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The bath should have been relaxing—the warm water rolling over her sore muscles, soaking her tired body in soft comfort. But her mind refused to quiet.
Every inch of her skin seed alive with mory, every nerve ending buzzing, refusing to let her rest.
Gilderoy's face kept intruding in her mind, impossibly vivid. That tilt of his head, the faint, knowing smile, the glint in his eyes that had made her pulse spike yesterday.
Every detail of the workout—every brush of his hands, every whisper of his voice, flashed unbidden in her mind.
The squats. His hands brushing against her waist, fingers pressing lightly to correct her posture. She had felt warmth radiating from him, slled his scent, felt the heat of his body so close. And the way his gaze lingered on her ass—it had made her cheeks burn hot, but it was the fire pooling low in her pussy that had taken her breath. That aching throb that had started then refused to fade now.
Push-ups. His fingers had grazed hers, adjusting her wrist, then lingered along the smooth curve of her arm. Light, casual touches that made her blood pound in her veins. Her nipples had tightened, hard against her shirt back then, and now her fingers brushed over her own peaks in the bath, teasing the sensitive buds. Her pussy throbbed wetly at the mory, hips pressing down instinctively.
And the lunges… God, the lunges. He had stepped so close behind her, hand on her shoulder, the other brushing and resting on her hip, murmuring near her ear, "Balance here. Don't rush it." Posture advice, yes—but every syllable had travelled straight into her nerves. Her skin had prickled, her thighs pressing together, pussy pulsing and dripping with need. She had accused him of enjoying himself too much, but she had enjoyed it even more.
The mory of running back toward the castle afterward made her cunt pulse again, slick against her leggings. The damp patch had shouted her secret, and sha had flared, but it had quickly twisted into thrill, a daring excitent she hadn't realized she craved. She had felt alive, flushed, caught between embarrassnt and need, knowing that he had unravelled her composure so easily.
Her fingers, tracing the rim of the tub, began to wander. She cupped her breasts, thumbs rolling over the taut nipples, kneading, flicking as low, soft moans escaped her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut, imagining his hands there, warm and possessive.
Her hand slipped lower, over the soft curve of her stomach, past her navel, into the steaming water between her legs. She parted her folds, fingers brushing against her slick pussy, her swollen clit throbbing with need.
Heat pooled deep and wild, and her hips pressed instinctively into her touch, grinding slightly, aching for more. She moaned low and needy, back arching, chest pressing forward, nipples tight and begging for more attention.
She imagined him there, hand on her hip, thumb pressing into her skin, guiding her, teasing her.
Her strokes beca firr, faster, circling the sensitive nub of her clit. Her fingers delved deeper, spreading her slick over the folds, exploring her wet, trembling pussy. She bit her lip, tiny whimpers and pants escaping despite herself, every nerve alight, every muscle tight with need.
The rhythm built, relentless, her body moving with its own insistence. Her pussy clenched and throbbed, hot and wet around her fingers, slick running down into the water. Every touch, every roll of her finger over her aching clit, sent sparks up her spine, making her tits bounce and her nipples scrape against her nails. She was lost in sensation, caught in a tide that built higher with each stroke.
Her mind flashed to his voice, low and amused, telling her that guiding her was "the highlight of his day." It made her shiver all over, imagining the dark glint in his eyes, the smirk on his face, his hands everywhere she wanted them.
Her fingers kneaded her folds, exploring, teasing, curling into the slick warmth, dragging her toward the edge of frantic, overwhelming release.
Her hips jerked, grinding down against her own hand, pussy slick and hot. She moaned louder, leaning forward into the water, pressing her tits more toward her fingers. The slick that coated her hand glistened in the steam, dripping down her inner thighs, making her squirm in delicious, needy frustration.
And then the orgasm ripped through her, sharp, full, unstoppable. Her pussy clenched violently around her fingers, muscles spasming, as a hot gush flooded over her palm and into the bath water. She cried out, raw and guttural, nails digging into her own skin, every fiber of her body quivering. Her tits bounced, nipples aching, while her hips thrust into her hand, chasing the pleasure, writhing and trembling as waves after waves tore through her.
She sagged against the bath, trembling, soaked and sticky, gasping as the last shudders of her release rattled through her body. Her pulse thundered, pussy still throbbing, fingers slick with her wetness. The na she had been thinking, whispering it in her head, slipped past her lips: Gil…
Even as the heat faded, a residual faint ache lingered between her thighs, spreading warmth through her belly and into her chest. Alia sank back into the water, her fluids dripping down her thighs, fingers tracing the tub's edge, pulse still racing, breath ragged. She should have felt sha, guilt even—but she didn't. She felt alive, ravenous, consud by the mory and craving of him.
Her pussy throbbed again at the thought, twitching at the mory of his hands, his fingers, his voice near her ear. She closed her eyes, letting herself drown in the wet, raw ache, imagining him guiding, teasing, fucking every inch of her with perfect control. She shivered, bit her lip, and groaned softly as the heat pooled once more, helpless, needy, desperate for more.
Even in the warm bath, soaked and trembling, Alia knew the truth: a single workout, a single morning, a touch from him, had left her pussy rembering, aching, and screaming for him.
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