When I woke hours later, the Saturday morning sun was unrelenting as it shone through the curtain-less windows in Jenson’s bedroom. His side of the bed was empty and cool. I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist as I rubbed my eyes and then focused on the grassy area I could see outside.
It seemed to stretch a long way, and the nearest house had a huge fence, leaving only the roof visible. Jenson had lots of privacy here, which gave me ideas for future liaisons of a semi-public kind.
I grinned, thinking of the naughty games we could play, when the star of my thoughts—dressed in nothing but boxer briefs—entered the bedroom with a tray.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted me. He set a tray with two coffee mugs, a plate of pancakes, utensils, and a few strips of bacon on my la
