I wipe down the kitchen counters one last time, surveying my handiwork with satisfaction. Two plates of perfectly grilled chicken breast, seasoned just right with rosemary and thyme, accompanied by roasted asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. The wine is breathing, candles lit. Everything is perfect for Lana's return.
Glancing at the microwave clock, I see it's 6:04 PM. She's usually home by six on the dot. Not that four minutes is anything to worry about, but in her line of work, my mind tends to spiral.
Is she doing reshoots? Did the director want "one more take" of something particularly intense? Is she showering at the studio instead of rushing home to me?
Before my thoughts can fully descend into the familiar pit of anxiety, I hear the front door click open. The sound sends a wave of relief through my body so intense it's almost embarrassing.
Lana appears in the kitchen doorway, still in her "leaving the studio" outfit, oversized hoodie and leggings. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there's a slight smudge of makeup beneath her right eye. She looks utterly exhausted like she's been put through the wringer. Which she probably has.
My body responds immediately to the sight of her, a pavlovian reaction I've given up trying to fight. Even like this, especially like this, she's irresistible to me. I push down the arousal, focusing instead on her tired eyes.
"Welcome home," I say, my voice betraying more emotion than I intended.
She drops her bag by the door and crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, wrapping her arms around me with surprising strength for someone who looks so worn out. Her face presses against my chest, but she doesn't tilt her head up for our usual kiss.
"Let me just take a quick shower, okay?" she mumbles into my shirt. "And then we can kiss. I need to wash the day off first."
I feel a familiar pang in my chest, a complicated cocktail of understanding, jealousy, and desire. She's trying to be considerate, to create that mental and physical barrier between her work and our home. I appreciate it, even as it reminds me of exactly what she's washing away.
"Of course," I say, rubbing small circles on her back. "Dinner's ready whenever you are. No rush."
She squeezes me once more before pulling away, her eyes catching sight of the elaborate meal I've prepared. For a moment, her exhaustion seems to lift, replaced by genuine delight.
"Okay," she says, backing away toward the bathroom with a small smile. Despite her exhaustion, there's a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "Keep it warm for me?"
I nod, watching her disappear down the hallway. The bathroom door clicks shut, and soon I hear the shower running, water drumming against the tile.
While adjusting the flame under the potatoes to keep them warm, strange sounds filter from the bathroom, muffled cursing and what sounds like vigorous scrubbing. Then her voice, clearer than before: "Jesus Christ, thats way to much!"
I wince slightly, knowing better than to ask questions. This is part of our unspoken agreement. The details of her workday remain at work. Still, my mind fills in the blanks in ways that simultaneously arouse and disturb me.
The shower continues running longer than usual. I hear her brushing her teeth, the electric toothbrush buzzing for what feels like an eternity. She's thorough tonight, erasing every trace of her professional persona before returning to me.
When she finally emerges, my breath catches. She's wearing her soft blue cotton pajamas. Her face is scrubbed clean, hair damp and slightly wavy, hanging loose around her shoulders. She even has her cute glasses on.
Out of all her outfits, the lingerie she models in photoshoots, the provocative costumes she wears on set, nothing affects me quite like seeing her in these simple pajamas. There's something so vulnerable about it, so authentically her. This version of Lana exists only for me, a private intimacy we share that no camera will ever capture.
I smile at her, gratitude welling up inside me for how hard she works, both at her job and at maintaining our relationship. "Feel better?"
She crosses the kitchen and cups my face in both hands, pressing her lips against mine in a kiss so passionate it makes my knees weak. She tastes like mint toothpaste and smells like our shared body wash, clean, fresh, and entirely mine again.
When she pulls away, her eyes are soft but focused, present in a way they weren't when she first walked in. "Much better. I'm so excited." She gestures toward the elaborate meal with genuine appreciation.
"The least I could do," I say, pulling out her chair. "You're the one who had the hard day at work."
She sits down, giving me a look I can't quite decipher. "You know what? Let's not talk about work tonight. Tell me about your day instead. Did you get any writing done?"
I hesitate, the strange encounter with Morgan flashing through my mind.
"Actually, something weird happened at Starbucks today," I begin, serving her a portion of chicken and vegetables.
Lana's eyes light up with interest as she spears a piece of asparagus with her fork. "Weird, how? Did someone recognize you from high school or something?"
I settle into my chair across from her. "No. There was a woman reading my fan fiction."
"No way!" Lana's fork pauses halfway to her mouth, her surprise genuine. "Like, actually reading it right there in front of you?"
"Really?" Lana asks, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Yeah, isn't that crazy?" I take a sip of wine, still bewildered by the coincidence myself. "She was reading Trainer's Pet right next to me. Even mentioned the Zelda story, too."
Lana sets her fork down slowly, her expression shifting. She studies my face for a moment, a slight crease forming between her brows. There's something in her eyes I don't often see, a flicker of jealousy, maybe a hint of possessiveness.
"Did you tell her you wrote it?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral despite the tightness around her mouth.
I shake my head, cutting into my chicken. "No, I felt too embarrassed. But I did talk to her about it... we had this whole conversation about the characters and storylines."
Lana suddenly gets up from her chair with a grimace, her brow furrowed.
"Wait, what was she like? This woman..." She walks over and sits directly on my lap, her weight warm and familiar. "You didn't do anything bad, did you?"
