Dust & Desire – The Summer Housekeeper

The next morning, Theo rose to the scent of lemons.

Not the sweet citrus of fruit, but something sharper, polished wood and clean surfaces. He padded barefoot into the living room, finding Selene on her knees, working methodically along the baseboards with a rag and a bottle of lemon oil.

She wore cutoff denim shorts and a thin white tank, braless again. Her hair was twisted into a lazy bun. Sunlight spilled through the windows, kissing the curve of her spine as she reached forward, her ass rising just slightly with every stroke.

Theo froze.

He should say good morning. Should ask if she needed anything. But the only thing forming in his mind was how those shorts left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Selene turned, catching him mid-stare.

“Good morning,” she said, not even trying to hide her smirk. “You sleep late.”

“I write late,” Theo replied, his voice rougher than he intended. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten. I’ve already done the kitchen and the hallway.”

She turned back to the wall, resuming her slow polishing. Her motions were hypnotic—up, down, circular. Like she knew he was still watching.

“Do you always… clean like this?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“On your knees. In tiny shorts. Making a man forget how to breathe.”

Selene paused. Turned her head just enough to glance back at him.

“Would you prefer I wore a uniform?” she asked, eyes gleaming. “With buttons… or without?”

Theo felt his pulse spike. “I’d prefer you didn’t make me rewrite a whole chapter because I can’t think straight.”

Selene stood, stretching slowly. Her tank lifted, revealing the subtle dip of her waist, the smooth slope of her ribs. “Then maybe close the door when you write. Or open it and let me in.”

She walked past him, leaving a faint trail of lemon and heat in the air.

Theo watched her disappear into the next room, eyes trailing the subtle sway of her hips.

He sat down at his desk, fingers trembling slightly over his typewriter keys.

He typed two words.

“She cleans.”

Then deleted them. It wasn’t enough.

He tried again.

“She cleans like she’s undressing the house. Like each stroke is a seduction, slow and sticky, smelling of lemon and longing.”

Better.

But not even close to what she made him feel.