Kate

The bath ran slow, as if it knew how much she needed it.

The copper tub had been a gift to herself, the sort of expense she'd once asked permission for — but not anymore. It stood in the middle of her small bathroom like a sculpture, round-bellied and unapologetically decadent. The tap flowed with a hushed rush, gilded and heavy, spilling steaming water into the shallow basin she'd laced with oils — amber and neroli, a touch of sandalwood. Not flowery. Something more carnal.

She peeled her clothes away slowly, letting each layer fall like a stage curtain. The cotton bra she'd had on all day left the faintest red indent under her breasts. She ran a hand beneath one, fingers lifting the warm weight of it, sighing. Full, pale, and real. Softly dropped when she let go.

Her hips curved generous and wide, the fullness of her arse revealed as she slipped her knickers down her thighs. Always the part of her she was most self-conscious about when younger. Now? Now she liked the way it moved, the way it answered back. She caught herself in the mirror again — blonde hair falling forward, skin flushed slightly pink from the bathroom heat. Still beautiful. Still very much here.

The bath greeted her with heat. She sank in slowly, the heat creeping up her legs, her thighs, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she lowered in deeper. She always had to breathe through it — that delicious sharp warmth before her body adjusted, like slipping into someone else's bed.

The oils bloomed around her, the scent rising with the steam. That amber note — dark honey, warm skin, a whisper of something feral beneath. She tipped her head back against the edge and exhaled, the sound low and animal. It wasn’t even five p.m. yet. A whole hour before dinner. She could take all of it.

Water kissed the curve of her breasts, just shy of covering them. The surface shimmered, broken where her nipples rose, tight and flushed. Her arm floated loosely by her side. The world dimmed around her — no phone, no talk, just her body easing under layers of heat and scent and silence.

She ran a lazy hand up her thigh, slick with oil and water, her skin impossibly soft. The curve of her belly, the lines time had given her — she stroked them without judgment. This was hers. All of it. She'd earned every inch.

The heat worked deeper now, melting the tension from her calves, her shoulders, her lower back. She could feel her pulse in strange places — beneath her ribs, inside her lips, the backs of her knees. Every part of her softened.

She let one knee float to the surface, the long line of her leg breaking the water. A glisten of oil caught the candlelight. The room smelt like heat and woman — her perfume mingling with the bath, the faint trace of something floral and old clinging to her skin from earlier. Jasmine, maybe. Or memory.

A drop of water slid from the tip of her nipple and down the side of her breast. She watched it fall. That part of her — her breasts — they were always such a feature. She hadn’t always liked the attention. But now? Now they were hers, in the truest sense. Heavy, warm, and so alive. She cupped one lazily, the pressure of her hand making her hum under her breath. Not quite arousal, not yet. Just the luxury of sensation.

Her fingers drifted again, brushing her ribs, her waist, the soft swell of her hips. She didn’t rush. There was no need. That was the secret, really. No one ever said it aloud — but sometimes the sexiest thing in the world was being left the fuck alone, free to move at your own rhythm, no one’s eyes on you, no one’s needs in the way. Just water and heat and your own hands.

Kate let her breath deepen. She was very still now, the kind of stillness that only arrives after you've given yourself permission to drop everything. To be unashamedly alone. To feel.

A single finger trailed up the inside of her thigh, slow. A familiar ache stirred somewhere deeper. But she didn’t chase it. Not yet.

She smiled, not opening her eyes.

She had time.