Don't Take Them Off
765 Words
The hot water streamed over my body, washing away the tension that had settled into every muscle after the longest day of my life.
I leaned against the tiled wall and closed my eyes.
This, this was exactly what I needed.
The warmth wrapped around me like an embrace while the body jets worked their magic across my back and shoulders.
For the first time that day, I could breathe.
And then, my mind betrayed me.
Leonard Parker.
His hand around my waist. Firm. Protective. The strength in his grip. His chest pressed against mine. His impossible blue eyes.
The way he'd looked at me.
As though, for one suspended moment, the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
I let out a slow breath.
"Seriously, Blair..."
I laughed softly at myself.
"Get a grip."
He was my boss. An arrogant billionaire. A notorious womanizer.
And after today, he probably thought I was the clumsiest woman on the planet.
Yet none of that stopped my imagination.
I reached for the elegant glass bottle of shower gel and squeezed a generous amount into my palm.
Vanilla.
Cinnamon.
The scent filled the steam as I slowly worked the silky foam over my neck, my shoulders and down the curve of my breasts. My fingers lingered longer than necessary. The heat made every touch more sensitive. Every caress more dangerous. I closed my eyes again.
Without thinking, my fingertips brushed over one n****e. It tightened instantly beneath my touch.
A shiver rolled through my body. I bit my lip. No. Don't start.
Instead... I pinched it gently.
Another shiver. My breathing deepened. Slowly... Almost unconsciously... My other hand drifted lower.
Over my stomach, across my hip. Until it settled between my thighs.
Heat.
Need.
My fingers slipped between my folds.
I froze.
Already? I was soaked! Embarrassingly soaked. All because of one memory. One accidental touch.
One man.
"Oh, God..."
I whispered, barely recognising my own voice.
My fingertips began tracing slow circles over my swollen c**t. The sensation stole the air from my lungs. I imagined it wasn't my hand. I imagined it was his.
Leonard's.
Slow.
Confident.
Patient.
Exactly the way I imagined everything about Leonard Parker would be.
A quiet moan escaped me. Then another. The soft instrumental music floating through the locker room wrapped itself around every movement, making the atmosphere feel strangely intimate.
Steam blurred the mirrors.
Amber lights glowed through the haze. The entire world disappeared. There was only water. My body and the fantasy.
I cupped one breast with my free hand, teasing my n****e while my hips instinctively rocked against my fingers. Pleasure spread through me in slow, delicious waves. Every circle intensified the ache between my thighs.
I wanted more. Much more.
I slid my hand lower, stopping just short of pushing a finger inside myself.
No. Not yet.
I wanted to make myself wait, To punish myself for fantasising about my boss.
The thought only made me wetter. I laughed breathlessly. You're hopeless, Blair. Completely hopeless.
My movements grew faster.
My breathing echoed softly through the empty locker room.
Or...
What I believed was an empty locker room. My moans became impossible to suppress.
Longer.
Needier.
The pleasure building inside me became almost unbearable.
I was so close, so incredibly close.
Then—
The locker room door slammed shut.
Every muscle in my body locked.
My eyes flew open.
My heart, racing from pleasure only seconds ago, now pounded with fear.
Someone was here. Someone had heard me.
Oh, God...
Please...
No.
I stood perfectly still, listening.
The shower continued to hiss,the music played softly in the background.. Nothing else.
No footsteps. No voices.
Maybe... maybe I'd imagined it.
The steam was thick enough to hide almost everything beyond the shower and the glass door stood open, giving me a blurred view of the sinks. I couldn't see anyone. Only vague shapes shifting through the mist. Feeling suddenly exposed, I stepped out of the shower and reached for my glasses.
The lenses fogged instantly.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I pushed them down to the tip of my nose and looked over the top.
"Hello?"
My voice echoed through the empty locker room.
"Is... is anyone there?"
Silence.
One minute passed.
Then another.
Nothing.
I exhaled slowly.
See? You're imagining things. You're alone. Completely alone.
I reached up to remove my glasses.
Movement.
A tall silhouette emerged from the steam.
Motionless. Watching me.
Every drop of blood drained from my face.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. Then, a deep masculine voice broke the silence.
"Don't take them off."
- Writer
