The fantasy takes over completely—the one where she's not engaged, where years didn't pass, where there are no boundaries between us.
Where I can slide those shorts down her hips and remember the exact way she used to tremble under my hands. The way her nails would dig into my shoulders when I'd touch her just right. The way she'd arch into me, desperate and needy and so fucking perfect.
I imagine pushing her against the wall of this shower. Water streaming down her skin, her legs wrapped around my waist as Igrip her hips and bury myself inside her the way I've been dying to since the moment I saw her in that chapel doorway.
The tight, wet heat of her. The way she'd clench around me. The way she'd gasp my name, broken and desperate.
My hand moves faster, gripping harder.
I can almost feel it—her thighs trembling against my hips, her nails raking down my back, her breath hot against my neck as she'd whisper exactly what she wanted, how she wanted it, driving me out of my fucking mind.
The way she'd roll her hips, taking me deeper. The way she'd bite down on my shoulder when she got close. The way she'd come undone completely, falling apart around me while I buried my face in her neck and tried not to follow her over the edge too fast.
But I always did. She always destroyed my control.
I imagine fucking her hard against the tile. No patience left after years of wanting. Just raw need and desperation and the unbearable ache of finally, finally having her again.
Her voice breaking as she begs—"Please, Nate, please, I need?—"
I know exactly what she needs. I always did.
My hand moves frantically now, the fantasy so vivid I can almost taste the salt on her skin, almost hear the way she'd moan my name when I'd hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.
I want to fuck her until she forgets her own name. Want to make her come so many times she can't walk straight. Want to hear her scream my name the way she used to when I'd make her come on my tongue, my fingers, my cock—over and over until she was boneless and trembling and completely wrecked.
Want to watch her fall apart and know I'm the one who did it to her. That I'm the only one who knows exactly how to make her lose control.
Those shorts on my floor. Her thighs shaking. Her back arched. Her eyes locked on mine as I drive into her, deep and relentless, giving her exactly what she needs.
"Nate—oh god, Nate, right there, don't stop, please don't stop?—"
The memory of her voice, breathless and desperate, sends me over the edge.
I come hard, bracing one hand against the shower wall, her name on my lips even though I know I shouldn't, even though she's engaged, even though this is wrong.
But I can't stop.
The want is too much. Too consuming. Too fucking unbearable.
I stand there for a long moment, breathing hard, water pouring over me, reality crashing back in.
She's not mine.
She's engaged to someone else.
And I just jerked off in the shower fantasizing about fucking her senseless.
Yeah. Definitely going to hell.
No question about it.
But if this is damnation, at least the fantasy was worth it.
I'm reaching to turn off the water when I hear it.
"Nate?"
I freeze.
