clip that was now uncomfortably digging into her scalp. Once released, her dark brown hair tumbled into the water beneath her, where it swirled like a mermaid’s. She let her head dip below the surface for just a second, savoring the feel of the water caressing her face...the tip of her nose, her full lips, the delicate skin of her eyelids.
The moment she had seen the luxurious tub when touring the apartment—her first apartment, she thought with a little surge of pride—she knew it had to be hers. Growing up, she never was able to take baths. Usually the homes had multiple foster kids and time only allowed for a five-minute shower each. Even when she finally got out of the system and miraculously made it to college, her dorm room never had a bathtub. It had been a year and she could still not get over how different it was having her own place—no foster kids or coeds constantly milling around. On one hand, it was peaceful. But on the other, it was quiet, maybe too quiet—a total and utter soundlessness she had never experienced in her entire life. And now, after the apartment had been filled with the screams of ecstasy, the scent and sexual energy of Ethan less than twenty-four hours ago, she noticed the silence more than ever. She was alone. Again.
She grimaced. Not bothering to dry her hands on the towel nearby, she reached for the wine, her wet fingers causing rivulets of water to slide lazily down the glass bottle. She brought it to her lips and took a swig. If anything could erase the memories of Ethan in this apartment, alcohol had the most potential.
After returning the bottle to its place on the closed toilet lid, she picked up the magazine, her fingertips leaving dampened indentations on each page as she flipped through the latest gossip. After a flurry of bored page turning, she settled on a three-page spread of the “Sexiest Man in Hollywood” featured on the cover. The movie star was most known for playing the bad cop in a series of crooked FBI flicks and his pictures featured the shirt of his faux police uniform unbuttoned dangerously low. It was so positively cheesy, but Tina felt her breath grow shallow. Because at the sight of this bad boy in uniform, she couldn’t help but be reminded of Ethan. Though she didn’t want to, she immediately pictured Ethan in his fireman’s garb, slowly stripping each piece off one by one.
Before she knew it, Tina’s hand had dipped beneath the water while the other gently massaged her breasts, teasing each nipple to a peak. For a few moments she rubbed her clit into a tight, pulsing bud, picturing Ethan’s head nestled between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her core. She continued to stroke, but knew she could not bring herself to full satisfaction this way. She needed warmth, pressure; she needed more.
Sliding her body down to the end of the tub, she bent one leg at the knee, planting her foot firmly on the porcelain beneath her. She draped the other leg over the wall of the tub, her soapy foot dripping noiselessly on the tiled bathroom floor. The maneuver was a little tricky, but she steadied herself by placing one hand behind her for support. She turned the faucet back on. After adjusting the temperature, she turned the faucet on full blast before letting her hand join the other one that was braced behind her. She was able to push her bottom a little off closer to the drain and use her upper-body strength to lift herself up so that she half balanced, half floated in the water while she lay back, spread-eagled, her knees resting on each side of the tub. A dull throb pulsed down below, anticipating what would come next.
She thought of Ethan plunging into her as she let the rushing water settle on the juncture between her legs. The sensation was intense and she tilted her hips, rocking them back and forth so that the water pressure ran up and down the length of her pussy. Slowly she rocked, letting the powerful stream of the warm water touch every inch of
The moment she had seen the luxurious tub when touring the apartment—her first apartment, she thought with a little surge of pride—she knew it had to be hers. Growing up, she never was able to take baths. Usually the homes had multiple foster kids and time only allowed for a five-minute shower each. Even when she finally got out of the system and miraculously made it to college, her dorm room never had a bathtub. It had been a year and she could still not get over how different it was having her own place—no foster kids or coeds constantly milling around. On one hand, it was peaceful. But on the other, it was quiet, maybe too quiet—a total and utter soundlessness she had never experienced in her entire life. And now, after the apartment had been filled with the screams of ecstasy, the scent and sexual energy of Ethan less than twenty-four hours ago, she noticed the silence more than ever. She was alone. Again.
She grimaced. Not bothering to dry her hands on the towel nearby, she reached for the wine, her wet fingers causing rivulets of water to slide lazily down the glass bottle. She brought it to her lips and took a swig. If anything could erase the memories of Ethan in this apartment, alcohol had the most potential.
After returning the bottle to its place on the closed toilet lid, she picked up the magazine, her fingertips leaving dampened indentations on each page as she flipped through the latest gossip. After a flurry of bored page turning, she settled on a three-page spread of the “Sexiest Man in Hollywood” featured on the cover. The movie star was most known for playing the bad cop in a series of crooked FBI flicks and his pictures featured the shirt of his faux police uniform unbuttoned dangerously low. It was so positively cheesy, but Tina felt her breath grow shallow. Because at the sight of this bad boy in uniform, she couldn’t help but be reminded of Ethan. Though she didn’t want to, she immediately pictured Ethan in his fireman’s garb, slowly stripping each piece off one by one.
Before she knew it, Tina’s hand had dipped beneath the water while the other gently massaged her breasts, teasing each nipple to a peak. For a few moments she rubbed her clit into a tight, pulsing bud, picturing Ethan’s head nestled between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her core. She continued to stroke, but knew she could not bring herself to full satisfaction this way. She needed warmth, pressure; she needed more.
Sliding her body down to the end of the tub, she bent one leg at the knee, planting her foot firmly on the porcelain beneath her. She draped the other leg over the wall of the tub, her soapy foot dripping noiselessly on the tiled bathroom floor. The maneuver was a little tricky, but she steadied herself by placing one hand behind her for support. She turned the faucet back on. After adjusting the temperature, she turned the faucet on full blast before letting her hand join the other one that was braced behind her. She was able to push her bottom a little off closer to the drain and use her upper-body strength to lift herself up so that she half balanced, half floated in the water while she lay back, spread-eagled, her knees resting on each side of the tub. A dull throb pulsed down below, anticipating what would come next.
She thought of Ethan plunging into her as she let the rushing water settle on the juncture between her legs. The sensation was intense and she tilted her hips, rocking them back and forth so that the water pressure ran up and down the length of her pussy. Slowly she rocked, letting the powerful stream of the warm water touch every inch of
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