling around the head, and he came in her mouth, hot thick spurts, and she swallowed, and swallowed, milking him dry, and stood, and kissed him, and he lifted her, and pushed his cock into her against the shower wall, the tile cold on her back, the water hot on their skin, and he fucked her there, deep and hard, her legs around his waist, her pussy stretching around him, both of them moaning.

— Come for me, — he growled, his hand between them, rubbing her clit. — Come in the shower.

She came, her pussy clenching around his cock, her come washing away in the water, her body shaking, and he came inside her, groaning, his cock pulsing, filling her, and they stood under the water, holding each other, wrecked.

He dried her with a big towel, gentle, careful, and carried her to bed, and they lay tangled in the clean sheets, her head on his chest, both of them breathing slowly.

— Best golden night ever? — he murmured.

— Best night ever, — she said. — I love how you don’t flinch. How you just give me what I ask for.

— I’ll always give you what you ask for, — he said. — As long as you keep asking.

She fell asleep in his arms, clean and wrecked and his, dreaming of water.

In the morning she woke up first, and she slipped into the bathroom, and when he came in, sleepy and naked, she was waiting, kneeling on the bath mat, looking up at him.

— Morning drink? — she whispered, opening her mouth.

He groaned, and gave it to her, the hot morning stream filling her mouth, and she drank, swallowing, her throat working, her pussy already wet, and when he was done, she took his cock in her mouth, morning-hard and thick, and sucked him deep, and he came in her mouth, and she swallowed, and stood, and kissed him, and he bent her over the sink, and pushed into her from behind, and fucked her hard and fast, her moans echoing off the tile, and she came, her pussy clenching, and he came inside her, and they got ready for work sticky and grinning, and she wore her secret smile all day.

That night he ran the bath again, and she sat on the edge in the white tank top, her feet in the water, and he stood over her, naked, and she looked up at him, and said, again, please, and he smiled that slow dark smile, and stepped into the tub, and the golden night began again.

The second golden night, he did it differently. He filled the tub, and he had her lie back in it, her head on the slope, her body spread under the water, and he knelt beside the tub, and he ate her pussy first, his mouth under the water, his tongue working her folds, the water amplifying every sensation, and she moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the tub, her hips rising.

He came up for air, grinning, water dripping off his face, and went back down, his tongue circling her clit, sucking it, and she came, her pussy throbbing against his mouth under the water, her come clouding the bath, and she screamed, her body shaking.

— Again, — he said, surfacing, breathing hard. — I want to watch you come under the water.

He went down again, and she came again, sobbing, her hands in his hair, holding him there, her pussy pulsing, and he drank it all, the water and her come together.

Then he stood, and pulled her up, and turned her around, and bent her over the edge of the tub, her upper body out of the water, her ass in the air, and he drove his cock into her from behind, his hips pounding, the water sloshing violently, splashing over the sides onto the floor.

— Oh god, oh god, — she gasped, her cheek against the wet tile, her pussy stretching around his thick shaft.

He reached around and rubbed her clit, hard and fast, and she came, her walls convulsing around his cock, her come mixing with the bathwater, and he groaned, and came inside her, his cock jerking, hot thick spurts, and she felt every pulse.

He pulled out and she turned, and knelt in the water, and looked up at him, and opened her mouth, and he gave her the full stream, hot and strong, and she drank deeply, her throat working, her hands on her own breasts, pinching her nipples, her pussy throbbing, and she came, just from drinking, her body shaking in the water, moaning around the stream.

— That’s my girl, — he groaned, his cock hard again in his hand. — My soaking wet girl.

She took his cock in her mouth, deep, her throat squeezing him, and she sucked him hard, her tongue lashing, and he came in her mouth, and she swallowed, and licked him clean, and he pulled her up, and kissed her deeply, tasting everything, and she kissed him back, and they held each other in the water, wrecked and laughing.

— I love you, — she whispered. — I love that I can ask you for this. I love that you say yes.

— I’ll always say yes, — he said. — As long as it’s us.

