Dust & Desire – The Summer Housekeeper

It started with a knock at the door.

Theo answered shirtless, sweat still drying from the afternoon writing session and Selene’s tongue earlier that morning. She lounged on the couch in his oversized T-shirt, her bare legs tangled in a blanket, pretending not to listen.

The woman on the porch wore expensive sunglasses and a smug little smirk.

“Amanda?” Theo asked, surprised.

“Hey, stranger. I was in town and thought I’d drop by. You still hiding out like a hermit?”

Selene’s posture changed instantly-alert, cold.

Theo stepped outside, but Amanda pushed past him and scanned the room. Her eyes landed on Selene.

“And who’s this?” she asked, sugar-sweet and loaded with venom.

“The housekeeper,” Selene replied before Theo could answer. Her smile was tight. “But I do a bit more than dust.”

Amanda cocked a brow. “Clearly.”

Selene stood slowly, stretching in a way that lifted the shirt just enough to show the curve of her hip. Theo swallowed hard. This was no coincidence, Selene was staking her claim.

Amanda turned back to Theo. “Well, if you’re into the hired help now, I guess I really did break your type.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “Amanda, what do you want?”

She stepped closer. “Just thought I’d say hi. And maybe remind you of what you liked before you went all lonely-writer-in-a-lighthouse.”

Selene crossed the room.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she said, voice icy. “I’ve got laundry to do.”

But as she passed Theo, her fingers gripped his waist not gently, but possessively.

Amanda left after a few minutes, clearly disappointed.

And the second the door closed, Theo turned to Selene.

“You okay?”

She didn’t answer. Just walked past him straight into the kitchen.

He followed, finding her bent over the counter, the shirt hiked up just enough to reveal she wore nothing underneath.

“I don’t like her,” she said.

“Good,” Theo growled, coming up behind her. “Because I’m not thinking about her. I’m thinking about you. Right now. Right here.”

Selene gasped as he pressed against her, one hand pinning her down, the other sliding between her legs.

She was wet. Already.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she panted.

“No one else?”

“No one.”

He slid into her in one smooth, claiming thrust and she cried out, loud and unfiltered.

That night, he didn’t write a single word.

But he carved his name into every inch of her skin with lips, teeth, and tongue.