Chapter 8
EIGHT
The bathroom was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small ribbed fixtures on either side of the vanity mirror.
Warm steam rose from the bath, enveloping Leah, her skin glistening with tiny drops of lavender-infused water as she leaned back, her neck resting against a rolled, warm towel sprayed with bergamot and sandalwood pillow mist—an essential she never travelled without.
The bath bomb dissolved, releasing a burst of colour. Tiny bubbles tickled her skin, creating a tingling sensation that soothed and stirred her. The water soon felt silky and luxurious, and the day’s tension melted away as Leah recalled the morning’s events.
After yoga, she made a valid excuse to leave—she had work to do, technically not a lie—but really, she was trying to avoid Ariana.
There was talk of Hannah arriving for the last two days.
No doubt she was eager to come once she learned Leah was here.
Grace hadn’t said it outright but didn’t deny it either.
Leah couldn’t blame Hannah; if circumstances were different, she could see herself being friends with Hannah—they shared similar interests, including women.
Soaking in the fragrant water, Leah imagined Ariana’s shadow beside the tub.
She reached out, gently helping Leah’s naked body from the purple-stained water.
Her hand caressed Leah’s cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.
The Ariana she imagined said nothing—their locked eyes exchanging silent desire.
They moved closer, wet bodies pressing together, droplets clinging to Ariana’s curls.
Naked and wet, Ariana’s hand trailed down Leah’s body, exploring every curve, igniting a fire Leah hadn’t felt in over five years.
Leah succumbed to her imagination, delving deeper into thoughts that aroused her. She pictured Ariana’s face leaning in, their lips meeting in a soft, tender kiss. The morning yoga session stirred anew—the memory of Ariana pressing her pelvis against Leah, the pressure, the motion, the heat.
What if Grace hadn’t walked in? What would that have looked like?
The throbbing in her vulva was so intense. Her body ached to be touched.
She felt a deep hunger—a need to connect with someone, not just anyone, but the one person she pictured was off-limits.
Leah knew it was wrong; Ariana wasn’t hers to fantasize about anymore.
Yet the all-consuming image swirled in her mind, clouding her judgment, whispering for her to give in to desire.
Leah’s breath quickened and shallowed. Her skin became hypersensitive to her own touch. She pictured Ariana sitting on the bathroom floor, pulling Leah down to straddle her. The perfect position for Ariana to nuzzle her breasts, kiss her neck, and—
It was intoxicating, the arousal coursing through her veins. She imagined Ariana using the angle to her advantage, fingers penetrating Leah from below. Leah’s head and body arched backward, allowing Ariana to sink deeper.
Shit.
Leah climbed out of the bath, muscles tensing, nerves aflame.
She wanted to feel Ariana’s touch again but knew she shouldn’t.
She tried picturing anyone else: a crush from work, a girl she hooked up with six months ago, a childhood girlfriend she’d seen at the mall during the holidays—anyone but Ariana. She failed miserably.
Slumped on the bathroom floor, the blue striped towel the only barrier between her skin and the freezing tiles, the tingling sensation intensified.
She reached down, legs parted, head resting against the tub’s frame.
The cool acrylic pressed against her shoulders, stark against the warmth rushing to her cheeks.
Leah touched herself, every stroke sharp with sensitivity.
Her mind filled with intimate images—Ariana’s hand replacing hers, her head buried between Leah’s legs, her tongue giving pleasure Leah couldn’t provide herself.
In that moment, all she wanted was release, to feel the overwhelming bliss of an orgasm.
She pressed harder, rhythm quickening. Her left hand gripped the towel beneath her for support.
The pleasure pulsed through her lower body.
Masturbation wasn’t new to Leah; she wasn’t ashamed to admit she enjoyed it.
But pressed against the tub, panting, trembling, legs shaking, there was a deeper desire—a desire she thought was locked away for good—a desire that surged back after Ariana’s presence that morning.
The release burst through her like a fire hydrant blasting into the night sky. She withdrew her hand; her breathing slowed, chest rising and falling. She surrendered to the longing and allowed herself to let go.
But as the satisfying climax faded, vulnerability overwhelmed her, and she sobbed.
Her body relaxed, muscles loosening, but she didn’t bask in afterglow. Instead, she felt defeated. The longing for Ariana remained—after all these years, after therapy, after new lovers, after moving away, and most importantly, after vowing never to feel that pain again.
She promised to put herself first, never to base her happiness on another. And she failed.
A few days in Ariana’s presence, and she failed.
She was disappointed in herself.
Disappointed in her lack of control.
And worst of all—her body craved more.