And as I take off my sweaty shirt and pants, stepping inside the steaming shower, I allow the residual adrenaline to pour through me.
The pain, though, is as vivid as ever. It's always the same cycle.
I go through a withdrawal episode where I hallucinate she's next to me, where I fucking feel her skin next to mine. Then there's the period of time following the episode when I have to live with the realization it was never real.
That she's gone and nothing will bring her back.
I steady myself against the shower stall, my breath coming in short spurts, my senses too fucking full of her.
Letting my head rest against the tiled wall, I pretend for a moment that she's on the other side. I pretend her voice talks to me, asking how my day's been. I pretend I hear her sing, that sweet fucking tone that could bring me to my knees.
And as I fist my hard length in my hand, stroking myself, all I can imagine is her. The tightness of her pussy as she would welcome me into her body. The way she'd be so snug around me, her walls clamping down on me with the power of her orgasm.
My eyes snap closed, my lips parting as I keep pumping, using my imagination of her to help me take the edge off, "Fuck," I curse when I feel my balls draw up, a flash of light appearing before my eyes as I come in thick spurts.
My strength threatens to leave me, and I barely manage to scramble out of the bathroom, crashing face down on the bed.