Serena
I wake up with a groan as the sun breaks through the curtains, its rays somehow creeping behind the cracks of my eyelids and sending a searing pain through my head. My mouth is dry, and I blindly grapple around for the bedside table, hoping to locate the bottled water I am certain was there when I checked in yesterday. Instead, my hand collides with something - someone? - solid and warm. At that, my eyes fly open, the searing sunlight no longer my primary concern as I sit myself bolt upright and stare down at my unexpected bed-mate.
I take in the brown, sleep mussed hair, cut short at the back and fading out into a strong, thick neck; my eyes trail down a sculpted back, relaxed at present, but with all the definition of someone who spends a lot of time in the gym. One arm rests under the mans head, the other is thrown out in front of him; despite being at rest, his bicep is large, impressive, though not quite at the point of bulging. Veins wind their way down an equally rippling forearm, to a hand that looks both strong and firm. His back is bare, and the duvet is slung so low on his hips that there’s no question as to whether he is wearing any clothes, as his strong back tapers down into a lean waist, showing just the slightest glimpse of buttock. Heat floods my cheeks and runs straight down into my groin as I resist the urge to run hands over whatever flesh I can get my hands on.
I glance down at myself, and realise with a jolt that I am in the same level of undress, my breasts bare and free. I desperately search through my memories of last night, trying to remember what - or indeed, who - I had done to find myself here, naked in bed with a stranger, but I seem to draw a blank.
My mouth feels more dry than ever, and I frantically cast my eyes around for the water bottle, only to see that it is, as expected, on the bedside table beside this unfamiliar adonis. There’s no way I can reach over him without waking him, or at the very least, without brushing my breasts against the muscled expanse of his back - and whilst the idea sends a little jolt of arousal through me, whatever dutch courage and confidence led me to jump into bed with a stranger last night has evaporated just as quickly now. Instead, I gently slip the covers from me, putting my feet on the thankfully carpeted floor, and pad round as quietly as possible to retrieve the water bottle.
There is a brief glimmer of hope when I see a pair of jeans and a white shirt thrown over the nearby chaise-lounge and I wonder if, by some miracle, I in fact ended up in his room, and can make my escape… but as I round the bottom of the bed, I spot the three dresses I had tried on and discarded the night before, rumpled in a pile on the floor, and I cringe inwardly, continuing my slow tip-toe to retrieve the bottle of water; I crack it open as quietly as possible, eyes fixated on the man in my bed.
His face is handsome, chiselled; there is a slight crook in his nose where it might once have been broken, but it only adds character to the already alluring countenance. His jaw is strong, and there is a spattering of stubble across it; I wonder briefly if it is designer, or simply a five o’clock shadow, before bringing the water bottle to my mouth and drinking deeply. The crisp cool water trickles down my throat so blissfully that I find myself closing my eyes, sighing with relief, and fervently consuming three quarters of the bottle before I stop to breathe. When I do, and my eyes open up, I’m met by two dazzling green eyes that watch me with both amusement and interest, and I immediately splutter, the last mouthful of water slipping from my lips and spraying onto the floor and, embarrassingly, onto the green eyed, muscular man in my bed.
Within a second, he is out of the bed, the duvet thrown back as he jumps forward to rub my back, a twinkle of amusement on his features as he waits for my spluttering to subside.
“Easy there, darlin’,” he murmurs it so quietly I could have almost missed it, but there’s no mistaking his thick, irish accent, and I quietly swoon, whilst suddenly understanding exactly how I ended up in this position; I’m a sucker for an irish accent, and his deep voice is somehow warm, sweet and gravelly all at the same time, sending shivers down my spine.
It’s those shivers that alert me to the fact that we are both stood, undeniably naked, in such close proximity, that I am certain that, were I brave enough to look down, I would be able to see that the firm, warm length jutting into my hip was most definitely not a reassuring hand, but instead, his -
“You’ve come over all shy,” he murmured, and I realise just how tall he is as he looks down at me with those gorgeous green eyes. My heart is racing, and there’s a hot flush rising in my cheeks and neck, one that I hope to God he won’t notice, but -
“And now I’ve embarrassed you,” his grin is crooked, wolfish and charming, and I find myself shaking my head so forcefully that the splitting pain I had first noticed as I woke with the sun returns with renewed vigour; the hand that is not clutching the water bottle jumps to my forehead, and I groan quietly as I close my eyes.
His hand has stopped rubbing me now, but rests gently in the small of my back. I try to ignore the little jolts of electricity that seem to be jumping from his fingertips to my crotch, even as I feel him step somehow closer, his other hand reaching to my shoulder as he gently guides me to sit down on the edge of the bed; all I can think about is the heat of his chest against my arm, and the insistent prodding in my hip, until suddenly I am sitting down, my body surprisingly cold, as he kneels - dear God, he is kneeling! - in front of me.
His hands slip to my thighs, and though I am almost certain there is no sexual intent behind his actions, I wonder what it would feel like for him to move them higher, to slip them to the inside of my thigh and gently rub against my-
“Can I get you something?” His voice interrupts my sexual reverie and I find myself looking back into those eyes again. “A paracetamol?” He offers. “Ibuprofen?”
“I’m fine,” I squeak; it’s the most pathetic, high pitched noise I have ever made in my life, and I shake my head again, clearing my throat as I add, “Thank you, no…”
His eyes don’t move from my face; his hands don’t move from my legs; I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from my core, if he can smell my arousal from his vantage point between my legs, if the hot length that was just now jutting into my hip is still at full mast, or if my spluttering, squeaking mess has spectacularly derailed his morning glory.
“Are you sure?” There’s genuine kindness and concern in his tone, and if I weren’t currently torn between arousal and embarrassment, I think I’d be touched. Emotionally, of course, I tell myself.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so instead I simply nod and, at a loss for what to do, take another sip of water; I don’t miss the way his gaze falls to my lips, and I’m just about to wipe a stray droplet of water away when his hand lifts to my face, cupping my chin as one thumb brushes delicately across my lips and swipes the water away from it for me.
I’m frozen, looking into his eyes like a deer in headlights, when he tilts his head slightly to the side, eyebrow cocked. When he speaks, it’s like someone has drowned his words in lava, and I have to press my thighs together as heat floods through me.
“Maybe we can pick up where we left off?"
Fascinating! ☺️