My orgasm knots stronger. Business thinking gives way to Lance’s smooth, deep voice whispering sweet nothings in my mind. Kyle’s strong hands maneuver me with ease. I speed my circles with one hand and flop a pillow onto my face with the other to quiet any moans that might escape. Then I fall apart, all alone, and pray that this will be enough to let me think straight.
The squishy pillow pressing on my face, obstructing my breathing, becomes part of my awareness. As the orgasmic bliss fades. I roll my head to the side, scooting the pillow slightly the other direction.
This is going to be a long week.
My internal cheerleader encourages me to shower, put on a freshly made face, and make sure that my hair is styled to perfection the way I used to. The way that used to be so important to me and has faded over the years. Now that I’m single it wouldn’t hurt to pay more attention to making myself presentable.
As I walk past my bathroom mirror, I groan at my wild bedhead and smeared mascara. I’d been too wound up last night and jumped into bed without completing my usual bedtime routine.
I adjust the water temperature then take a few extra minutes to relax and treat myself right. I have my first guests. My business has officially made its first dollar. With the minimal startup cost, I’ll be profitable. This first week of both rooms being occupied will cover my decorating costs since I made use of things like my existing single beds.
There’s more work to be done though. I don’t have to pull up the calendar to know there’s nothing booked after these guys. I don’t have my place listed anywhere yet, or a website, or a marketing budget.
I can’t imagine it will be too hard to book eight nights a month, which will cover the payment to my parents and utilities. Convincing them to let me convert this house into a bed and breakfast was way better than moving back home with them while I regrouped. My old job wasn’t enough to cover my expenses on my own.
After towel-drying my hair, I step in front of the mirror, dig through my makeup bag, and realize I need to rent one extra night a month so I can replace all of my makeup that’s way too old. Not quite high-school old, but I haven’t worn much in the last few years.
Am I being superficial? I like to think of it as savvy to give myself curb appeal.
With plenty of time, I head to the kitchen. Lifting a hand to choose an apron from the favorites I hang on pegs, my eyes fall shut as I recall the feral look in Lance’s eyes as he caught me toying with the frilly edge of my apron. It felt good to be wanted, at least that’s how I interpreted his expression.
Shaking it off, I choose a pink one that goes well with my skin tone.
I make quick work of the breakfast quiches, and their amazing fragrance fills the kitchen shortly before they’re done cooking.
The guys filled out my online information form about their schedules and preferences, thank you Mila and Google for making it easy, so I start the coffee a few minutes before they’re scheduled to get up. The form was a tip I’d gotten from the online forums emphasizing that lots of places have a decent bed and high thread count sheets so it’s the attention to detail that makes you stand out.
Lance rolls out of his room in nothing but boxers, causing me to do a double take. I’d said he should make himself at home, but this is a pleasant surprise. The smattering of hair over his sculpted pecs is the only delicious thing I can process.
His steps are heavy, his eyes weighted, and he rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck that smells good.”
I hope he’s not tired from lack of sleep unless it’s like my lack of sleep. No, no, no. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. Stay focused.
“Have a seat. I’ll bring your coffee to you.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Kyle is a few paces behind him looking much the same but he chose sweat pants and a t-shirt—another tasty option.
“I do. I want to. Please sit in the living room and make yourselves comfortable.”
Lance plops down on the couch, throwing a leg onto the cushions and his arm across the back. I have to force my eyes back to the coffee I’m pouring.
Kyle sits in an oversized chair and leans his head against the back.
“Did you guys sleep okay?” I ask as I add creamer to both of their coffees per their preferences according to the cutesy coffee color chart on my guest form.
“Yeah, that was a great night’s sleep,” Kyle says.
Lance grins and throws in, “Guess we’ll be giving your beds an excellent review.”
I make small talk with them, struggling to keep my dirty thoughts at bay. Lance would be fun to banter with but it seems to create tension with Kyle. What would it be like waking up between the two of them? My cheerleader rallies and I remind her that we’re rooting for Team Business not Team Sex Life.
“So, are you sightseeing today?”
Kyle stops mid-sip and says, “We don’t have time.”
That’s odd.
Lance sits upright, setting his coffee on the coffee table. “Not sightseeing like we just stroll around and have no purpose. When we sightsee as travel writers…” His eyes flit to Kyle. The two of them have a weird dynamic for sure. Then he continues. “It’s business, of course.”