Sleepy morning love.

His arm is heavy, resting over my ribs as light streams through the billowing, sheer curtains. The room is a blur of milky white, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tucking my nose beneath a fold of the blanket.

The slight movement makes him stir behind me, and the weight of his arm shifts lower. The warmth of his breath sinks into my hair as he dips his face into me, and his voice is rough and low when he speaks.

“What?” I ask, unable to decipher his half-awake murmuring.

I feel his hand press into my lower stomach, resting firmly though the tips of his fingers taunt me with their closeness. I press my body back against him, grateful as he slowly becomes alive, moving against me, and he gradually turns me towards him.

Dark stubble, full lips, and an expanse of neck comes into view before he grips my chin and brings my mouth to his. He groans in satisfaction as I push myself against him, need in my movements.

“Let’s stay here,” he murmurs again, more clearly this time. Then, assured by my widening, hopeful eyes, he says, “Stay here. With me.”

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