I read them again like I always do.
Apologies. Check-ins. Soft words.
The kind of messages that sound like the start of another fantasy. My mind drifts and turns those apologies into hands and mouth, tongue and teeth, then thick cock and rough command.
The sheets feel cool on my bare skin, but heat sparks low in my belly.
Tom's face flashes through my mind, his dry voice and empty compliments, and the comparison is almost insulting.
My thighs press together on instinct. Gabe is the one my body remembers.
The one who made me feel wanted.
The one who fucked me like my curves were a gift.
I try to ignore it, but the memory pulls harder. His hands gripping my hips. His cock stretching me full. The mirror catching every thrust.
The way he yanked my hair and made me hold his stare while I came around him.
The sound of his growl in my ear as he drove into me again and again until I broke open for him.
My breath picks up. My hand moves down without thought, fingers tracing the soft curve of my stomach before slipping lower to part my thighs.
I am already wet from the memory alone. I circle my clit, imagining his thumb there instead, firm and deliberate while he fills me deep.
"Look at yourself," his voice whispers through my memory.
I arch off the mattress, slide two fingers inside my slick heat, and curl them the way he did. My walls grip tight around the intrusion, greedy for more.
My other hand cups my breast, kneading and pinching the nipple until it aches.
The fantasy sharpens: his hips slamming against my ass, his balls hitting me with every drive, our bodies locked together in the mirror's reflection while I scream his name.
"Fuck me deeper, sir," I whisper, pushing my fingers faster, clit throbbing under each rub.
The orgasm hits quick and sharp, my pussy pulsing around my fingers in tight waves.
I ride it out with shaky breaths, but the high fades fast and leaves a hollow throb behind. It is not his weight.
Not his scent. Not his voice in my ear. It is not enough.
Tom's name pops into my head, bland and available, the easiest choice if I wanted something convenient. The ache rolls through me again.
I slide out of bed and stand in front of the full-length mirror. My tits rise and fall, nipples hard and sensitive. My stomach curves softly, hips sitting wide and strong as my thighs tremble from release.
I look flushed and hungry, every curve bold and honest. Gabe would have dropped to his knees for this view.
Phone in hand, I frame the shot with one hand cupping my breast, the nipple pulled tight. I look like a woman who wantsto be taken, who is done pretending she does not crave being ruined again.
I attach the picture to the chat thread and type the truth that burns through me, feeling better now.
Freshly creamed but starving for cock. Come over.
My cheeks heat as I hit send.
Before I can rethink my life's choices, I exit the chat to catch my breath, heart thudding.
Then it hits me.
