An entry for the
750 Word Project 2023
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I yawned, bushed hair from my eyes, smiled at his warmth on my back, the love in his arm over my waist.
Sunlight flowed through the gaps in the blinds. His breath on my shoulders was slow and measured; it was obvious he was deep in sleep.
I slipped out from under his arm and laughed softly; it was obvious that he was deep in a dream, too. His weighty sex lay long, dark and hard over one thigh. It twitched slightly and I giggled at the incongruity of solid masculine arousal and little-boy innocence on his sleeping face.
Silently, I fled the bedroom, turned on the coffeemaker on the way to the bathroom. I took care of the obvious, then dampened a handcloth with warm water, wiped off my face, between my legs, under my arms. It wasn't a proper bath, but it would have to do. I pulled a bush through my hair, did a minimal makeup and applied his favourite perfume on wrists, behind ears, in cleavage and on my inner thighs.
A quick glance showed him still fast asleep, still erect.
I filled a mug with coffee, then had a second thought. It was Saturday; we had no place to go and all day to get there. I added a splash of Canadian Club and set the mug on his side-table in the bedroom.
I moved a cheval mirror to beside the bed, adjusted it to give him a better view, then knelt between his legs. His male musk filled my head as I bent; I felt my own arousal soar.