Relax

The water lapped against the porcelain, high and steaming, perfumed with lavender oil she had poured too generously. Lily sank in the water until it kissed her collarbones, the heat tugging a sigh from her chest. Her curls floated around her head like a halo, the steam turning the bathroom into a private misted sanctuary.

It should have been relaxing. That was the intention. She wanted to let her muscles unknot, to scrub the evening from her skin, to be nothing more than a woman alone in her brownstone. But her chest ached, restless. Each beat of her heart seemed to call his name, a longing that refused to be quieted. She could not escape the pull of him. The memory of his voice, the heat of his gaze, the sense that even in her solitude he lingered, pressing against her skin like an invisible hand.

Ares.

The name coiled through her thoughts like smoke, impossible to grasp, impossible to banish. She closed her eyes, and the flickering candlelight became the molten red-gold of his magic. Lavender gave way to cedar and leather, his scent flooding her lungs.

Her hand skimmed the water, fingertips tracing her stomach. She imagined his touch. It was broader, rougher, and carrying that contradiction she craved: reverence and ruin in one. The thought made her shiver despite the heat. Her thighs pressed together under the water, pulse thrumming.

She shouldn’t. Every vow, every duty was a chain tugging tight in her mind. And yet her body betrayed her.

Her hands rose first to cup her breasts, squeezing softly, lifting the full weight of them as if offering them to the phantom of his eyes. Her thumbs brushed across stiffening nipples, sending sparks down her spine. She rolled her nipples gently between her fingers, teasing, tugging until they ached, imagining his mouth there, hot and merciless, drawing them into his teeth. Each touch left her trembling more, savoring the ache as if testing whether she could bear his gaze upon her. Then one hand slid lower, tentatively.  She brushed over her sex, the water turning slick against her fingers. She circled lightly, biting her lip as her hips rose to meet her own hand. His voice filled her mind. It was rough and commanding, whispering imagined filth against her ear. Telling her she was his, that she was made to be opened and ruined by him, that no one else could touch her this way.

She parted herself, fingertips finding her clit, stroking with trembling insistence. The jolt made her gasp, head falling back against porcelain. In her mind it was his thumb pressing there, firm and unyielding, his mouth at her neck, growling her name.

Her fingers slid lower, sinking deeply into herself. The water muffled the obscene sound, but her body clenched around the intrusion, hungry, aching. She curled her hand inside, searching, pressing, as if she could summon him into her flesh.

The ache sharpened. She set a rhythm, her thumb circling, fingers plunging, until her hips rocked against the water, splashes rising against porcelain. Heat climbed her chest, flushing her throat. She kept steady pressure on her clit, imagining his strong hands pinning her there, forcing her to take every wave of sensation. "That's it," his voice hissed in her mind, "rub yourself for me, show me how desperate you are." "Don't stop until you scream my name." She bit back a moan, biting her fist to stifle the sound. Her sisters' laughter echoed faintly from down the hall, a reminder that only made the risk sharper, the pleasure darker.

“Ares…” The name broke against her lips, breathless, like prayer.

She pressed harder, faster, her thighs clenching as her body arched. The imagined weight of him bore down on her, his hand gripping her hip, his cock sliding deep, his mouth at her ear. "I love how you say my name," he growled in her mind, "let me hear you beg, let me hear how sweetly you break for me." She chased it ruthlessly, grinding against her own palm until pleasure tore through her in hot, shuddering waves.

Her back bowed, water spilling over the tub’s edge as she came, muscles quaking, breath ragged. She trembled, clenching tight around her fingers, gasping as aftershocks rippled through her body.

At last she sank back into the water, chest heaving, the surface rippling around her. The candle guttered, shadows leaping across the tile. She closed her eyes as the thought of him lingered like smoke in her mouth.

The weight of it settled after, a hollow ache beneath the pleasure. Shame curled in her chest, sharp as the heat that still throbbed low in her belly. What had she done? What would her sisters say if they knew where her thoughts wandered, whose name her lips had whispered?

She slid lower into the bath, letting the water cover her face, the sting of the lavender oil in her nose and eyes a penance. For a moment she lingered there, suspended, weightless, as though she could dissolve the hunger in steam and silence.

When she rose again, droplets ran down her cheeks like tears. She dragged in a shaky breath, skin flushed, hair heavy with water. Slowly, carefully, she reached for the towel, wrapping herself as though the linen might hide what she had done.

Tomorrow she would be steady, quiet, dutiful. But tonight, in steam and shadow, she had been something else: a woman undone by the thought of him.