With Tom surprising you with a truck the next morning to pack up your stuff, you spent the entire weekend slowly moving your in and organizing your room. You may not have had many things, but your boss insisted that you take the weekend off to organize and decorate the way that you saw fit for your room.
But you were never the kind of person to care about that kind of thing, so you spent the back-half of your free weekend strolling the shops of downtown London, fibbing to your boss that you were looking for things to fill your room with.
You were enjoying the free-time and the fresh air.
Feeling bad for fibbing to your boss, you find an exotic picture of two basic figures entwined into various erotic positions, and you were entranced by it. Depending on how you hung it or from what angle you looked at it, the position always changed.
And you were drawn to it.
So, you had gone into the shop and purchased it and found yourself in your bedroom a half an hour later trying to find a way to hang the picture without asking your boss for help.
“Knock knock,” he rings out as he lightly taps on the door.
“Did you get anythin-”
Groaning as he slowly opens the door without you giving permission, you could feel his eyes boring into the painting as a smirk lightly dawns across his cheeks.
“Beautiful painting,” he murmurs as he steps in.
“Pretty sure I didn’t call out that you could come in,” you say as you stand on the chair to use Tom’s stud finder.
“I can get that for you,” Tom offers.
“I promise…I’ve got it,” you grunt as you splay both of your hands against the wall.
The way you were positioned, with your feet on the chair and your hands up against the wall, it poked your butt out a bit more than you probably realized.
And Tom found himself staring.
Hearing the stud finder beep you grasp for the blue marker as you make a series of dots before pushing off of the wall and lightly huffing in exertion.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to-”
“I promise, I’ve got it,” you bite as you shoot him a deadly side-glance.
But the smirk on his face caught your attention.
“What?” you ask as you fully turn your body towards him, still standing on the chair as your cheeks lightly begin to redden with exertion.
Tom was having a hard time containing himself. Between your red cheeks and your lightly panting chest, adding in your wind-tousled hair and the fiery independence behind your eyes.
He was entranced by you.
How could he be so entranced by a cleaning woman that he has known all of two months?
“Mr. Thomas…?” you ask, your voice a bit lighter as you watch his eyes dance lightly along your face.
You found yourself studying him. The way his eyes changed color in the light of your room. The way his hair stood lightly on end only to curl just once into itself. The strong cheekbones that ricocheted into a strong jawline. The light scar on his forehead, no doubt from an accident on a set somewhere.
You studied his broad shoulders and his tapering waist. His large hands and his twitching fingertips. His strong legs and his massive feet.
But when you ripped yourself from your trance and whipped your eyes back up to his, his dazed stare had turned into a confident smirk.
“Let me know if you need any help with that painting,” he lulls lightly before turning around and walking out your door.
“And wait for my permission next time!” you call after him as you hear him begin to descend down the steps.
And you could swear that you heard him chuckling lowly to himself.
It wasn’t as odd being a live-in housekeeper as you had thought. Tom had left a couple of weeks later for some shooting or promotion or whatever in the States, and you were at his home taking care of things that needed to be taken care of: from tending to the garden and preparing it for the harsh England winters all the way down to figuring out how to decorate it for the Christmas holiday, you decided to take on it all. You scheduled holiday meal plans and sent out invitations for a Christmas dinner to people in his address book on his desk. You even interviewed chefs and planned on decorating the event yourself.
You found that you had a knack for this type of thing.
Tom called more than you expected him to, and you found yourself talking with him on more personal matters than you had wished. The first 15 minutes were business, and the latter 15 minutes were always things about yourself: how you were doing and were you taking any time for yourself.
It was odd to have someone interested in those kinds of things.
But as November came and went, you found yourself taking a day and going shopping for the winter clothes that you didn’t have enough of so that you could brave your first English winter.
And when you arrived back at the house, you found yourself smiling when you saw a car pull out as Tom wrangled his keys to put them in the front door.
“Mr. Thomas!” you call out as you get out of your cab and pay the driver.
As he turns his head to find your figure, he smiles warmly as he swings the door open and waits for you to trot up beside him.
“A bit of shopping?” he asks as he eyes all of the bags in your hands.
“Not enough warm clothing,” you lull as he ushers you into his home.
“So…a productive trip?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him.
“Very. Should be good for the winter now,” you ring out as you walk through the foyer and set your bags on the kitchen table.
He smiled as he watched how comfortable you were now in his home.
“Told you so,” he murmurs to himself.
“What was that, Mr. Thomas?” you call out.
“Nothing!” he rings back as he drops his luggage by the door.
“Everything need to be washed?” you breathe as you come around the corner, wrapping your hair up in a scarf as you tie it in a knot on top of your head.
“It can wait until you put up your own stuff,” he nods as his eyes begin to droop slightly.
“I’ll start a load and then put my own things away,” you say as you grab both of his luggage bags and head for the laundry room.
“You should go lay down!” you call behind you, “You look very tired!”
“Thanks,” he breathes to himself as he runs his hands through his hair.
He liked coming home to someone a little too much.
Eyeing your bags as he hears you close the laundry door behind you, he knows he shouldn’t.
But his curiosity gets the better of him.
Trotting over to your bags, he begins to peek in at all of the colored fabrics, admiring the outfits you had picked out and smiling at the overflowing bags.
But there was a bag that didn’t have clothing in it, and that one caught his interest.
Pulling it towards him, he peeks in and sees an assortment of DVD’s and books, all strewn about as he reaches his hand in and begins fiddling around in your bag.
He always knew that a person’s movie and book collection would tell more about than then their mouth ever would divulge.
But there was one specific book that caught his eye.
The only item in the bag that looked as if it was purchased new…
“Sex, Stories, and Power Exchange…” Tom trails off as his fingers grace the silky cover.
But before he could do anymore research on the woman that had occupied every free moment of his mind, he heard the door to the laundry room open as he rips his hand out and slides back down into the foyer.
He made a mental note to do some independent research on what that particular book was about.