Golden Hour || Robert 'Bob' Floyd x OC

morning after

Abby woke in a bed that wasn't hers. Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on the ceiling and the empty space beside her.

She smiled to herself, thinking of the night before. She had never felt that alive, that appreciated, that worshipped. It had been the most incredible, mind-blowing sex of her life, and she was sure he had ruined whatever may come after him for her.

She turned over in bed, grabbing her phone from the nightstand to check the time. It was barely 6 a.m., but the sound of clinking mugs and a noisy coffee maker carried through from the kitchen to the bedroom. They had to be on base by seven, so while it was a little early to get started, she was happy to have a few more moments with him.

If he wasn't regretting taking her home, of course.

As if summoned, the door to the bedroom opened. Bob walked in, wearing only his boxer briefs, carrying two steaming mugs. "Do you take anything in your coffee?" He asked, setting the mugs down on the nightstand where Abby's phone had previously been.

She shook her head. "No," she told him. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, pulling the sheet against her chest. Bob hovered by the bed, his bright blue eyes unsure behind the gold-rimmed glasses.

"You can sit," she told him, sipping her mug.

"Yeah?"

Abby nodded, offering him a soft smile. "Yeah." She folded her legs under her, so there was room for him on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his own mug and took a long sip.

She admired the way his muscles moved and was still in awe at how broad-shouldered and fit he was. Should she be surprised, given how much physical strain was placed on the body in a fighter jet? No, but Bob hid it well.

"How did you sleep?" He asked, setting his mug back down.

"Like the dead."

He looked at her, brows drawn together and nose scrunched up in confusion.

She chuckled. "I slept really well," she told him, hoping it put his mind at ease. "Wish you were here when I woke up, though."

Abby watched as a flush spread through Bob's cheeks, giving his face more color than usual, and she felt herself reach out to place her palm over it. His eyes seemed to close involuntarily at the touch. She let her hand fall back down, and Bob's blue eyes opened again. They had turned serious, but the softness never left them.

"I hope you don't..." he began, trailing off, "regret last night."

"No," she assured him, placing her mug back on the nightstand. "Not at all." She put her hands on either side of his face, making him look at her. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and scooted closer to him. She brought his face down to hers so they were breathing the same air.

She only half-realized that the sheet fell off her, exposing her to him, but Abby didn't care because the moment Bob's lips met hers again was everything. She wanted him, and if the large hands wrapping around her back, bringing her flush against his chest, was anything to go by, she'd say he wanted her too.