Blaze

Fifty-Four; Blaise

I crack an eye open and immediately regret it. The first golden light of the morning was just barely visible on the horizon when I finally succumbed to sleep last night, my head on James's chest, my leg wrapped around his. Now the sun is bright and high in the sky. And I'm alone.

I stretch out, my naked limbs gliding against the sheets. My muscles ache and I'm sore, but in all the right ways. Images from the previous night, or earlier this morning, come flooding back. I smile, a big, wide, goofy smile. I want to do that again. All of it. With him. Where is he?

I smell something delicious and savory and my stomach rumbles. I attempt to sit up, but the covers are pulled down so tight I struggle to move. What in the...

I shove the comforter down to my hips and finally push myself up. His side of the bed is empty, his pillows fluffed and perfectly arranged. The topsheet and comforter are smoothed across the bed, the corners crisp and the edges tucked tightly underneath.

Oh my God. A hysterical giggle bubbles up from deep in my chest, and I throw a hand over my own mouth to stifle the sound of my laugh, but not before a few loud cackles escape. That obsessive compulsive sex god already made the bed. With me still in it. Oh, Lordy, I'm in trouble.

My question from moments ago is answered by the sounds of a sizzle and bang and curse from below. He must be in the kitchen, the source of those delicious aromas. Now I'm intrigued. My cell phone is plugged into a charger on the nightstand beside me, definitely not where I left it, and informs me its well into the afternoon.

I scan the floor for my clothes but panic briefly when I can't find them. I can't wander into the kitchen completely naked.

Or can I? I give the thought entirely too much consideration, but another belly rumble makes my decision for me. I need food first.

I stare at the floor just to the right of the staircase. I know I dropped my shirt there. And my jeans landed on the floor slightly to the left. I turn my head. My bra should be somewhere in the bathroom door vicinity and my panties should be near the foot of the bed. But I search each spot and come up empty handed.

I find my duffel bag, propped on a dresser in the room's small closet. A flash of red in the hamper beside the dresser catches my attention. My thong is still missing, but my jeans, shirt, and bra are in the dirty clothes hamper.

I spot the long sleeved t-shirt he was wearing last night folded beneath my clothes. My fingers slide over the soft, worn material. It doesn't feel as good as it did stretched over his hard, wide chest, but I grasp on to it just the same.

I bring his shirt to my face, inhaling. It still smells like him. I pull it over my head without overthinking, pleased to find it hangs halfway down my thighs. I don't even care if it's a weird thing to do. He's the weirdest person I know. Plus, I'm pretty sure he stole my underwear.

I softly pad down the staircase on bare feet while rolling up the long, baggy sleeves. I notice my coat hanging from a hook by the front door and stifle another laugh. Of course it's not on the floor where we left it. There aren't any buttons on the floor either. I stare at the front door a little too long, feeling another smile tug at the corner of my mouth. That's my favorite door in the history of doors.

I round the corner and my face breaks into a full toothy grin. I'm a smiling fool these days.

James stands at the stove, his back to me, whistling while tending to something crackling on the stove. His firm ass looks incredible in the same pajama pants he wore last night. I'm wearing his shirt and he's wearing no shirt and I am mesmerized by the way his naked back flexes and ripples each time he reaches.