Celeb Fun

Her eyes, wide and a startling shade of hazel, scanned the room with an almost childlike innocence. There were no piles on the floor, no hastily discarded garments draped over a chair. Just nothing.

A faint, almost imperceptible thump from downstairs broke her reverie. Jane frowned. She didn’t live alone, not exactly. Last night, there were festivities. Champagne, laughter, a dizzying whirl of unfamiliar faces and then, a blur. A rather handsome blur, she recalled, with a charmingly crooked smile and hands that had been surprisingly gentle.

Driven by a nascent curiosity, and perhaps a flicker of primal instinct, Jane swung her legs over the side of the bed. The air, crisp and slightly cool, brushed against her skin, causing a shiver that was more titillating than chilling. She padded to the bedroom door, her bare form silhouetted against the morning light. The hallway was equally devoid of textiles.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the aroma of brewing coffee and frying bacon wafted up, a tantalizing beacon. She peered down. At the foot of the stairs, a figure was humming off-key, flipping something in a pan. It was him. The handsome blur. He wore only a pair of rather fetching plaid boxer shorts, his back muscles flexing subtly as he moved.

He turned, spatula in hand, and his gaze met hers. His crooked smile appeared, wider this time, and a slow, appreciative gleam entered his eyes. He didn’t seem surprised. Not even a little.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble. "Coffee's almost ready. And I think," he added, his gaze drifting pointedly over her, "your clothes might be in the laundry. Or perhaps you simply didn't wear any last night?" A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes.

Jane’s cheeks, previously pale, bloomed with a sudden, delightful blush. The total naivety didn't quite vanish, but it was now laced with a burgeoning awareness. She didn't have her clothes, true, but perhaps, just perhaps, that wasn't the most pressing issue right now. The smell of bacon was certainly distracting, and the way his smile lingered was… intriguing. Maybe, she thought, clothes could wait. For a little while longer.

Reginald's rough palms, calloused from years of working with his hands, found their rhythm against the yielding curve of Jane’s rear. A soft gasp escaped her lips, a tiny sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that vibrated through the air between them. The frisson of excitement that had shot up her spine when he first touched her had now blossomed into a warm, insistent thrum beneath her skin. She leaned back slightly into his embrace, her body a willing canvas for his touch.

The day had been long, filled with the mundane tasks of life, but this moment was anything but. It was an escape, a promise, a delicious anticipation. She could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers, the scent of his cologne – a mix of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine – filling her senses. Her mind, usually so meticulously organized, was pleasantly hazy, focused only on the exquisite sensation of his hands.

He kneaded gently, his thumbs tracing the line where her jeans met her bare skin, sending shivers trailing down her thighs. Jane’s breath hitched. She had no qualms, absolutely none, about where this was going. In fact, she craved it. The desire, hot and insistent, had been simmering within her for hours, a quiet hum that now threatened to erupt.

"Can you do me a favor?" she asked, her voice a little breathy, a little huskier than usual. She tilted her head back, resting it against his shoulder, her eyes closed as she savored the moment. "And lube me up?"