The bathroom light hums when I turn it on. I start the shower and let the water run while I undo my braid. Steam creeps into the mirror, softening the edges of the room as I step under the spray. The heat hits my shoulders and runs down my back, easing out the last of the day’s tension.
The smell of soap fills the room as I stand there a little longer than I need to, letting the warmth work through my sore muscles and quiet my mind. By the time I step out and wrap the towel around myself, the thoughts that followed me home are pushed to the back where I can pretend they don’t matter.
I walk back into the bedroom and drop the towel to pull on an old nightshirt and a pair of soft cotton panties. I hang the towel over the chair without thinking and crawl into bed, turning onto my side and pulling the blanket up to my shoulder.
The ceiling fan whirs overhead, and somewhere outside, a car passes, the sound fading quickly. I lie there for a few minutes, letting my breathing even out and the quiet ease back in. But even with my eyes closed, he’s still at the edge of my thoughts, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
My fingers curl into the pillow as my mind keeps going back to him, standing in the doorway like he had nowhere else to be. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the memory of how he looked, how he didn’t have to try. Heat rises slowly in my chest, spreading before I can stop it, my heart beating a little faster.
I draw one knee up, bracing against the sheets, the movement sending a wave of awareness through me that makes me release a quiet breath.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur, because it is. I don’t know a thing about him. Don’t know if he’s single, if he’d even look twice at me, or if he’s just a man who walked into the shelter today and won’t think about it again.
But my hand moves on its own, slipping beneath the blanket. My fingertips graze the hem of my shirt, then dip lower, slidingunder the elastic band of my cotton panties. The skin there is already warm and slightly damp.
In the darkness of my bedroom, the fantasy takes over. It starts innocently enough, just my mind filling in what I didn’t see. I imagine the fabric peeling away from those shoulders, revealing the full expanse of the artwork on his skin. I picture the muscles in his back rippling as he moves, and the definition of his arms as he tosses the shirt aside.
Then, the fantasy spirals, slipping its leash. It’s not just him stripping anymore. It’s him strippingme.
I imagine Alexei standing at the foot of my bed, those ice-blue eyes locked on mine as he stalks forward. He doesn’t ask, he takes. In my mind, those big, inked hands grip the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head. The air hits my skin, making my nipples pebble. I’m exposed and vulnerable, the power radiating off him intoxicating.
My middle finger slides through my folds, finding the slick wetness that has gathered there. I’m not just wet. I’m throbbing, aching with need. I circle my clit slowly, teasing myself, matching the pace of the imaginary Alexei in my head.
In the fantasy, he pushes me back onto the mattress. He doesn't waste time. His mouth is on my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin. One of his hands palms my breast, squeezing roughly, his thumb dragging over the nipple until it’s a tight, painful peak. I gasp into the quiet room, the sound loud and shameless.
“You're already soaked for me,”the imaginary Alexei growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest.
I nod frantically in the dark, my hips bucking off the mattress to meet my own hand. I slide a finger inside, pretending it’s his thick cock stretching me open. He feels huge and overwhelming. In my mind, he’s kissing his way down my body, nipping at my ribs, licking the skin of my stomach until he reaches the waistband of my panties. He doesn't pull them down. He rips them aside, the fabric tearing in his haste.
The thought of his strength, that raw violence, sends a shockwave straight to my core. I add a second finger, curling them upward to find that spongy spot inside that makes my toes curl. I’m panting now, the blanket kicked halfway down the bed as I writhe against the sheets.
He moves between my thighs in the fantasy, his broad shoulders forcing my legs wider apart. I can feel his hot breath against my pussy. He looks up at me, his eyes locked on mine, the tattoos on his shoulders pulling and flexing as he moves. Then he dives in.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed. He isn't gentle. He licks me with long, flat strokes of his tongue, devouring me like I’m his last meal. He sucks my clit into his mouth, humming around it, the vibration shooting sparks of electricity up my spine. My hands fly to my head, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling hard as the sensation builds to an unbearable peak.
“Alexei,” I whisper into the darkness, the name falling from my lips like a prayer.
He thrusts his tongue inside me, fucking me with it, his nose bumping against my clit with every movement. It’s filthy and wet and so unlike my real life. My imaginary Alexei eats me like he’s starving, gripping my thighs so hard I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
I pump my fingers faster, the wet sounds of my arousal filling the room. I’m so close. The pressure is coiling tight in my belly, a spring ready to snap. I grind my palm against my clit, seeking that final friction.
In my mind, he rises, his face glistening with my juices. He crawls up my body, lining his hips up with mine. I can feel the hard, heavy length of his cock pressing against my entrance. He’s huge, thick, and veined, and I want him to ruin me.
“Please,” I beg, my voice breathless and thin. “Fuck me.”
He pushes forward in one long, relentless stroke. I scream, feeling myself stretched to the limit, filled so completely it borders on pain. He sets a punishing rhythm, withdrawing almost all the way before slamming back in, his hips slapping against mine. The bed shakes, the headboard banging against the wall, but I don’t care. I dig my nails into his back, tracing the lines of his tattoos, and holding on for dear life.
“Take it,”he grunts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest.“Take all of it.”
The fantasy crashes over me. I see his face contorted in pleasure, feel the weight of him crushing me into the mattress, and smell the scent of sex and musk. My body tenses, every muscle locking up as the orgasm tears through me. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, my hips jerking erratically against my hand.
My pussy clenches around my fingers, pulsing rhythmically as the waves of pleasure roll through me, starting deep in my core and radiating out to my fingertips and toes. I moan long and low, a sound of pure release, riding out the aftershocks as my hand slows its movements.
For a long moment, I lie still, my chest heaving, the room spinning slightly in the aftermath. The air cools against my skin, causing a faint shiver as I pull my hand back and flatten it against the mattress beside me, grounding myself in something real. The image of Alexei lingers longer than it should, not clear anymore, just a thought I haven’t quite let go of yet.
I turn onto my side, pull the blanket up close, and try to slow my breathing, hoping my body will follow. The quiet fills the room again, and I let myself sink into it, pushing everything else back just enough to rest.
Sleep takes its time, coming in slow waves instead of all at once, and when it finally pulls me under, he’s still there in the back of my mind.
