Jewelz Blu steps out of the cab still vibrating from the long flight, cheeks flushed, and immediately punches Robby’s number. He picks up on the second ring, hair a mess, stupid grin already in place. “Hey, stranger.” She admits she’s nervous. “What if it’s weird? What if we forgot how to do us?” Robby laughs, low and easy. “Babe, we’ve got muscle memory for days. Plus—” he leans closer to the camera, “I may have left a little welcome package.” The call ends on a wink and Jewelz spends the rest of the ride grinning at her own reflection in the window. She pushes the front door open and stops dead. Center of the hall sits a ridiculous daybed drowning in rose petals, two scraps of lace and satin waiting like a dare. Jewelz peels off travel clothes, slips into the lingerie, and tugs the straps until everything sits just so. Footsteps on the stairs. Robby descends, bow tie crooked, tux somehow already rumpled. “Goddamn,” he says, and then there’s no more talking. Mouths crash. Hands slide over skin they both know by heart yet still rediscover like it’s brand new. Robby drops to his knees, peels the lace aside, tongue working her until her knees buckle; she drags him up, shoves the jacket off his shoulders, bites his bottom lip for good measure. He lifts her onto the petal-strewn mattress, sinks in deep, slow at first, then harder when she wraps her legs and demands more. Sweat, laughter, whispered filth. They move like they’re making up for lost time and still somehow savoring every second they have now. When it’s over, Robby’s bow tie hangs from the bedpost and Jewelz is sprawled across his chest, both of them smiling like idiots. Yeah, the chemistry’s still there. And they’re nowhere near finished using it.
Jewelz Blu steps out of the cab still vibrating from the long flight, cheeks flushed, and immediately punches Robby’s number. He picks up on the second ring, hair a mess, stupid grin already in place. “Hey, stranger.” She admits she’s nervous. “What if it’s weird? What if we forgot how to do us?” Robby laughs, low and easy. “Babe, we’ve got muscle memory for days. Plus—” he leans closer to the camera, “I may have left a little welcome package.” The call ends on a wink and Jewelz spends the rest of the ride grinning at her own reflection in the window. She pushes the front door open and stops dead. Center of the hall sits a ridiculous daybed drowning in rose petals, two scraps of lace and satin waiting like a dare. Jewelz peels off travel clothes, slips into the lingerie, and tugs the straps until everything sits just so. Footsteps on the stairs. Robby descends, bow tie crooked, tux somehow already rumpled. “Goddamn,” he says, and then there’s no more talking. Mouths crash. Hands slide over skin they both know by heart yet still rediscover like it’s brand new. Robby drops to his knees, peels the lace aside, tongue working her until her knees buckle; she drags him up, shoves the jacket off his shoulders, bites his bottom lip for good measure. He lifts her onto the petal-strewn mattress, sinks in deep, slow at first, then harder when she wraps her legs and demands more. Sweat, laughter, whispered filth. They move like they’re making up for lost time and still somehow savoring every second they have now. When it’s over, Robby’s bow tie hangs from the bedpost and Jewelz is sprawled across his chest, both of them smiling like idiots. Yeah, the chemistry’s still there. And they’re nowhere near finished using it.
