Her Melting Point

Fallout

He scrunched his nose, his hand twitched under her bottom, and he made a chuff-like sound. Jackie pushed away, rolled off the bed, and scrambled into the ensuite. She closed the door, slowing down at the last moment, just in case he wasn't awake; and she spun and pressed her back it.

"Jackie?"

Definitely awake then.

She rushed to the mirror - and came to a sharp stop in front of her bath. The caddy was removed off the tub; the candles and miscellaneous bottles that she normally kept on the edges were stacked on the floor next to it. There was also an unusual amount of bath sheets - all three that she owned - hanging on the radiator, as well as two hand towels. The tub itself and the floor around it were pristine, though, as if someone had cleaned, rinsed, and dried every surface in the bathroom the previous night.

"Jackie?"

This time his voice was right behind the door, and she threw a panicky look at it.

"Just a second!"

Her voice cracked, and she realised that her throat was horribly painful. She asked herself what she'd been doing the night before to make it that sore - and a few graphic ideas made her clasp her hands over her mouth.

She jerked the tee up and examined her body. Surely, there would be some traces of whatever calamity she'd caused the night before. She found nothing: no bruises, scratches, marks of any sorts, or stains. Also, if she'd had sex with him - considering what she'd ascertained that time on the windowsill - she'd definitely feel it now. She'd never been able to fully relax during intimacy. Even if a drunk Jackie was a lush sensual tart, who had no need in all those supplies and preparations that she'd had to employ with Gabe; she'd be beyond sensitive right now.

"Do you need anything? Water? Painkillers?" he asked.

Jackie opened the door sharply. She was going to start her 'interrogation;' but instead, a choked yelp burst out of her. She'd forgotten that he was pretty much starkers.

"Put something on, please," she croaked.

He studied her, and she remembered that her arse was currently exposed to the elements. She edged by him, sideways, like a crab, pulling down at her shirt. He followed her with his eyes.

"Could you– could you please get dressed?" she begged. "But step out of the room, first. I need some clothes too. And what happened yesterday?! Why are you here? God, I only remember drinking with– with– And why are you naked? And me too!"

She reached her tallboy and grabbed the handle on one of the drawers. Her knickers and bras flew out, like a flock of mismatched birds. Predictably, flustered by his calm gaze, she'd used too much force.

"Oh bother," she groaned and started plucking the items off the bed and the ottoman.

She heard a small noise, and her face flew up. He had his fist in front of his mouth, and his shoulders were shaking. Jackie gasped.

"Alexander!"

His eyes were squinted, and she huffed.

"Sorry," he muttered and cleared his throat, unsuccessfully trying to hide his chuckles. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just– You're like a racoon." Another loud snort escaped him, and he covered his eyes with his hand. "Sorry. Give me a jiffy."

More rumbling purled in his chest, and he purposefully exhaled a couple of times. Jackie told herself to stop leering at his pronounced pecs and his flat stomach.

Her former best friend, Becca, had always joked that Jackie had an 'unreasonable taste in men," to which Jackie would always answer that she 'didn't have any taste in men, thank you very much.' She'd simply spent a lot of time around athletes in her track & field days, and later when running the marathon; so she could appreciate people's physique, no matter the gender. Conversely, Becca had clearly had the same taste in males, since she'd liberated Jackie of two.