Moving In

We decided to live together in her house. Work to be done. Painting. Constructing. Hard work. Tensions. Late nights-early rises. Summertime. Hot.

She looked beautiful, attractive, passionate. Working with tools, paint, putting furniture together. I knew what she was wearing underneath those working clothes.

After few days we were both getting tired. Still focused. There was tension. Less positive and positive.

She was finishing a paint job upstairs on a hot evening. I went up to bring here some refreshments. I found her in her undies. Focused, detailing. Some paint on her body, some in her hair. Super attracted.

There was a pause.

And then this flow of passion. Finally. Together. Our house. Space. A place for us. We made love in each and every room that night. The hot Attick. The bedrooms, between the furniture being assembled. We used tools as toys. A first. The kitchen now feels different. It makes us both smile. We finalized our night in the basement with things we spoke about but never tried.

We fell asleep in the basement and woke up in our house. We were home.