These thoughts and images, while created by me, stirred up my magic, and I let it burst from me, using my thoughts to hopefully direct it to him. I didn’t know if that was even possible, but it felt right, and came easily. I let my light within soar from me, out of this building, and to him, traveling, I imagined, at the speed of light over our connection, the tether, the invisible silver cords that bound us despite distance.
I saw the light form over him like an aura. The heat and power of it caressed his damaged body, adding the healing that only love could. Once again, imagining him whole, healed, that body of his got to me, even if only a memory or an imagining of my mind. I found myself wet beyond the water coursing at me from the shower head. I, too, pulsed, just between my thighs, to be touched, kissed, and then invaded there by him. His often gentle roughness with my body got me going in ways I’d never even thought possible before. We’d experimented in rough play quite successfully, and I longed to feel his hand grab my breast or smack against my ass. In fact, I experienced a reminiscent trickle of sensation along my skin that only reinforced all my longing and urges for him.
Looking down my body, I saw that my nipples had grown hard under the spray, and I knew how much he’d like the sight. While my gaze lingered over my full, excited breasts, my fingers resting gently on my stomach, I questioned what I should do with this response.
Am I wasting time? No. The group gave me an hour or more to merely shower and get myself together. Is it pointless to pleasure myself? No. I could send that sexual energy to him, as well. Any connection would have to help as we waited out this torturous separation.
With the thought that I could do just that, send him even more of my magic, my energy, my love, whatever I could to aid him, to help him at all, even if just a long shot, it seemed the best use of my time, to connect with him, rather than sit and wait out hearing the plans of the Royals and vampires. My only other option was to sit around and worry about him, to make myself sick with it. This seemed at least proactive, even if only an excuse to imagine him naked. I was sure that, when I told him about it later, that not only would he get a kick out of it, but he would ask for a repeat performance that he could watch in person.
Finally, I let a shaking finger move between my soaked folds. With him in my mind, the image of him being in the shower with me, on his knees, naked, between my open legs, admiring my folds as the water pelted down upon them, his finger exploring me, I began to throb, to want to move my hips. I glanced out into the huge room, ensuring myself to be alone. While I knew no one would walk in on me, the unfamiliarity of my surroundings made the check instinctual, not a commentary on the people I was with.
It wasn’t long before my body needed more. So my mind and my fingers obliged. As I imagined him opening my folds, exposing my wet, red skin, I bent one knee, and brought a foot to the bench, angling until my thighs were as open as I could manage. Seeing him in my mind go down on me, kissing and licking my outer folds, I ran my fingers over them, in between them. As I imagined the fingers to be thicker, rougher, to be Lex’s, my breath hitched, as it often did when he touched me for real.
Eventually, I worked my fingers to my clit, pressing hard, circling. With my eyes tightly closed, I imagined all I could see between my thighs was his dark hair, wet from the shower. All I could feel, though, was his tongue circling my engorged nub. The moment took me, and I began to moan softly as I rode the mounting, hot, angry waves of desire, letting the fireball grow in my core.
My thoughts of him grew erratic. His mouth placed gentle kisses on my clit and opening. His tongue worked up and down over my folds. All the while, my fingers were pleasuring myself, touching and rubbing, alternating between gentle teasing touches and hard pleasurable rubs. My nails scraping against my skin brought remembrances of his teeth. In his overzealous taking of me, his mouth moving over my flesh, he’d scraped them along my sensitive skin, eliciting scrams of pleasure to rip from my lungs. I wanted him inside me in the worst way.
Needy, pulsing, I slipped two fingers an inch or so inside me. As my walls gripped them, I imagined his cock entering me, the feel of the head stretching me to accommodate him. A rush of passion put stars before my eyes, blocking out the here and now completely, until all I could concentrate on was the feel of my body as it coordinated with the images I created in my mind.
Adding another finger, the stretch only made my ache for him worse. The fire in my belly threatened to erupt. I moved against the glorious mounting friction, watching in my mind as his muscles bunched, and jumped, as he pushed in and out of me. It took some effort, but I managed to get my three fingers as far in as I could, reaching that soft spot inside of me. Every muscle began to tremble and pulse, and contract, as I rode out that fiery passion only he could ignite.