Raine lay sprawled across her bed, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling of her apartment. The room was stifling, the late-night hum of the city seeping through the window. Sleep wouldn't come, her mind restless, snagging on a single, maddening thought: Nick Montgomery. His dark hair, perpetually messy. The glint of his glasses. That arm, covered in Greek tattoos—gods and monsters etched in ink that seemed to move when she stared too long. She shifted under the sheets, a restless heat pooling low in her belly.
She tried to push the image away, but it clung stubbornly. Nick's low, rough voice saying her name. The way his hands might feel, strong and deliberate, pinning her down. Her breath hitched, thighs pressing together as the heat grew, insistent. "Damn it," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut, but that only made it worse. In her mind's eye, Nick was closer, his lips grazing her neck, tattoos stark against his skin as he pressed himself against her.
Her hand moved almost without thought, slipping beneath the waistband of her underwear. She hesitated, heart pounding, but the ache was too sharp to ignore. Her fingers found her core, slick with want, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She imagined Nick's hands instead—rough, calloused, tracing the same path with that infuriating confidence. Her hips rocked against her touch, slow at first, then faster, chasing the fantasy. Nick's dark eyes behind those glasses, burning with intent. His voice, a growl: "Raine, let go."
Her free hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as she circled her clit, the pressure building like a storm. She pictured Nick's tattoos under her fingertips, the hard lines of his body moving with hers, relentless. The fantasy consumed her, and with a muffled cry, she came undone, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her breath came in ragged pants, the ceiling swimming back into focus as the haze cleared.
But as the heat faded, a cold weight settled in her chest. Raine pulled her hand away, staring at her fingers as if they belonged to someone else. This wasn't her—giving in to some desperate, fleeting urge, letting Nick Montgomery of all people unravel her like that. She wiped her hand on the sheets, shame creeping in like damp rot. She wasn't the kind of person who lost control, who let fantasies dictate her body. Yet here she was, heart still racing, body betraying her with every lingering pulse.
She turned onto her side, curling into herself, the ceiling forgotten. "Get it together, Raine," she whispered, but the words felt hollow. Nick's image lingered, uninvited, and she wondered if sleep would ever come without bringing him with it.