The late afternoon sun spilled through the sheer curtains of Patrice’s living room, casting a warm glow over the slightly cluttered space. Books were piled on the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass sat beside a crumpled throw blanket on the couch, and a faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air. Patrice, a woman whose curves could stop traffic, lounged on the couch in a tight black tank top and a pair of dangerously short denim cutoffs. The fabric of her top clung to her voluptuous figure, leaving little to the imagination, and she knew it. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder as she scrolled through her phone, a smirk playing on her lips. She was waiting for something—or rather, someone.
A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her idle thoughts. She set her phone down, adjusted her top just enough to ensure maximum impact, and sauntered to the door with the confidence of a predator who knew her prey was already caught. Swinging it open, she found Rob, the handyman she’d called earlier that morning, standing there with a toolbox in hand and a slightly sheepish expression on his rugged face. He was all broad shoulders and stubble, his faded flannel shirt rolled up to reveal forearms that spoke of hard labor. But his eyes—oh, those eyes—were already darting, trying and failing to keep from lingering on her.
“Well, damn, if it isn’t Mr. Fix-It himself,” Patrice drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a hip cocked out. Her voice was honey dipped in whiskey, smooth but with a bite. “I was starting to think you’d stood me up. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little hard work.”
Rob blinked, a flush creeping up his neck as he fumbled for words. “Uh, no, ma’am. Just got held up on another job. I’m here now. You said somethin’ about a bedroom issue?”
Her smirk widened into a full-on grin, predatory and playful. “Oh, I’ve got an issue alright. Question is, are you man enough to handle it?” She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in, her gaze raking over him like she was appraising a piece of fine furniture. “Come on, don’t just stand there gawking. I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”
He coughed, nearly dropping his toolbox as he shuffled inside, his boots scuffing against the hardwood floor. “Right. Uh, where’s the problem exactly?”
“Follow me, handsome. It’s in the bedroom,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she led the way. Her hips swayed with every step, a deliberate rhythm that she knew he couldn’t ignore. She could practically feel his eyes burning into her back, and it only fueled her amusement. Glancing back, she caught him staring, just as she’d expected. “Eyes up here, Rob. Unless you’re planning to fix my ass instead of my bedframe.”
His face turned beet red, and he stammered, “I—I wasn’t— I mean, I’m just—”
“Relax, sugar. I’m just messin’ with you,” she cut him off with a laugh, sharp and bright. “But if you’re gonna stare, at least buy me dinner first. Or, you know, fix something to earn it.”
They reached the bedroom, a cozy space with a king-sized bed dominating the center, its dark wooden frame slightly askew. The sheets were rumpled, a scarlet silk that screamed seduction, and a few stray pieces of lingerie were draped over a chair in the corner. Patrice didn’t bother tidying up—she wanted him to see it, to feel the heat of the room. She perched on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, and pointed at the frame. “See that? It’s wobbly. Keeps creaking every time I… well, let’s just say it’s been through some action. Think you can tighten it up for me?”
Rob swallowed hard, setting his toolbox down with a clunk. “Yeah, I can take a look. Probably just needs some bolts tightened or somethin’.”
“Mm-hmm, sure. Tightening things up is your specialty, right?” Her tone dripped with innuendo as she tilted her head, watching him crouch down to inspect the frame. “Don’t be shy now. Get in there. I don’t have all day.”
He muttered something under his breath, his hands fumbling with a wrench as he tried to focus on the task. But Patrice wasn’t about to let him off easy. She slid off the bed, bending over just a little too close to point at a specific spot on the frame, her tank top dipping low as she did. Her arm brushed against his shoulder, a fleeting but deliberate touch, and she felt him tense under her proximity.
“Right there, see? That’s where it’s loose,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “You think you can handle something that… unstable?”
Rob’s wrench slipped, clattering against the wood, and he cursed softly. “Jesus, lady, you’re makin’ it hard to concentrate.”
“Oh, am I?” She straightened up, hands on her hips, and fixed him with a mock-innocent look. “I’m just trying to help. Don’t tell me a big, strong guy like you can’t handle a little distraction. Or is it too much for you?”
He shot her a look, half exasperated, half something else—something hungrier. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Sweetheart, I’m the best kind of trouble,” she shot back, her grin wicked. “Now, come on. I’ll hold this side steady while you work your magic. Unless you’re too flustered to even hold a tool right now.”
Grumbling, Rob positioned himself behind her as she leaned over the bedframe again, her body angled just so. His hands hovered near the bolts, but she could sense the hesitation, the way his breath hitched as he tried not to let his gaze—or his hands—wander. She glanced over her shoulder, catching his eyes locked on her curves, and let out a low, knowing chuckle.
“Focus, Rob. Unless you’re fixin’ to repair something else entirely,” she teased, her voice a velvet challenge. “I’m not paying you to stand there drooling.”
His jaw tightened, and he forced his attention back to the bedframe, but the air between them was thick with unspoken tension. Patrice smirked to herself, reveling in the power she held over him. She knew exactly where this was headed, and she was in no rush to get there. Let him squirm a little longer. After all, she was the one calling the shots—and she intended to enjoy every second of it.
As Rob’s hands worked the wrench, his knuckles brushing just a little too close to her thigh, she bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. This was only the beginning, and she had plenty more tricks up her sleeve.
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