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I’ve had a lot of long days since having her six weeks ago, but none that has felt quite as hopeless as today. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had Remy’s number, and if he hadn’t dropped everything to come over here.
I dip my head under the spray and let my whole face drown in the rush of water. It’s intense, but frankly, it’s the kind of thing I need.
When I pull my head out, I instinctually start to listen for the sounds of Izzy’s discontent. I don’t know if it’s the volume of the shower or if my ears have simply numbed, but I don’t hear the high-pitched wail anymore.
Goodness. I swore I’d hear that in my dreams.
The tension in my shoulders finally starting to ebb, I take a deep breath and lean a tired hand into the stone wall. My feet are the only thing I can see, and after about thirty seconds, even the vision of them starts to blur.
My mind wanders, first to the memory of what my body used to feel like—something very different from this tired, aged thing—and then to the day I had Izzy in that elevator with Remy at my side.
I can see the flex of his rigid, shirtless abdomen as if it were yesterday, only this time, thankfully, I don’t have to feel like I’m being split in half from between my legs at the same time.
His hard muscles, his strong, fearless demeanor—he looked like an Adonis that day as he came to my rescue.
And his smile…it’s a little older and a little wiser, but it’s still the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life, encompassed by a strong, defined jaw, straight white teeth, and the sweetest of laugh lines in his cheeks. His eyes are the showstopper most of the time, but when he smiles, that’s all I can see.
Without planning, my hand finds its way to the space between my legs and starts to explore. Dr. Maddox gave me the spiel that I was physically cleared now for everything, including sexual activity. I didn’t think much of it then, given my life of solitude and singledom, but now that I’m touching myself, I’m remembering how good it can feel.
Damn, it really feels good.
As my head falls back, the spray of the water centers on my chest, sluicing down my abdomen and right around my active hand.
I shut my eyes and Remy’s smile appears in my mind, and before I know it, my brain builds a scene around it.
Him, on top of me, naked and smiling with his hands clutching at the sides of my head. His hips are moving between mine, and he’s almost laughing he’s enjoying it so much.
Me, though, I can barely think, barely even see. If it weren’t for the feast-worthy sight of his arms and shoulders and perfect fucking chest, I imagine I’d just give up the fight of keeping my eyes open altogether.
There’s no dialogue, really—my brain is too tired for that—but the action says more than enough. Remy and I, we’re a matched set physically. It’s easy and exciting all at the same time and, in all likelihood, the reason I, a young, smart, cautious girl, chose to give herself over to him in the first place.
I thought maybe I was just hormone-struck at the time, but I can tell you now, teenage Maria knew what she was doing when she chose him.
I stroke at the flesh gently, circling my clit and putting pressure in the center at the end of every cycle. I can feel my pleasure building, the need to come taking on a form of its own.
Remy runs his hands down my sides, settling them on my ass and lifting me to meet his strokes. I deepen the action of my fingers to mimic the fantasy and am caught off guard when my orgasm grabs me in a vise, sending me over the edge in a rush. Oh God, Remy! my mind silently calls out.
Coming down from the high, I bury my face in the spray once again and let my weight collapse into the wall. It feels so good to be free, so good to give myself a moment of attention outside of the baby.
But more importantly, did I really just masturbate to thoughts of Remy while he is in my apartment taking care of Izzy?
Guilt and embarrassment consume me like wildfire. And without wasting any more time, I finish washing and cut off the water with shaky hands.
It only takes me a few minutes to throw on some leggings and a T-shirt and brush out the knots in my damp hair. But when I make my way back down the hallway toward the main living area, I swear I’ve been transported to a different era altogether.
