The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Patrice’s living room, casting a warm golden glow over the slightly cluttered space. Books were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass sat forgotten on the sideboard, and a throw blanket draped lazily over the arm of the plush couch. Patrice, a woman who carried her curves with the kind of confidence that could stop traffic, lounged against the doorway to the hall, her arms crossed under her chest, pushing up the already snug fit of her tight black tank top. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her full lips curled into a smirk as she heard the heavy knock at the front door.
“About damn time,” she muttered under her breath, striding over to the door with a sway in her hips that was equal parts natural and calculated. She flung it open to reveal Rob, the handyman she’d called earlier that morning. He stood there in a faded flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, a tool belt slung low on his hips, and a sheepish grin on his face. His rugged jawline and the faint stubble dusting it weren’t lost on her, but it was the clueless look in his hazel eyes that made her smirk widen.
“You’re late, Handy Andy,” she said, her voice dripping with playful scorn as she leaned against the doorframe, one hip cocked. “I’ve been waiting to get this... *situation* handled for hours.”
Rob scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks already tinged with a faint flush. “Sorry ‘bout that, ma’am. Got held up on another job. I’m Rob, by the way. What’s the issue you mentioned on the phone?”
“Ma’am?” Patrice raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp but teasing. “Do I look like your grandma to you? It’s Patrice. And the issue is upstairs, in my bedroom. Think you can handle that, or should I call someone with a bit more... experience?”
Rob blinked, clearly caught off guard by her directness, but he managed a lopsided grin. “I’ve got plenty of experience, Patrice. Lead the way, and I’ll fix whatever’s broken.”
“Oh, I bet you will,” she shot back, her eyes glinting with mischief as she turned on her heel and started up the narrow staircase. Her shorts hugged her curves with every step, and she didn’t bother to check if he was following—she knew he was. She could practically feel his gaze on her as they climbed.
The bedroom at the top of the stairs was a sanctuary of deep burgundy walls and a king-sized bed that dominated the space, its dark wooden frame looking sturdy enough to withstand a storm. The covers were mussed, as if she’d just rolled out of them, and a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. Patrice stopped just inside the doorway, gesturing vaguely toward the bed with a flick of her wrist.
“It’s the frame,” she said, her voice laced with mock seriousness. “Something’s... loose. I need a man with the right tools to tighten things up. Think you’re up for it, Rob?”
Rob stepped past her, setting his toolbox down on the floor with a thud. He crouched near the bed, inspecting the frame, though his eyes kept darting to her as she leaned over just enough to give him a clear view of her cleavage. “Uh, doesn’t look like anything’s wrong here,” he mumbled, his voice a little hoarse. “You sure it’s the frame?”
Patrice straightened up, placing a hand on her hip and giving him a look that could melt steel. “Oh, I’m sure, sweetheart. But maybe you need to get a closer look. Come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite... unless you’re into that.”
His ears turned red, and he fumbled with a wrench from his belt, nearly dropping it. “I-I’m just trying to figure out what needs fixin’. Maybe if you point out exactly where—”
“Exactly where?” she interrupted, stepping closer until she was looming over him, her presence commanding and electric. “How ‘bout right here?” She bent forward again, ostensibly to point at a random spot on the frame, but the motion put her dangerously close to him, her chest brushing lightly against his shoulder. “See anything that needs... hammering into place?”
Rob swallowed hard, his hands stilling on the tool as he looked up at her, his pupils dilated. “You’re makin’ it real hard to focus on the job, Patrice.”
She laughed, low and throaty, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “Good. I don’t pay for half-assed work, Rob. If you’re gonna be in my bedroom, you better be *all in*. Now, why don’t you check this spot right here?” She tapped a spot on the frame closer to the headboard, forcing him to lean across the bed, his body stretched out in a way that made her smirk grow even more wicked.
He muttered something under his breath about “tight screws,” and she couldn’t resist. “Oh, honey, I’ve got plenty of those. But I’m more interested in how well you wield that hammer of yours. Think you can pound something into submission for me?”
Rob nearly dropped the wrench again, turning his head to stare at her, his face a mix of embarrassment and undeniable interest. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? I’m tryin’ to be professional here.”
“Professional?” Patrice scoffed, crossing her arms again, which only accentuated her curves further. “Sweetie, the only thing I want you to be professional at is following my lead. Now, get over here and check this closer. I’m not gonna ask twice.”
He hesitated for half a second before scooting closer on his knees, his hands hovering over the frame but his eyes locked on hers. The air between them crackled, thick with tension, as she stepped even nearer, her bare thigh brushing against his arm. “That’s better,” she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Now, let’s see if you’ve got the right touch.”
The repair was forgotten in an instant. Rob’s hands, calloused and strong, abandoned the tools entirely as they found their way to her hips, tentative at first but growing bolder under her piercing gaze. Patrice didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back—instead, she leaned into his touch, her fingers curling into his flannel shirt as she tugged him closer.
“That’s more like it,” she murmured against his ear, her breath hot and teasing. “Forget the bedframe, Rob. I’ve got something else that needs your attention.”
His grip tightened, and her smirk turned into a full-blown grin of triumph as they stumbled back against the edge of the bed, both of them breathless, the heat between them igniting into something neither could—or wanted to—stop.
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