Her question hangs in the air for a moment before her eyes widen slightly. I watch her expression transform from concern to surprise as she shifts her position.
"Adam," she breathes, "you're rock hard."
I haven't really gone soft since she got home. Between the knowledge of what she'd been doing today and her pajamas, my body has been in a near-constant state of arousal.
"It's not illegal to be attracted to your girlfriend," I laugh, trying to sound casual despite the heat rising to my face.
Her eyes darken as she studies me, something sultry and knowing in her gaze. Without another word, she stands, her fingers intertwining with mine as she pulls me up from my chair.
"I'm all clean now if you want..." she says, tugging me toward our bedroom, dinner completely forgotten.
"You're not too tired?" I ask, despite the ache of wanting her that's been building all day. I know what her work days are like, how physically demanding they can be.
She stops in the hallway, turning to face me with a frown that's somehow both adorable and serious.
"Adam, I enjoy making love with you," she says, her voice soft but firm. "Always. It's completely different."
The sincerity in her eyes makes my chest tighten. She pulls me into our bedroom, kicking the door closed behind us. Her hands find the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head with practiced ease.
Her lips are on my skin, trailing heat from my collarbone to my jawline. I can barely breathe. My hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the soft fabric of her pajamas, the warmth of her body beneath it.
I guide her to the bed, my hands slipping beneath her pajama top to feel the soft skin of her back as I get it off. She lets out a small gasp as I push her gently onto the mattress, her hair fanning out around her like a halo. I hover above her, my lips capturing hers in a kiss that's both tender and urgent.
"Take it off," she whispers, tugging at my waistband.
I oblige, quickly shimmying out of my pants and boxers. Her eyes darken with desire as she takes in the sight of me, fully exposed and already straining with need. I reach for the waistband of her pajamas, pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin. She lifts her hips to help, her breath catching when I slide the fabric past her thighs, over her knees, and finally off her feet.
I pause, taking in the sight of her completely naked beneath me, her body a perfect contrast of soft curves and sharp angles. She's breathtaking, and not just because of her pornstar physique. There's something more, something intimate and vulnerable in the way she looks at me, her eyes wide and trusting.
I run my hands up her sides, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. Her skin is warm and impossibly smooth, and I can't resist lowering my head to kiss a line from her navel to her breast, teasing the sensitive skin until she arches into me with a moan.
"Adam, please," she gasps, her fingers threading through my hair.
I shift, positioning myself between her legs, my body pressing against hers with just enough weight to make her squirm. Her breath hitches as I rock my hips, the head of my cock brushing against her slick entrance.
"Tell me you want it," my voice rough with need.
"I want it," she breathes, her hands gripping my shoulders. "I want you."
I push into her slowly, savoring the way her body yields to mine, enveloping me in warmth and wetness. She's so tight, so impossibly perfect, that I have to pause, fighting for control as pleasure threatens to overwhelm me.
"Oh god, Adam," she moans, her nails digging into my skin. "You feel so good."
I move with deliberate strokes, feeling every inch of her, watching her eyes flutter as I fill her completely. I'm so lost in the sensation, the pure bliss of being inside her, that I almost forget everything else. Almost.
The memory of her exhausted face when she came home flashes through my mind. The way she scrubbed herself clean in the shower, desperate to wash away what she'd done with another man, probably bigger than me, probably better. The doubts creep in, insidious and familiar, whispering that I can't possibly satisfy a woman like her. Not after the day she's had.
Lana cups my face with both hands, pulling me back to her with a fierce intensity. Her eyes lock onto mine, blue and unwavering, filled with so much warmth that it takes my breath away.
"You're getting even harder, baby," she whispers, her voice husky and full of wonder. "You're really into me tonight."
I feel a pang of guilt, knowing it's the thought of her with other men that makes me throb inside her. But she doesn't let me dwell on it, her hips rising to meet mine, her eyes filled with a love so raw it's almost painful. I surrender to it, to her, letting my body take over, letting everything else fall away.
We move together with a rhythm that's both frantic and impossibly sweet, a desperate need tempered by the knowledge that this is ours alone. Her moans are soft and breathless, punctuated by my name. I feel her tightening around me, the tension coiling in her body as she arches off the bed.
"Adam, I'm... I'm gonna…" Her voice breaks as she shudders beneath me, the release so intense it makes her whole body tremble.
The sensation is electric, pulling me deeper, driving me to the edge. I thrust into her with a final urgency, feeling her pulse around me as I lose myself completely.
"Fuck, Lana!" I groan, burying myself in her as I cum, as she holds me through every exquisite moment.
We lie there tangled together, breathing hard, my body heavy on top of hers. She traces lazy circles on my back, her touch soothing and possessive. I kiss her shoulder, her neck, the corner of her mouth, each one a silent thank you, a silent I love you.
We're still catching our breath when she pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "You okay?" she asks, her voice soft but laced with concern.
I nod, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. "More than okay. I just... I love you so much."
She smiles a radiant, tired smile that makes my heart flip. "I love you too, Adam. I'm so lucky to have you."
We stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, basking in the afterglow of what we've just shared. I know the doubts will come back, that the strange thrill of what she does will continue to haunt and excite me. But right now, none of that matters. Right now, she's here, with me, and that's enough.
I wonder if I could convince her to let me try sloppy seconds one of these days?