I crank the shower to scalding, stepping under the spray as steam billows up, thick and enveloping like a forbidden touch.
It ghosts over my skin, teasing, almost like fingertips—soft, insistent. I brace one hand against the cool tile wall, dropping my head forward, water pounding my shoulders as I grit my teeth.
Fuck. I'm hard already, my cock throbbing heavy between my legs, swelling at the mere flash of her in my mind.
Her hands on me during that gala dance, her body pressed close, warm and yielding. It pisses me off how quick it hits, how my body betrays me like this.
I don't do this—fantasize, obsess.
Sex has always been straightforward: a need met, tension released, forgotten.
Efficient. But Lila? She's wrecked that control.
She's all contrasts that drive me insane—sassy and soft, fearless and fragile.
The way she meets my gaze without flinching, challenges me with that sharp wit, but melts when I touch her. God, I want to pin her down, test that fire, see if she'd push back or surrender.
Some primal urge surges through me, hot and demanding, imagining her under me, that composure cracking wide open.
She was so eager in that alley after the gala—pliant one second, fierce the next, like she was fighting the pull as hard as I was.
Her whimpers, soft and needy, echo in my head now, fueling the ache. I growl low in my throat, wrapping my fist around my shaft—thick, veined, pulsing in my grip.
The first stroke is rough, deliberate, from base to tip, and I hiss at the jolt of pleasure that shoots up my spine.
Water cascades over my knuckles, slicking the motion, making it glide easier as I pump harder, tighter.
I don't picture her hands on me; that's too tame.
No, I imagine breaking her—watching that professional mask shatter, her exhaling in surrender, green eyes glazing with raw need.
"Please, Hale," she'd beg, voice breathless, not because I demand it, but because she can't hold back anymore. I'd be the one to do that to her, the one she craves without words.
My breath comes ragged now, chest heaving as I slow my strokes, drawing it out, torturing myself.
The head of my cock swells, sensitive under my thumb as I circle it, smearing the bead of pre-cum that's leaked out.
It throbs in response, hot and insistent, and I imagine her instead—those full lips parting, her tongue flicking out to taste me, eyes locked on mine with that mix of defiance and desire.
She'd take me deep, I know it, that determination of hers pushing her to swallow every inch, her throat working around me as she moans, the vibrations humming straight through my balls.
"Fuck," I mutter, voice gravelly, echoing off the tiles.
My free hand slams against the wall for leverage, muscles bunching in my arm as I speed up, fist flying now—up and down, twisting at the crown, the friction building like a blaze I can't contain.
The water beats down my back, stinging like a whip, heightening every sensation.
My balls tighten, drawing up, that coil in my gut winding tighter, hotter.
I picture her on her knees right here, water sluicing over her pale skin, freckles standing out like stars, blonde hair plastered dark and wild.
She'd gaze up through wet lashes, pouty and fierce, hands digging into my thighs as she sucks me deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue swirling along the underside.
The fantasy tips me over—her imagined moans vibrating around me, her eagerness matching my roughness.
A low, guttural groan rips from my chest as I come hard, spilling over my fist in thick ropes, pulsing with each wave of release.
My hips jerk forward involuntarily, chasing the high, breath sawing out as stars burst behind my eyelids.
