Concluding that I need a good soak, I head into my bedroom. Entering my ensuite bathroom, I turn on the tap and set the temperature to warm. While it fills, I grab a bath bomb and drop it in the tub. Once it’s filled, I ditch my clothes and step into the bathtub.
A loud sigh escapes me as my muscles start to loosen. I let my head fall back on the edge of the tub and shut my eyes. Relaxing my shoulders, I let the warm water work its magic on everymuscle in my body.
My mind wanders to the content I shot today and how I can creatively use it to make engaging posts and show a piece of Ezra that his fans would adore. I’ve seen how he hides his true self when on camera or with fans. He’s guarded.
I can’t blame him. I’ve seen the toll fame takes firsthand, even if I’m only experiencing it through Roman. People can be insensitive and cruel, thoughtless with their words and actions.
That’s why seeing Ezra in his element and relaxed on ice when no one was around was refreshing and felt intimate for some reason I can’t comprehend. The way he glides over the ice is magical, making the puck dance to his beats, making it move wherever he wants like a puppeteer.
I sigh when I think of how his big, veiny hands handle the stick. I wonder how he’ll handle me. Would he be gentle or rough?
Then I remember how he was so patient with me, never once complaining when teaching me to skate. But I also remember how his hard eyes and gruff voice were when we were arguing. I think he’d be both gentle and rough.
Just like his hands that were holding mine onthe ice. I wonder how his hands would feel gliding my body like he glides on that ice. My eyes pop open when I realize my right hand has found its way to my sex under water.
The rational part of me knows that I should stop before I do something I can’t take back. But the part that spent an entire day in Ezra’s hot and cold presence is frustrated and seeks relief. So, I succumb to my base desire and let my head fall back and imagine it’s his fingers touching me, coaxing pleasure out of me.
He parts my folds with his rough and thick digits as his wavy obsidian hair falls over his forehead. Hovering over me, he plays with my clit and pinches it, eliciting a moan that I try to cover by biting my lips.
“Let me hear those screams,” he whispers in my ear, licking the shell of it.
Like a puppet in his hands, I dance to his tune and let my erotic voices out for the world to hear, even though in the back of my mind, I realize it’s just me at home.
Teasing me, he plays with my slick folds. “God, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.
Barely hanging on by the thread of my sanity, I beg. “Please…”
Then suddenly, without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside my pussy, stretching me wide, leaving me to my devices to accommodate him. I move in tandem with him, fucking myself on his fingers like a cat in heat as obscene sounds escape my lips.
“You can take one more, can’t you?” he asks, but it’s a rhetorical question because he adds one more finger in my pussy as his thumb flicks my nub, making my breath hitch as my lips part. My hand circles his wrist, intending to pull, but pushing his fingers knuckle deep instead.
“You take me so well, Kaeli.” His gruff voice tickles the hair on my forehead as a shudder rolls down my body.
My hips buck when he keeps thrusting his fingers, edging me and bringing me to the brink of an orgasm. My wet folds clench around his fingers as the knot in my belly grows tighter, begging to be released.
“I’m close…” I moan, my body bucking, hips shamelessly grinding on his fingers as I flutter my eyes open.
I find his dark gaze locked on me, drinking me in as he continues his ministration, raising his free hand and groping my breast and pinchingthe diamond-hard nipple.
The pleasure is too much to hold back my release, and as if he senses it, his next words lead me to it. “Come for me, Feather,” he growls, and that’s when the knot in my belly finally breaks free, and I shatter like a broken glass–everywhere and into a million little pieces.
I ride the orgasm on his fingers until every last drop finds its way out of my pussy, and my body ceases trembling. After a few minutes in the post-orgasm bliss, I come to my senses, and Ezra’s figure disappears like fog on a sunny morning.
Opening my eyes, I find myself in the bathtub–water now cooling down–as my chest heaves like I ran a marathon, and strands of hair stick to my forehead.
Pulling my fingers out, I look at them as if they have committed the grave sin of offending the Gods. “What the fuck did I do?” I mutter in the loneliness of my home.
Groaning, I get out of the tub and take a quick shower to clean myself.
Standing in front of the mirror and wiping the condensation away, I dry myself with the towel. I can never look at Ezra the same again.
Stomping in my place, I whine. At least my muscles aren’t coiled tight anymore.
“Of course, they aren’t. I helped,” Ezra says, winking at me.
Startled to see his figure in my mirror, yelping, I jump and turn to look behind me, only to find the painted walls of my house. Clutching the towel to my chest, I look around myself and find no one but me.
Realizing that he was a figment of my wild, overactive imagination, I put my hands on the counter and slump, letting my head fall between my shoulders. “Jesus Christ, I’mscrewed,” I mutter as the reality of my action weighs down on me.
