Chapter Eight #3
His response is almost instant.
Message: I was hoping you would.
My body hums. I shift slightly in the water, the tension rising in places I wasn’t expecting it to. Another message pings.
Message: This probably isn’t what either of us expected tonight… but it’s kinda hard to stop now.
I smile to myself, heart thudding. I try to come up with something cheeky, but what comes out is softer than I expect.
Me: There’s something about you that just makes it easy.
He replies after a beat.
Message: You don’t know what that does to me.
That one—God. I read it twice. Maybe three times. My skin prickles. My fingers hover. My heart stutters. And still… I keep going.
Me: Then tell me.
Message: I don’t even know what I’m saying right now… but I don’t want to stop.
My stomach flips. My skin tingles under the water. Something about that honesty—unguarded and completely unexpected—sends a rush through me I wasn’t prepared for.
I let my fingers hover over the keyboard, heart hammering, then type before I can second-guess it.
Me: Then don’t… Say whatever you want. I’m listening.
There’s a pause, then three dots. My eyes don’t leave the screen.
Message: You’re messing with me, right? Because I swear if you’re not… I’m thinking about how much I want your body next to mine right now. And how easy it’d be to forget where the line is.
The breath catches in my throat. My legs shift under the water. The heat in the room is nothing compared to the warmth blooming across my chest, lower, deeper. My lips part, my fingers tighten around the phone. My heart is thudding so loud I swear I can feel it in my bones.
I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t this. And suddenly, I’m not thinking about Logan. I’m thinking about Matt. His voice, the way he laughs under his breath when he’s pretending not to be smug. The way he watches me when he thinks I don’t notice.
My breath becomes shallow, each inhale sharper than the last. I set the phone down on the ledge, but my eyes keep drifting back to the screen, to those words glowing in the dim light.
I’m thinking about how much I want your body next to mine right now.
The letters blur slightly through the steam rising from the bath. I blink, trying to focus, but all I can see is that sentence. All I can feel is the way it landed in my chest—heavy and molten.
My heart is pounding, actually pounding. The kind of rhythm that makes my whole body feel like it's vibrating, like I'm standing on the edge of something I can't quite name.
I sink lower into the water, letting it rise to my collarbone, letting the heat seep into my muscles, my bones. The bubbles cling to my skin, iridescent in the candlelight, and I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
Just to breathe.
But the moment my eyelids fall, I see him.
Not Logan.
Matt.
His face materializes behind my closed eyes like he's been waiting there all along.
That half-smirk he does when he's trying not to laugh.
The way his jaw tightens when he's concentrating.
The way he looked at me earlier this week—just for a split second—when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
Like he was seeing something he hadn't noticed before.
My stomach twists.
No!
I open my eyes, blinking hard against the realization, trying to claw its way to the surface. But it's too late. The thought is there now, planted and growing.
What if it wasn't Logan I was imagining while I typed those messages to him?
What if, in my mind, I was talking to Matt?
The question hangs in the steam, unanswered, terrifying.
I let my head fall back against the porcelain, the coolness of it shocking against my overheated skin. My pulse thrums in my throat, my wrists, between my thighs. The water laps gently around me, but it feels heavier now, thicker, like it's holding me down—or holding me together.
I should not be thinking about Matt like that, but as the throb in my clit gets stronger, I can’t help but think that it’s not Logan I was projecting those messages toward after all.
As I rest my head back against the tub, closing my eyes, all I see is Matt. I want to fight it. I want it to stop. But right now, with the way my body is reacting, I just let it take me over.
In my mind, I’m not in my bathroom anymore. It’s darker, closer. A bedroom, maybe. Or nowhere at all—just heat and shadow and the feeling of being seen. Fully seen.
Matt’s voice echoes somewhere in my mind, low and rough, the way it gets when he’s tired or being honest about something that matters. “You don't know what that does to me.”
I can almost hear it. The texture of it. The weight.
My hand moves without permission, sliding down over my ribs, my stomach, the water parting around my fingers like silk. I’m slow about it, hesitant, like I’m testing whether this is real or if I’m going to wake up mortified in thirty seconds.
But I don't stop.
My fingertips graze lower, and a soft gasp escapes my lips before I can catch it. The sound echoes in the small space, mingling with James Arthur’s dulcet tones still pouring through my AirPods, and it feels obscene. Intimate. Like I’m sharing this moment with someone who isn’t here.
But he could be.
The thought slams into me, and suddenly the fantasy sharpens, gains edges, becomes something I can almost touch.
