What Are You Doing Here? (Ainsley Booth Spicy Romance Flash Fiction)

I see her before she sees me, because she's wearing headphones and dancing up a storm in my kitchen.

And clearly she doesn't know I'm here, because she's wearing a black push up bra and a pair of black panties...and nothing else.

I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. She always liked it when I did that. She couldn't keep her eyes off the flex of my forearms or the way my pecs and shoulders would bunch up. And I always enjoyed her perving on my body.

Mutual appreciation of each other's finest parts was the highlight of our short fling last year.

My schedule with the team was the lowlight...she wasn't interested in dating someone who was only around a few days a week at best.

So we agreed to be friends.

I even asked her to water my plants, which was a ruse just to keep her in my life, yes, but it worked, and it turned out for the best, because we are very good friends.

I didn't realize we are "dancing in each other's kitchens in our underwear" good friends, but I'm down with that. Seems like fun.

So I'm grinning when she finally swivels her hips in my direction.

Apparently it's less for for her, because as soon as she sees me, she screams and her headphones go flying in one direction, and her legs slip out from under her in the other direction.

I lunge ahead to catch her, and she's suddenly sprawled beneath me, my hands managing to cradle her just before she hits the ground.

Between us, her tits heave in a very distracting way. 

"What are you doing here?" she gasps, her eyes wide.

"I live here." 

Her body jerks, her bare legs brushing against my jeans, and my cock surges to life. "It's not funny," she pants.

"I'm not laughing." I was grinning, before, but now I'm intensely aware of my growing erection and the way her whole body is trembling beneath me, and nothing about this is funny, I agree. "What are you doing here?"

"My washing machine is busted. I'm using yours in exchange for watering your ficus."

"And you had to take off all your clothes?"

"I also made a peanut butter and jam sandwich, and some of the jam fell on my top..." She trails off. "Can you..."

I should, yes. Let her up and find her some clothes to wear.

That is what I should do.

Instead, I shift the balance of my weight onto one hand and carefully catch her wrists in the other. "You're very familiar in my space," I murmur as I tug her arms up over her head and press them to the carpet she picked out on one of our shopping trips. "How much time do you spend here when I'm gone?"

"Your ficus likes it when I talk to it..." She bites her lower lip.

Yeah. My ficus likes that a lot, I bet. I brush my fingers down her arm in a careful caress. "You know what I think?"

"What?" It's a breathy question, a single word...a plea.

"I think you knew I was coming home this afternoon."