Short n' Sweet - Hugh Jackman

Jacked and Kind

The dim light of dawn filters through the curtains, bathing the bedroom in a soft glow. You slowly awaken, your eyes fluttering open as you come to consciousness. You're immediately aware of your surroundings - the plush sheets, the familiar scent of Hugh's cologne, the warmth of his body close by.

You shift a bit, feeling a pleasant soreness in your muscles. It's the aftermath of a night filled with passion and intimacy.

You look over at Hugh, your movements careful not to disturb him. He's lying on his side, his features relaxed in sleep. His hair is tousled, falling over his forehead in a messy, boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You can't help but study him for a moment, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, the strong, masculine lines of his form. Hugh Jackman asleep is a sight to behold.

You watch as his breaths come slow and steady, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. One of his arms is thrown over his head, the other draped over your hip, as if even in his sleep he desires to hold you close.

You carefully extricate yourself from the bed, trying your best not to wake Hugh. You make your way quietly out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen, padding across the hardwood floor in just your underwear and Hugh's discarded button-up shirt you retrieved from the floor. As you enter the kitchen, you spot your purse on the counter. You rummage through it, retrieving your phone.

Hugh begins to awaken, slowly rousing from sleep as consciousness takes hold. He groans softly, his hand reaching out across the empty expanse of the bed. He feels the cold space where you were supposed to be, and his eyes slowly open.

He lifts his head, his gaze searching for you. He then pushes himself into a sitting position, his hair sticking up in every direction, his usually sharp, clean-cut appearance softened by sleep. Hugh sits up in the bed, his eyes darting around the empty bedroom. His expression clouds with confusion and hurt as he realizes you're not there.

"Babe?" he calls out softly, his voice still gritty from sleep. "Where are you?"

You appear in the doorway, Hugh's eyes widen with relief. "There you are," he says, his voice still rough and gravelly. "You had me scared there for a second. Thought you were trying to make a quick getaway."

You climb back into the bed, straddling Hugh's hips and settling on his lap. The sheets tangle around you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy. Hugh's eyes are locked on you, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your thighs, his touch firm and possessive.

"Running away from you? Never in a million years." Hugh's smile widens at your words, a possessive glint in his eyes. "Good," he says, his voice low and rough. "Because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."

He tugs at the hem of his T-shirt that you're wearing, his fingers brushing against your skin. "Besides, I quite like you in my clothes." "How about without them?" You tease him, looking at him with lidded eyes.

Hugh's eyes darken with desire at your words, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. "Without them is even better," he replies, his voice taking on a gravelly edge.

His hands trail up your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. They rest on your hips, gripping them firmly as he holds you in place. "But trust me, sweetheart, you look good in anything."

His eyes travel over your form, taking in the way his T-shirt hugs your curves, the way it shows just enough skin to drive him wild. He wets his lips, his hands beginning to move up your sides, lifting the shirt and exposing more of your skin.

Despite the obvious desire and chemistry between you and Hugh, you both know that you can't stay in bed all day. Responsibilities and commitments call, and you're both aware that you have places to be.