I don’t know how it’s possible that I fit there so well, my head upon his shoulder, my body curled against his, I’m pliant and soft, as his arms wrap around me and pull me close against him as sleep washes over us and the fervour we feel for one another seeps into our dreams.
I can feel it all through the night, the passion that drips from our lips and our fingertips, as his hands explore my body and his dick brushes against me, hard and inviting, taunting me, teasing me, testing my resolve as my body urges me to satisfy the hunger, the ache, the need he creates in me.
He moans delectably as he sleeps, and my mouth tingles with the desire to brush my lips against his, to wake him with an urgent, desperate, fuck me now, kind of kiss. Instead, my palms rest upon his chest, and the kisses I leave upon his skin are far too sweet, they are secrets whispered in the dark and tucked in tightly beneath the sheets.
All through the night, our limbs entwine and our bodies seem to alternate between lust fuelled groans and contented sighs. I hear them, loud and clear, I hear them all as his naked body cradles mine and his slumbering fingers move to the growing wetness between my thighs.
When the morning light wakes us he is oblivious to the myriad of ways our bodies covet each other in the darkness and his kisses land with bright-eyed intent. His yearning renewed, his body refreshed and arousal swells inside me like a tempest, violent and brazen it brings me to my knees at his feet and awake or asleep there is nowhere else I would rather be.