I fan myself, my core tightening and nipples hardening just at the thought.
The tension has to go somewhere, and let’s just say, the shower head and I have become better acquainted as of late.
Right now, I definitely hear its siren song.
Slowly lifting from the cushy fabric of my desk chair, I make my way to the bathroom with a purpose that screamsrelease.
Release from my new workout shirt.
From my yoga pants.
My hairband.
Fromeverything.
When the water has warmed up, I step into the stream, allowing it to consume me. The warmth rushes across my neck and back, cascading slowly over my swollen breasts and stomach.
Closing my eyes, I trace the soft curve of my breasts, letting my fingernails gently brush across my nipples. I hiss from the contact, wishing I was back in Nocté—wishing it was his hands running across my chest again.
Visions of him flutter behind my eyelids—his sandy brown hair that stood up, messy and tousled thanks to my fingers. His dark mask firmly in place the whole night.
I’d never be able to spot him in public—even though I’ve been looking.
Truthfully, the only thing that would give him away is the small tribal tattoo in the space beneath his belly button and just above his happy trail.
It’s unlikely I’ll ever witness him running around the lakewalk with that part of himself exposed.
I shiver again at the memory and drop my fingertips to circle the bundle of nerves that desperately need release.
The image shifts as I let my fingertips roam my wet skin. Instead of the man from Nocté, it’s Adam’s hands touching.
Pulling.
Playing.
His strong arms, the stability that comes so easily from him.
What would his kisses feel like?
Would he be able to help me forget my experience at Nocté? Or will that mystery man haunt me for the rest of my life?
My lips curve into a smile as I ponderbothof their hands on me.
That’s enough to send me tipping over the edge.
My orgasm rips through me and it’s a struggle to stay upright as my legs quake and my gasps echo against the shower walls.
For the longest time, I stand there, letting the aftershocks roll through me.
Last Friday has ruined me for vanilla sex.
But Nocté isn’t the only reason I’m restless for more.
I make a mental note to maybe,possibly,thank Adam for the unintentional inspiration—or bill him for the water usage.
* * *
Morning greets me with the tenderness of a jackhammer, despite falling into sleep’s embrace swiftly after my aquatic bliss.