His face strobed uninvited through my mind. Wouldn’t leave me alone as I leaned my bare ass against the sink. The knot in my neck ached for the steam of the hot shower fogging the room. He was a cocky fucker. I wanted to hate his charisma and arrogance and ruggedly handsome catalog looks, but found it impossible. He was impossible. That conceited smirk he wore when he knew he was right was as aggravating as it was sexy.

Even the frosted shower screen reminded me of the glass-panelled conference room through which I spied Josh fuckin’ Hughes using his seductive wit to charm the new CEO. Laughing. Flirting. Brief touches to Jane’s forearm. Asshole.

I stepped into the spray and let the water wash over my face, hoping it would drown away the thoughts. It only made them more pronounced; flicker book images dominated by his features. Taper fade haircut. Strong stubbled jaw. Blue-grey stare that swept my body and always lingered a moment longer than it should at the swell of my breasts.

Cupping the curve of my tits, I subconsciously massaged my nipples, peaks firming; responding as if he was right there watching me become lost in his magnetism. His gravity. His West Coast swagger, confident and… authoritative. Commanding me to do things nobody else dared. Like kneeling to worship his growing bulge. Scratching my nails over the material of his jeans and kissing him through it.

My fingers worked their way south, beneath the warming spray, slipping between my legs to curl deep into the smooth folds of my throbbing pussy. I jerked and threw my head back as unexpected heat tore through my frame. One hand braced against the cool tiles as the other padded my insides. A building ache stirred just above my reaching fingertips. My walls thickened as I clawed, palm clamped hard and firm into my fiery clit. Slippery. Needy.

In my head, I yanked the buttons of his fly apart to free his magnificent cock. Take it in my hand and lose my breath at its poise. Its power. Its delicious rigidity, all for me to kiss and lick and engulf.

Satisfaction washed over me from scalp to sole but the finish I so desperately craved was maddeningly out of reach, no matter how hard I tried. Like he was teasing me, holding back just a fraction. Enough to turn me into a quivering ball of want, teetering on the edge, yearning for more.

He was such an ass but I wanted him desperately. I longed to feel his hands snake to my ponytail and yank my head back to look up at him. To ram me onto his engorged prick. To feel every inch crashing into my hunger, wanting to be the best for him. Make him grit his teeth and swear at how fucking good I was.

Fuck, I needed more.

Frustrated, I withdrew my fingers and gasped as emptiness registered. Again, I cupped both breasts, pinching rigid nipples and squeezing doughy flesh that spilled into the bathroom steam. I moaned and imagined it was him. Josh fucking Hughes, grinning down at me, playing me, his firm cock inches from my mouth, brushing my lips as I tried to capture him.

Fire boiled and thundered upward from deep within my belly. The sound of the splashing water dulled as heat swamped my mind, pulling my attention with it to the shower head. On impulse, I snatched it from the clip, spun the dial to PowerSpray and upturned it, aiming the assembly squarely at my shaved centrepiece.

Fuck.

I nearly leapt the length of the bath as the jet vigorously lapped my sensitive nub, moaning deeply. I grabbed the screen edge to brace myself and curled my toes into the porcelain as I adjusted the angle. The deluge of pulsating water neatly splayed my lips and I twisted in the tickling torment, trying to escape it but needing to satisfy the delicious ache more.

Each moment elevated my wanton desire. Flashes of Josh treating me like his personal fucktoy surfaced. Him spinning me around to shove me forward over the conference table, pinning my arms behind my back as he pressed his raging mushroom tip to my petals. The agonising pause before tearing into my soaked pussy like he knew I wanted. The feel of his girth splitting me as his free hand squeezed my upturned bottom. Slapping my flesh. Hearing me squeal before tucking under to firmly, repeatedly tap my engorged clit.

The jet buffeted my quivering labia with a delicious tingle, like humming a tune through tracing paper. Teeth dug into my lower lip, moans reverberated against the tile. I moved the shower head forward then back, altering the pressure and position, sweeping it the length of my slit the way I imagined his tongue might. My honey flowed freely, ripped apart by the water to cascade down my legs.

Still, I needed more.  

I risked letting go of the screen, reaching to fumble the dial all the way to the left. PowerPulse was wonderful on my neck after a hard day, but fuck it was better on my clit. Jesus, the pulsing jets drove against me. I let out a shriek, pawing at the wall and writhing as each wave of heat built, radiating from my soaked entrance up and out, igniting my whole body at lewd thoughts of Josh invading my precious sanctity any way he desired.

My head swam as my orgasm clenched, releasing in surge after glorious surge, and I fell apart. The shower head tumbled from my grasp to snake and spray its payload over the edge of the bath. I didn't care. Couldn't do anything but gasp, wrench, twist and shudder, drifting, awash and energised, gripped amid the searing, aquatic climax.

Drained, I slowly slumped to the bath floor and let my mind ease back to reality. The ache in my neck was gone. The ache for Josh fucking Hughes was not.