No!
I open my eyes, blinking hard against the realization, trying to claw its way to the surface. But it's too late. The thought is there now, planted and growing.
What if it wasn't Logan I was imagining while I typed those messages to him?
What if, in my mind, I was talking to Matt?
The question hangs in the steam, unanswered, terrifying.
I let my head fall back against the porcelain, the coolness of it shocking against my overheated skin. My pulse thrums in my throat, my wrists, between my thighs. The water laps gently around me, but it feels heavier now, thicker, like it's holding me down—or holding me together.
I should not be thinking about Matt like that, but as the throb in my clit gets stronger, I can’t help but think that it’s not Logan I was projecting those messages toward after all.
As I rest my head back against the tub, closing my eyes, all I see is Matt. I want to fight it. I want it to stop. But right now, with the way my body is reacting, I just let it take me over.
In my mind, I’m not in my bathroom anymore. It’s darker, closer. A bedroom, maybe. Or nowhere at all—just heat and shadow and the feeling of being seen. Fully seen.
Matt’s voice echoes somewhere in my mind, low and rough, the way it gets when he’s tired or being honest about something that matters. “You don't know what that does to me.”
I can almost hear it. The texture of it. The weight.
My hand moves without permission, sliding down over my ribs, my stomach, the water parting around my fingers like silk. I’m slow about it, hesitant, like I’m testing whether this is real or if I’m going to wake up mortified in thirty seconds.
But I don't stop.
My fingertips graze lower, and a soft gasp escapes my lips before I can catch it. The sound echoes in the small space, mingling with James Arthur’s dulcet tones still pouring through my AirPods, and it feels obscene. Intimate. Like I’m sharing this moment with someone who isn’t here.
But he could be.
The thought slams into me, and suddenly the fantasy sharpens, gains edges, becomes something I can almost touch.
Matt’s hands instead of mine. Rough palms are skating up my thighs beneath the water, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His mouth at my neck, my shoulder, that spot just below my ear that makes me shiver. His breath, hot and uneven, syncing with mine.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I circle on my clit, my hips shifting restlessly under the surface. The water sloshes,bubbles breaking apart and reforming. I’m hyper-aware of every sensation—the heat, the slickness, the way my body is already responding to nothing more than the idea of him.
Oh God.
I let my head tip further back, my free hand gripping the edge of the tub like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored. My other hand moves with more confidence now, more purpose, and the pleasure builds in slow, rolling waves that start low and radiate outward. My skin is pebbling with goose bumps despite the warmth of the bath water.
In my mind, Matt leans over me, braced on his forearms, his face so close I can see the flecks of color in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that exists. Like he’s been wanting this—wantingme—and he’s finally letting himself have it.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, and even though it’s my imagination, it feels real enough to make my breath hitch.
“You,” I whisper into the empty room, the word barely audible over the music. “I want you.” The realization slamming into me like a tidal wave.
And just like that, the dam breaks.
The fantasy floods in fully now, no more half-formed images or fleeting thoughts. It’s vivid, overwhelming, and so detailed it makes my chest ache. His weight presses me down into soft sheets. The scrape of stubble against my inner thigh. The way he’d say my name—Alex—like it’s something sacred, something he’s been holding onto.
My fingers move faster on my clit, chasing the building pressure, the tightening coil low in my belly. My breathing is ragged, coming in short, desperate bursts. The candles flicker wildly, shadows dancing across the tile, and I feel like I’m floating and drowning all at once.
Matt.His name is a mantra in my head, repeating with every heartbeat, every stroke.Matt, Matt, Matt.
I imagine his mouth on mine, hungry and demanding. The way he’d kiss me like he’s been starving for it. The way his hands would grip my hips, my waist, pulling me closer, closer, until there's no space left between us. Until I can feel every inch of him, hard and wanting andreal.
The pleasure crests suddenly, violently, and I gasp—a sharp, broken sound that tears from my throat before I can stop it. My body arches, my back lifting off the tub, water spilling over the sides and splashing onto the floor. The climax crashes through me in waves, each one stronger than the last, stealing my breath, my thoughts, everything except the feeling ofhim—Matt—and the way he’s completely undone me without even being here.
I ride it out, trembling, my hand still moving in slow, gentle circles as the aftershocks ripple through me. My thighs shake. My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. And for a long, perfect moment, there’s nothing but the sensation—pure and consuming and absolutely devastating.