They drained the tub and showered, and he washed her gently, and she washed him, and they went to bed, clean and tangled, and she fell asleep in his arms, dreaming of golden water.

The golden nights became a ritual. Once a month, the white tank top, the full tub, the steam. Sometimes he covered her. Sometimes she covered him. Sometimes they just drank, kneeling, laughing, the taboo turned to play. And every time, afterward, he held her, and checked in, and she whispered green, soaking wet, green, and he kissed her, and carried her to bed, and they fell asleep tangled, hers and his, forever.

One night, in the tub, her head on his chest, the water cooling around them, she told him the golden nights were her favorite because they were the most honest — no hiding, no shame, just want, given and taken. He was quiet for a moment, his hand stroking her wet hair, and then he said, that’s what all of it is. Every night. Just want, given and taken. And she cried, a little, happy tears mixing with the bathwater, and pulled him down, and kissed him, and said, again, and he smiled, and the water sloshed, and the golden night went on.

Years later, they remodeled the bathroom, and he insisted on the biggest tub that would fit, deep enough for two, with a handheld showerhead she picked out herself. The contractor asked why they needed such a big tub, and Damion said, with a perfectly straight face, we like baths, and Elena had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

The first night with the new tub, she wore the white tank top — threadbare now, sacred — and sat on the edge, her feet in the water, and he stood over her, naked, and she looked up at him, and twenty years of golden nights were in that look, and he smiled, and stepped in, and pulled her with him.

— Rules, — he said, his voice a little rougher with age, his hands just as sure. — You tell me what you want, exactly, and I give it to you.

— You know what I want, — she whispered. — It’s always the same. Cover me. Let me drink. Ruin me with water.

— Good girl.

He gave her everything, like always — the stream over her breasts, the drink, deep and long, her throat working, her pussy pulsing — and then he pulled her down onto his cock in the deep water, her pussy sinking onto his thick shaft, stretching, and she rode him slowly, the water lapping at her breasts, her hands on his shoulders, both of them moaning, older and slower and just as hungry.

She came, her pussy pulsing around him in the water, her body shaking, and he came inside her, groaning, his cock throbbing, and they held each other in the big new tub, the steam rising, and she whispered, best golden night ever, and he whispered, they’re all the best, and she knew he was right.

She kept the threadbare tank top in her drawer, washed and folded, sacred. And once a month, like clockwork, it came out, and the tub filled, and the steam rose, and she sat on the edge, her feet in the water, and waited for him. And he always came. And the water always rose. And she was always, always soaking wet — with water, with want, with him, forever.

Their daughter found the tank top once, when she was sixteen, digging through drawers for a sleepover shirt. She held it up — thin, white, worn soft as tissue — and asked what it was. Elena took it gently, folded it, put it back, and said, it’s mine, from a long time ago, it’s special. Her daughter rolled her eyes, teenagers, and forgot about it by dinner. But that night, Elena showed Damion, and they laughed until they cried, there in the bedroom, the sacred tank top between them.

— She has no idea, — Elena whispered.

— She never will, — Damion said, and pulled her close, and kissed her, and that night they didn’t need the tub, didn’t need the ritual — they just needed each other, his cock moving in her slowly in the dark, her pussy squeezing him softly, both of them moaning quietly so as not to wake the house, and they came together, soft and deep, and fell asleep tangled.

But the next month, the tank top came out, the tub filled, the steam rose, and she sat on the edge, her feet in the water, fifty years old and still his dirty girl, and he stood over her, naked, fifty-two and still her everything, and the golden night began again, like always, forever.

And when they were old, truly old, her hair silver, his hands spotted, they still ran the bath once a month, and she still sat on the edge, her feet in the water, and he still stood over her, and the golden night still began — slower now, gentler, his hands careful on her skin, her mouth careful on him — but the want was the same, the trust was the same, the green was the same. Soaking wet, at twenty-eight and at eighty-eight. His. Forever.

The tub, the steam, the want, the water — the golden thread running through their whole lives, tying every year together, drop by drop, until the very end.