Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 17 🌶️

And then, in that moment, I make a decision.

I decide to let go, to give in to what my body so desperately craves. With a sigh, I reach down, my fingers finding that spot that holds all the tension, all the yearning. My touch is gentle at first, almost exploratory, but it's like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.

Instantly, I'm ablaze, a frenzy of sensation erupting inside me. My knees go weak, and I lean more heavily against the shower wall for support. My breathing turns into ragged gasps, each one punctuated by my rising excitement.

The reality of the situation fades away, leaving only the electrifying sensations that are coursing through me, each one more powerful than the last. As I bring myself closer and closer to the edge, my thoughts drift back to Marx's sultry gaze, to Fowler's lingering touch, each fueling my descent into pure, uninhibited pleasure.

Finally, it hits me—a wave of release so powerful it nearly knocks the wind out of me. I cry out, my voice echoing against the shower tiles, filling the small room with the sound of my surrender. For a few glorious moments, I'm lost, adrift in a sea of sensation that washes over me.

As I come back down to earth, my breathing slowly returns to normal, the water from the shower now feeling almost too cold against my sensitive skin. I turn off the faucet and step out, grabbing a towel to wrap myself in.

As I stand there, drying off and still feeling slightly dazed, a sense of reality starts to creep back in. Oh God, what if they heard me? What if I was too loud?

I throw on a robe and tie it snugly, suddenly conscious of how thin the walls might be. My eyes dart to the bathroom door, half-expecting either Fowler or Marx to come knocking, asking if I'm okay. But the house remains eerily quiet.

Taking a deep breath, I pad back into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed, my mind racing. The relief I felt moments ago is starting to fade, replaced by a new wave of anxiety. What if they heard me? I wouldn't be able to face them again.

I hear laughter coming from the living room, the sounds of the movie still playing in the background. They seem unaware of my internal struggle, oblivious to the seismic shift that just occurred in the confines of my bathroom.

I want to go back out there, join them, act like nothing happened. Yet, the very idea makes me nervous. How can I look them in the eye after what just happened?

With another sigh, I decide to just stay in bed. I already feel awkward. And what happens if the tension builds again? It's better if I just sleep this off.

**

The next morning, I stumble into the kitchen, still half-asleep and wrapped in a comfy robe. My hair's a mess, but who cares? Fowler and Marx are probably still knocked out anyway.

Rubbing my eyes, I pause, taking in the unexpected sight before me. The kitchen counter is a wonderland of baking supplies—flour, sugar, vanilla extract, new pans, baking sheets, and even some fancy mixing bowls and a hand mixer. My eyes catch a note propped against a bag of chocolate chips.

"Thought the kitchen could use these. –M"

My heart does a weird flip-flop. Marx got these? I don't even know when he would have had the time to get any of this stuff. Was it because I mentioned I loved baking?

Okay, keep it together, Emersyn. I'm sure I'm just looking into things too much again.

I decide to make some breakfast muffins.

I've got the first batch in the oven when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see Marx walking in, his hair tousled from sleep, wearing just a pair of sweatpants. His chest is bare, his muscular frame on full display.