Matt’s hands instead of mine. Rough palms are skating up my thighs beneath the water, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His mouth at my neck, my shoulder, that spot just below my ear that makes me shiver. His breath, hot and uneven, syncing with mine.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I circle on my clit, my hips shifting restlessly under the surface. The water sloshes, bubbles breaking apart and reforming. I’m hyper-aware of every sensation—the heat, the slickness, the way my body is already responding to nothing more than the idea of him.
Oh God.
I let my head tip further back, my free hand gripping the edge of the tub like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
My other hand moves with more confidence now, more purpose, and the pleasure builds in slow, rolling waves that start low and radiate outward.
My skin is pebbling with goose bumps despite the warmth of the bath water.
In my mind, Matt leans over me, braced on his forearms, his face so close I can see the flecks of color in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that exists. Like he’s been wanting this—wanting me—and he’s finally letting himself have it.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, and even though it’s my imagination, it feels real enough to make my breath hitch.
“You,” I whisper into the empty room, the word barely audible over the music. “I want you.” The realization slamming into me like a tidal wave.
And just like that, the dam breaks.
The fantasy floods in fully now, no more half-formed images or fleeting thoughts.
It’s vivid, overwhelming, and so detailed it makes my chest ache.
His weight presses me down into soft sheets.
The scrape of stubble against my inner thigh.
The way he’d say my name—Alex—like it’s something sacred, something he’s been holding onto.
My fingers move faster on my clit, chasing the building pressure, the tightening coil low in my belly. My breathing is ragged, coming in short, desperate bursts. The candles flicker wildly, shadows dancing across the tile, and I feel like I’m floating and drowning all at once.
Matt. His name is a mantra in my head, repeating with every heartbeat, every stroke. Matt, Matt, Matt.
I imagine his mouth on mine, hungry and demanding. The way he’d kiss me like he’s been starving for it. The way his hands would grip my hips, my waist, pulling me closer, closer, until there's no space left between us. Until I can feel every inch of him, hard and wanting and real.
The pleasure crests suddenly, violently, and I gasp—a sharp, broken sound that tears from my throat before I can stop it.
My body arches, my back lifting off the tub, water spilling over the sides and splashing onto the floor.
The climax crashes through me in waves, each one stronger than the last, stealing my breath, my thoughts, everything except the feeling of him—Matt—and the way he’s completely undone me without even being here.
I ride it out, trembling, my hand still moving in slow, gentle circles as the aftershocks ripple through me. My thighs shake. My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. And for a long, perfect moment, there’s nothing but the sensation—pure and consuming and absolutely devastating.
Then, slowly, reality starts to creep back in.
The music. The candles. The cooling bathwater.
The cell phone.
My eyes flutter open, and I stare up at the ceiling, my chest still heaving. My skin is flushed pink, slick with water and steam, and I feel… God, I feel alive. Electric. Like every nerve ending in my body just woke up for the first time.
But underneath that, there’s something else. Something uncomfortable and insistent, pressing at the edges of my post-orgasm haze.
Guilt?
Confusion?
I don't know.
I take a shaky breath and reach for my phone, my fingers still trembling slightly. The screen lights up, and I squint at it through the fog of my mind.
And then I see it.
The name at the top of the conversation.
Matt.
Not Logan.
Matt!
The realization hits me like ice water, dousing the lingering warmth in my veins. My stomach drops, my breath catches, and for a second, I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t do anything except stare at his name and feel the full weight of what just happened settle over me like a heavy blanket.
I just came thinking about Matt.
While texting Matt.
“Oh my God.” I drop the phone like it burned me, and it clatters against the porcelain edge before settling on the window ledge. My hands fly to my face, covering my eyes, and I let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
What the hell did I just do?
I reach down and pull the plug, letting the water flow down the drain along with the stress of what just happened.
I hop out of the bath and reach for the towel, drying myself off, then make my way back out into the main room and over to my bed, where my pajamas await.
I get dressed quickly and pull my hair out of the bun it’s been in all day, letting my colorful hair cascade around my face.
Small strands of wet hair stick to my cheeks as I crawl into bed.
I think of Matt and our conversation and realize in my lustful haze, I didn’t write back. I figure I probably should, so I type out a quick message, suddenly feeling completely shy as I fall into my pillows and sink into the softness of my bed.
Me: I’m heading to bed. Had a huge day. Hope you have a good night. Sweet dreams…
I hit send and place my cell on my pillow.
My eyes close, but somehow I don’t think I am going to be getting much sleep tonight. I just text-flirted with Matt. But I had no idea it was him. Then I climaxed thinking of him.
I am officially screwed!