I woke early and lay in bed for a while, watching him gently breathing in and out. He was my ideal man β he was gorgeous (short blond hair, deep blue eyes, perfect skin and a well toned body) and so kind and caring it put all other men to shame. He was always so considerate in bed that it was never a disappointment. I smiled to myself at the memory of last night's passion. I felt my body stir at the thought of it.
I got up quietly so as not to disturb him. I threw on the first thing that came to hand, which was one of his old shirts, which he now only used for decorating. It was covered in paint splotches, and I glanced round the bedroom. The half painted walls were also a reminder of last night. We had been painting for some time, and had had a bottle of wine to help us through the boredom. We got more and more playful, until one thing had led to another and the decorating had been forgotten.
I padded quietly down to the kitchen and out together a tray for breakfast. I felt like treating him so I prepared all his favourites β fresh coffee, croissants and butter, and, I thought to myself, me! The thought occurred to me that he loved to see me in his shirts, preferably with nothing else, as I was this morning. I laughed out loud with sheer happiness, and then shushed myself, not wanting to wake him.
I crept back upstairs, tray in hand, and stood in the bedroom doorway. He was still asleep. The covers were down at his waist revealing his firm, toned chest and abdomen. His perfect face was so calm I could have watched him forever. I cleared my throat and smiled as he stirred a little. I did it again and this time he woke up and looked over at me, bleary-eyed, and smiled.
"Good morning," he murmured. "You look good today!"
"Thanks, hun. I brought you breakfast," I smiled down at him as I moved round to the side of the bed to put the tray down next to him.
"Looks good," he said. I looked up at him to discover he was actually looking at me, not breakfast. I blushed a little and felt the first stirrings of arousal deep inside. He reached out his hand and started to gently stroke up and down my thigh. I watched his hand as it travelled carefully up and down.
"You know I can't resist you in my shirts!" he whispered, and I noticed the bulge under the covers. I lifted my thigh onto the bed so I was kneeling and standing at the same time. His hand moved round to caress the inner flesh of my thighs and I felt my cunt begin to tingle in response.
"I had that fantasy again last night," he said as his hand edged further up my thigh.
"Which one?" I asked, somewhat distractedly.
"That one where you go into town, without underwear on," he replied, his hand teasing the skin right at the top of my thighs. Now he had my full attention. We both shared this fantasy.