Page 117 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“Yeah” is all he says.

We exchange good-nights and go our separate ways.

Well, that was awful.

I walk inside, and the silence pervading the air informs me that everyone’s already in bed.

I debate on answering Kane’s ominous message. Something tells me he’d love nothing more than to have me track him down and demand answers.

I decide not to indulge him and race up the stairs toward the second-floor bathroom.

I’ve been eyeing the massive jetted tub since I got here, and I can’t think of a better way to release some of the tension that’s been building in my shoulders and, ahem, other parts of my body.

I haven’t had a second to myself, and if I’m going to be living in a mansion for the rest of the summer, you bet I’m going to enjoy everything it has to offer.

I walk in, locking the door behind me.

The tub is half full by the time I get inside, and I let out a gasp when the sizzling hot water envelops me.

Just the way I like it.

I start by washing myself, letting each and every one of my muscles unwind as I run my loofah up my arms.

Then, because my brain strictly refuses to let me have any form of relief, I start to think.

Sorry, I start to overthink.

I think about how quickly my plans changed.

How hard I’m finding my new job. How difficult it’s been to take care of myself…

And I don’t mean emotionally.

I’m barely aware of my hand sliding down my stomach. I didn’t even have to think about it, my fingers falling to the sweet spot between my legs.

Am I really doing this?

The answer seems obvious when I start touching myself, the tip of my index grazing my clit as I sink deeper into the water.

Yes.

Yes, I am.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, throwing my head back as I rub myself in quick circles.

Until my fingers aren’t enough.

The images that invade my mind when I grab the showerhead built into the bathtub and direct it between my legs somehow increase the sensation by a million.

In my head, the person touching me is Kane. In my head, he’s in this tub with me, jerking me onto his lap and playing with my clit while his teeth nip at my neck. He spreads me apart, his waiting cock stiff and ready as he—

A moan cuts through the air, and one of my hands jumps to my mouth to lock it up tight. I’ve always known how to take care of myself, but I usually need a toy to help me get there.

Except… the thought of Kane’s dirty mouth next to my ear, whispering unholy promises and dirty secrets, seems to be doing most of the work because pleasure swells in my stomach at an alarming pace.

I inch the showerhead closer to my pussy and hate myself for how fast my orgasm rips me apart.

Jesus Christ.

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