Seraphine Valah
The elevator music grated on my nerves, further highlighting the exhaustion that pulsed through my bones. The urge to just collapse onto the cool marble floor of my apartment lobby was becoming dangerously appealing.
The elevator dinged, jerking me back to focus. I glanced up — only a few more floors to go — but it stopped on the pool level.
I instinctively shifted to the side, expecting a group of dripping guests or loud kids. Instead, just one man stepped in.
Tall. No — massive. I had to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes.
A towel hung low on his hips, clinging precariously to his v-line. Wet strands of light brown hair clung to his forehead, a few brushing against his square jaw, which was framed with a meticulously groomed beard. His eyes — impossibly pale blue — glinted with a hint of mischief. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a cologne commercial and into my personal hell.
I offered a brief, socially acceptable smile and asked, "What floor?"
He returned it with one of his own, polite and easy. "It's alright, you've got the right floor." His voice was deep and playful — the kind that could melt you from the inside out.
Great. A beautiful man. Practically naked. And I look like a sweaty disaster who just ran a triathlon in four-inch heels.
Thanks, universe. Really picking your moments.
I groaned under my breath as the memory of today's disaster flooded back. Deliveries gone wrong, chaos from all directions, and me — the idiot trying to hold it all together.
I took a deep breath to steady myself.
And then I smelled him.
His scent hit like a wave: rich pine, fresh rain on moss, a whiff of cool smoke from a distant fireplace — earthy, primal, and absolutely sinful. Like walking deep into an ancient forest you might never come back from. It smelled like danger. Like comfort. Like sex.
I had to physically clear my throat before something embarrassingly close to a moan escaped. Desperate for a distraction, I opened my phone and scrolled. "Oh, a bread recipe…" I thought, trying not to glance back at the glorious ass standing beside me.
The elevator dinged again.
He stepped out first. I followed — only to watch him unlock the apartment right next to mine.
Of course he's my neighbor, I mused dryly, making my way to my own door directly across from the elevator. All I wanted now was to peel out of my clothes and melt into the floor.
But the strange heat that had been lingering in my body these past few weeks... it was worse now.
"Maybe a cold shower will help," I muttered.
The heels came off first. Then the rest, piece by piece, dropped behind me as I trudged through the kitchen, past the dim hallway, and into the bathroom. I'll deal with that tomorrow, I promised myself.
The icy spray shocked me into alertness. I let it wash over me, calming the heat — until that man's face surfaced behind my eyelids.
Wet hair, glinting eyes, muscles flexing under water...
A sound slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
I turned the water off and filled the tub, slipping into the hot bath with a long sigh. Steam curled around me. My skin tingled with anticipation, my core throbbing with that familiar ache I'd been ignoring for days.
Fine, I thought. Just a little relief.
My hand slid slowly beneath the water, grazing over sensitive skin already flushed with heat. The tension in my body had been coiling all day, winding tighter and tighter — and now, it was singing.
I let my head fall back against the porcelain edge, eyes slipping shut as I let the image of him take root again. That stranger. That goddamn towel. Those glinting pale blue eyes like frost kissed with fire. That voice, smooth and wicked, echoing in my ear:
"You've got the right floor."
Oh, I had the wrong floor of self-control, clearly.
My fingers found their rhythm, slow and teasing. My free hand grazed my breast, nails brushing over my nipple as I imagined his hands there instead — large, calloused, gentle but firm. His mouth replacing my fingers, his tongue warm and wicked.
I spread my legs a little wider in the water, breathing out a shaky moan. The fantasy deepened.
In my mind, he stepped into the bath without hesitation. The water spilled over the sides, but neither of us cared. He reached for me, cradling my thigh over his muscular arm, staring down like I was the only thing worth worshiping in the world.
"You were thinking about me, weren't you?" he would say, voice low and sinfully amused. "Touching yourself, and I wasn't even here yet. Naughty girl."
The imagined timbre of his voice alone made my hips lift from the tub floor, chasing sensation. My fingers moved faster, the coil inside me tightening. I moaned again — quieter this time — biting my lip to hold back the sounds threatening to break free.
Water sloshed around me with every motion. Heat built between my thighs, spreading in delicious waves. I could almost feel the pressure of his chest on mine, his mouth devouring me, his weight pinning me against the tile as his name trembled from my lips — even though I didn't know it yet.
Another curl of my fingers, deeper this time — and I tipped over the edge.
My back arched, a strangled gasp breaking from my throat as the orgasm rolled through me, sharp and relentless. My thighs trembled, toes curling beneath the water, every nerve alight with release.
I floated there for a while, heart pounding, breath uneven, warmth curling deep in my core.
Still, the ache wasn't completely gone.
That was new.
I finally pulled myself from the bath, legs a little shaky, and wrapped myself in a towel, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My lips were parted. My cheeks flushed. My eyes… were glowing faintly.
A trick of the light, I told myself. Or maybe not.
The need isn't fading.
If anything, it's getting worse.
After a long moment of self-soothing, I finally dragged myself out of the tub, steam trailing behind me as I padded into the bedroom.
I stood in front of my closet, indecisive. What do you wear when no one's watching?
Fuck it.
I opened the third drawer — my secret stash of lace, satin, and dangerous decisions. My fingers landed on a soft, deep blue babydoll, all delicate mesh and lace. I slipped it on and smiled at my reflection. Paired it with matching heels — why not? I want to feel pretty tonight.
I waltzed into the living room, ready to veg out on the couch. But my stomach had other plans.
"Okay, okay," I muttered, grabbing my phone. I ordered pizza, creamy pasta, grilled chicken, cheesecake, and a liter of soda. No regrets tonight.
I made sure to click "contactless delivery." The doorbell rang minutes later. I padded to the door, peeked through the peephole—delivery guy already walking off.
I waited a few moments — just enough for the delivery guy to disappear into the other elevator and leave.
I opened the door wide—
—just as the elevator across from me slid open with a soft ding.
Two men stood there mid-conversation, their words dying on their lips the second their eyes landed on me.
Babydoll lace. Heels. Legs. Arms full of takeout.
I froze. They froze.
One blinked. The other looked like he was trying to decide whether to look away or keep staring.
Color drained from my face and then rushed right back in a tidal wave of horror.
I slammed the door shut with enough force to shake the frame.
I swear I'm cursed.