I stretched long and lazy on the soft bed in the guest room at Hellen's mansion, sunlight sneaking through the half-drawn curtains to paint warm stripes across the cream sheets tangled around my legs.
Morning light felt fresh, chasing away the haze of deep sleep, my body loose after a night of solid rest—if I ignored Hellen's accident. I still can't explain the whole scene—it was too spontaneous.
A faint itch prickled my nose, and I scratched it absently, feeling the grime of yesterday cling to my skin. I guess, it was time to clean up. Hellen had mentioned clothes waiting in the closet—her quiet way of saying stay, make yourself at home.
Smiling soft, I swung my legs over the bed's edge, bare feet hitting the cool floor with a gentle thud, padding light across the rug's thick weave.
The closet loomed tall against the wall, dark wood carved simple with brass handles that gleamed dull in the light. I tugged one door open, hinges whispering smooth, revealing neat stacks—a soft gray t-shirt in cotton that looked broken-in soft, black leggings sleek and stretchy, fresh underwear folded precise beside a light cardigan in pale blue.
Okay, this is a bit weird. I didn't ask her to bring me underwear... but she did. Also, why did look a bit similar to a man's underwear? Especially the slit. Also, why the sizes are spot-on? It was if she'd measured me sleeping.
Whatever. I mean, we both have same genders—I am not an omega. So, it didn't matter. It was casual for friends, I guess.
I gathered the pile in my arms, fabric whispering cool against my skin, and dropped it on the bed in a cozy heap.
Towel next—from the en-suite hook, thick white cotton heavy and absorbent. I stripped slow, peeling off yesterday's blouse sticky at the underarms, leggings peeled down thighs, bra unhooked with a sigh of release, panties last, pooling at my feet.
Naked now, skin prickling in the cool morning air, curves free and familiar—breasts settling natural, hips swaying slight as I wrapped the towel snug around me, tucking it secure above my chest.
Bathroom door creaked open to steam-potential heaven—clawfoot tub gleaming white porcelain against sage-green tiles, walk-in shower with glass walls fog-ready, double sinks marble-veined under oval mirrors framed brass.
I flicked on the bathroom lights, soft golden halos blooming instant from the sconces mounted on either side of the oval mirror, washing the sage-green tiles in a warm, flattering glow that chased away the morning chill.
The air hummed expectant as I twisted the shower knob with a firm turn—water erupted roaring from the rain-head fixture above, hot streams pounding the porcelain tile floor first, steam billowing up quick like a living fog, curling thick around my bare legs and filling the glass-walled stall with misty promise.
The clawfoot tub sat idle nearby, but this was shower territory today, simple and thorough. I let the towel slip from my body, heavy cotton whispering to the heated rack below with a soft thud, leaving me fully naked in the humid haze—skin prickling alive, full curves free under the light, raven hair already dampening at the ends from the rising vapor.
Stepping under the spray, I gasped sharp at the heat's first kiss—scalding rivulets hitting my scalp like liquid sunlight, cascading instant down the back of my neck in warm sheets, tracing the delicate hollows of my collarbone before racing over the swell of my breasts, water beading on nipples that tightened under the rush.
It flowed lower, dipping into my navel, curving around hips' generous flare, slipping intimate between my thighs with a shiver that had nothing to do with cold.
"Hah! Bathing always feels nice. It was as if all of my stress has washed away along with the dirt from my body."
Eyes shut in bliss, I tilted my head back, letting it soak raven strands deep, black silk turning sleek ropes heavy with wet.
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I slipped into the clothes with a final tug of the cardigan, the pale blue fabric draping light over my shoulders like a soft cloud, the gray t-shirt hugging my curves just right beneath, leggings stretching snug without pinching.
After the comfort settled deep, skin still humming warm from the shower, raven hair drying into loose waves that brushed my mid-back.
Barefoot for now, toes curling against the floors, I padded out of the guest room and down the wide staircase, its banister smooth under my palm, morning light slanting brighter through the tall bay windows to gild the manor's halls in golden pools.
The air carried faint coffee aroma and newsprint rustle—Hellen was awake already? I guess, I am the lazy one as always.
She was sitting on the couch in the living room, legs crossed casual under her, the fireplace cold now with ash swept neat, coffee table holding a steaming mug and folded newspaper sections.
No bandage fuss today; her hand looked less bulky, wrapped thinner, good fingers turning pages slow. Blonde hair hung loose and untamed around her shoulders—rare sight, waves softening her sharp features, framing eyes focused on the stock listings.
A red silk shirt clung elegant to her frame, deep crimson shimmering subtle as she shifted, unbuttoned at the collar to bare a hint of collarbone, paired with tailored blue pants that hugged her long legs smooth. Argh, why does she look so cool? In compared to her, I look like a kid!
"Morning," I said light, dropping onto the couch beside her.
Her gaze lifted from the print, faint smile curving lips. "Morning. How was your sleep?"
"Like a rock." I nodded at the newspaper, headlines blurring business jargon. "Hellen, how'd you nail my sizes perfectly? T-shirt fits like you sewed it on me. Should ditch factories, open a tailor shop."
She folded the paper precisely with her good hand, setting it aside on the table, expression blanking cool—ice-blue steady, no flicker. "I used to design my own clothes."
I blinked, leaning in curious, elbow on couch back. "Wait—you used to?"
"Not anymore." Voice flat, final, blonde strands shifting as she reached for her mug one-handed.
I slid closer, mirroring her casual drape, legs tucking under me. "Why stop? Bet you were good—sizes prove it."
Her good hand paused mid-sip, mug lowering slow, gaze drifting to the bay windows where oaks rustled lazy outside. "Could only do simple stuff. Basics. Nothing fancy—I could do only the basic things. Waste of time now."
"Simple's gold," I pressed gentle, nudging her knee with mine playful. "That's my wheelhouse—everyday lines we planned. I could teach you tricks. We'd crush it together."
Red silk whispered as she shifted, blank face cracking fraction—almost wistful, her eyes flicking back to mine. "No need. I will handle the business. You handle design for us. That's the play."
I tilted my head, raven waves spilling shoulder. "Team effort, partner. I am a good teacher."
She exhaled quiet laugh, mug clinking table as she rose fluid despite hand. "Maybe later. Coffee? Yours is brewing."
"Ah, thank you."