Daisy

Morning light sliced through the bathroom blinds, turning the steam into golden ribbons. I stood under the showerhead, hot water pounding my shoulders, trying to wash away the remnants of last night’s dream and the shame that had followed.

My skin still felt too sensitive. Every drop that hit my nipples made them tighten painfully; every rivulet running down my stomach and between my thighs reminded me how wet I’d been, how desperate I’d gotten in the dark with that toy while Steve slept like nothing was wrong. My clit throbbed faintly with aftershocks, and I could still feel the ghost of Norman’s grip on my hips, his growl...