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before experienced. At some point, her mind had switched from memory to fantasy, and in her mind it was now her spread out on the bed, open to the hungry gaze of her lover. She was blindfolded and could only feel as he roved her pussy with hard, firm strokes that never faltered even as she squirmed under the growing intensity.
    Tension grew as Claire stroked harder, flexing her hips and driving herself harder and harder, but she still wanted more. She lost herself to the fantasy, releasing herself from her inhibitions in this one moment and reached for her nipple. She stroked and rolled her nipples at her lover’s command, enjoying the streaks of fire that ran from them to her clit until he whispered in her ear, ‘Come for me.’
    Claire squeezed and tugged hard, feeling that cord stretch tight one last time before she broke, crying out as fire radiated out from her core, shivering through her. She bucked and jerked as she continued to stroke her clitoris until she finally stilled.
    She brought her legs back down into the cooling water and lay for some time with her hands hugged tight around her. That had been the most intense orgasm she’d ever given herself. And yes, part of that was definitely down to touching herself properly, but a huge portion had been the fantasy. The submission to her imaginary lover. A lover who, if she was being completely honest, sounded just a bit like Evan.
    As he waited for the water to warm up, Evan stripped and dropped his clothes in the hamper. His bathroom was purely serviceable, with no decoration of any kind save for the very soft, plush navy blue towels. The bathroom was white everywhere. White tiles, white walls, white tub. He supposed the blue towels and stainless steel fixtures gave it a nautical sensibility, but he really didn’t care. It served his needs and that was all that mattered to him.
    While he brushed his teeth, Evan considered himself in the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. He looked old. Haggard. His once jet black hair was now greying at the temples and he sported more lines around his eyes and mouth. They weren’t laugh lines either; they were the markings of pain and grief. His eyes were currently bleary and promised to be bloodshot in the morning. The rest had remained remarkably unchanged. He was tall and lean from lots of swimming, his preferred method of distraction. His muscles were still firm and he wasn’t showing any of the tell-tale signs of softening that came with middle-age. He supposed he was relatively well preserved for 45.
    He swished and spit and still he didn’t get into the shower despite the coils of steam rising from behind the navy blue shower curtain and fogging his mirror. He simply stood there, naked as the day he was born, and stared at the shower. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to feel anything sexual. He had learnt to live with his celibacy. He’d embraced it even. Anything was better than the pain.
    Blowing out a rough breath, Evan stepped under the wet spray. The hot water pummelled his skin with searing, stinging punches. He quickly adjusted the temperature and, turning, planted himself under the warm, wet fall so that the water coated his body. The heat seeped into his muscles, loosening him up and relaxing the tension he hadn’t even realised had settled between his shoulder blades. For long moments, Evan just absorbed the moist heat into his body. He blanked out everything except the feel of the water smacking his skin and then stroking down his body.
    The water flowed off his penis in wet rivulets. Tiny streamers stroked him, the damp heat reminiscent of small tongues on his flesh. Evan contemplated his dick. For the last year the only time he’d touched it had been purely functional. He barely remembered touching himself in pleasure. It was kind of like meeting up with someone you used to be really close with only to find out that you didn’t really have anything in common any more. Instead of falling back