The bathroom was a cavern of indulgence, vast enough to host the orgies it was built for. Marble veins pulsed under the soft, recessed lighting, and gold fixtures winked like lecherous eyes. She turned the handle on the shower, and steam erupted instantly, a hot, percussive barrage jets pounding against the glass.
A full-body fuck from water alone, the kind of pounding that would knead knots from a woman's thighs while crowning her the queen of her own brutal desire.
Her wine glass trembled in her grip, the crimson within mirroring the tremor in her core.
'What the fuck am I doing?'
But she knew. Had known since Thursday, when he'd dropped to his knees at the wellness center, eyes locking on her—not the trophy wife, not Mrs. Morrison, but the starving woman beneath—and his fingers had ignited sparks that shot straight to her clit, waking a part of her she'd thought had withered to dust years ago.
